Forgotten: A Novel Read Free Page B

is.”
    “I seem to be missing something.”
    Buddy, you have no idea.
    “This is my apartment.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “This is my apartment. This is my couch. And you’ve just invited me to use my phone.”
    Confusion floods his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “You think I’m crazy, right?”
    “I don’t know what to think.”
    “I’m not crazy.” I sound unconvincing, even to my own ears. “This is my apartment.”
    “Why do you keep saying that?”
    The doorbell emits a loud burst of sound, startling us both.
    “That’ll be the movers,” Dominic says.
    “The what ?”
    The doorbell rings again. Dominic walks to the front door and opens it, revealing a squat man in a pair of coveralls holding a rolled-up piece of dark blue fabric.
    “You ready for us, man?”
    “Yeah, come on in.”
    Dominic steps out of his way. The moving man puts the fabric on the ground and rolls it down the hardwood floor that leads toward my bedroom.
    I stand up and my legs almost give way. Blood is rushing from my head like I’ve taken a stopper out of a drain. I steady myself on the slippery arm of the couch. “What are you doing?”
    He glances at me. “I’m moving in.”
    “But—”
    “Look, I know you keep saying this is your apartment, but I have a lease that says otherwise. Here, I’ll show you.” He picks up a backpack that’s propped against the wall and unzips it. He pulls out a sheaf of loose papers and flips through them. The squat moving man returns and heads outside. His boots leave a wet imprint on the fabric.
    Dominic locates a typed, legal-size document. He hands it to me. “You see?”
    I read through it twice, though I understood it perfectly the first time. It’s a lease between Dominic Mahoney and Pedro Alvarez for 23A Chesterfield—this very apartment—dated last week.
    “There must be some mistake.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Blackness swirls around me. I feel like I’ve just been woken up from my pod in the Matrix, covered in primordial goo and struggling for breath. But if this is some alternative reality, where’s the wise mentor who’s going to explain what the hell is going on?
    “The faucet in the bathroom sticks when you turn on the hot water. The radiator in the bedroom clangs at exactly 11:12 every night. The—”
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’m proving to you that this is my apartment.”
    “I believe you used to live here, okay, but—”
    “No, I didn’t used to live here. I live here, end of story.”
    The moving man returns, his arms full of cardboard boxes. “Where should I put these?”
    “In the larger bedroom,” Dominic says, waving down the hall. He walks past me and sits on the couch, resting his hands on his knees. “All right . . . Emma, did you say your name was?”
    “Yes.”
    “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
    He motions for me to sit next to him. I don’t want to, but I’m not sure my legs will hold me much longer. I sit on the far end of the familiar couch. There’s a thin film of dust on the coffee table. The air smells faintly of decay.
    “Okay,” he says. “Say this is your apartment—”
    “It is.”
    “Then why would Pedro rent it to me?”
    “I’ve been away for a while.”
    “Did he know you were going to be away?”
    I think back to the hazy days before I left, full of packing and shots and the trippy antimalarial pills that gave me the worst dreams. “No, I didn’t tell him.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because my rent gets paid automatically, and I was only supposed to be gone for a month.”
    He cocks an eyebrow. “How long have you been gone for?”
    “Six months.”
    “How did that happen?”
    “I don’t really feel like being cross-examined right now.”
    “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”
    I stand up.
    “Where are you going?”
    “To use the phone.”
    I follow the blue carpet down the hall, glancing at my bedroom as I pass by. My cream bed and dresser are right where I