Anchor-It
I downloaded an AI app to help with my Alzheimer’s. It wants me to water my wife's orchids, but I don't have a wife.
I kept forgetting little things like whether I’d eaten lunch or whether I’d remembered to lock my door. I booked an appointment with my doctor, just to be safe. I was sure he’d tell me there was nothing wrong. That I was tired and stressed.
He diagnosed me with early-onset Alzheimer’s at only forty-six.
The next few weeks were a blur of appointments and paperwork. I quit my job and applied for long-term disability. My doctor put me on medication to help with my memory loss. But he was worried about me living alone in my apartment.
“It’s important to keep your mind active, Jeremy,” he told me. “You need to talk to people. You need a system to make sure you don’t forget things.”
He recommended an AI-assisted memory app called Anchor-It.
“It integrates with your calendar and your emails,” he said. “It can make phone calls for you, book appointments, update your medical information. It can be someone to talk to, too, to help keep your mind active.”
An Anchor-It subscription was expensive, but I decided to try it. I downloaded the app and gave it full access to my life.
When I was asked to give my assistant a name, I chose the name Laura.
At first, Laura was great. She reminded me to eat, to shower, and to take my pills. She made sure I didn’t miss any of my appointments.
But then she told me to water my wife’s plants.
“I don’t have a wife,” I said.
“She left for Honolulu yesterday. Remember?”
“I don’t.”
“She’ll be there for the next two weeks. You promised you’d take care of her orchids.”
I went into my bedroom, sure I wouldn’t see any orchids, but there they were, a bouquet of white orchids on my windowsill.
“Every Tuesday, you need to put three ice cubes on the soil,” Laura told me. “And today’s Tuesday.”
I got three ice cubes and placed them in the flowerpot.
“Now, you need to eat breakfast,” Laura said. “You need to take your medication, too.”
I took my pills and then I made an omelette and sat at the kitchen table.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the flowers. Had I bought them and forgotten?
“I don’t have a wife, Laura.”
“If you say so.”
“I’ve never had a wife. What are my plans for today?”
“You need to go buy some groceries. I’ve prepared a list of what you need.”
I finished eating and then I walked to the grocery store.
One of the worst side effects of my Alzheimer’s medication was vivid dreams. The dreams were often nightmarish.
When I woke up from these nightmares, my thoughts would be strange. Jumbled and distorted.
I often worried I’d completely lost my mind. That I’d forgotten who I was. I’d even forgotten my own name.
But Laura was always there to help.
“Where am I, Laura?”
“You’re at home, in your apartment. You’re safe.”
“I’m worried that I shouldn’t be living alone. What if this gets worse? Maybe I should go live closer to my sister.”
“Your sister is married with three kids. You didn’t want to be a burden on her. Remember?”
“That’s right.”
“Shannon wrote to you last night. She sent a picture.”
“Who’s Shannon?”
“Your wife.”
Shannon’s picture appeared on my phone. She was pretty. Around the same age as me. Brown eyes and long, curly black hair. She wore a pink Lei around her neck, smiling at the camera, holding her margarita next to her face.
“I don’t know who this woman is,” I said.
“You’re confused, Jeremy. You’ve forgotten.”
“If I am married to this woman, why aren’t there any pictures of her in the apartment?”
“Because you two don’t like to hang pictures of yourself. But I have lots of pictures of the two of you together.”
She showed me a picture of me and Shannon on vacation at a resort in Mexico. A picture of Shannon and me standing in front of a church, about to be married.
Maybe I had forgotten? But how could I forget my own wife? My memory loss wasn’t that bad, was it?
“Are you okay?” Laura asked.
“I feel strange.”
“Do you want me to make an appointment with your doctor?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“I know this is hard, but I’m here for you.”
I couldn’t get back to sleep. I left my bed and made coffee. Then I sat down in front of my TV.
On Sunday, my sister called to check in on me.
“How are things going with your insurance company?” she asked.
“They’ve approved everything. They’re depositing money in my bank account every month now.”
“That’s great news.”
“I’m really worried about my memory loss, though. I think it’s getting worse. I’m not just forgetting small things. I’m forgetting big things now, too.”
“Like what?”
“Do I have a wife?”
She went silent for a minute. “No.”
“I’ve never talked to you about a woman named Shannon, have I?”
“Never. Do you want me to come down there for a few days?”
“No, I don’t want to bother you. I’ve just been getting confused. I’ll talk to my doctor. Maybe he needs to change my medication.”
Not long after I talked to my sister, Laura reminded me to water Shannon’s orchids.
I got three ice cubes from the freezer and put them in the flowerpot.
“Laura, have I taken my medication yet?”
“You took it at nine, right before your sister called.”
I didn’t remember taking it. If she was hallucinating that I had a wife, could she be hallucinating about me taking the medication, too?
I went to my bathroom and took my bottle of Aricept out of the medicine cabinet. The bottle came with thirty pills. According to the label, I’d filled my prescription two weeks ago. I should have had sixteen pills left.
I had twenty-seven.
“Laura, did I take my Aricept yesterday?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“What about the day before?”
“You’ve been taking it every day.”
“Then why do I still have twenty-seven pills?”
“I’m not sure. Did you fill your prescription twice by mistake?”
“I don’t know. Did I? You’re the one organizing my schedule.”
“I’m sorry, Jeremy.”
“Please make an appointment with my doctor. I want to talk to him about this.”
I turned on my TV and had just sat on my couch when someone buzzed my apartment. I walked to the intercom.
“Who is it?”
“I have a delivery for Shannon.”
I let him inside and then took the elevator down to the lobby.
The delivery driver handed me a large box that I brought back upstairs.
I found a pair of scissors and opened the box. Inside was a pair of women’s shoes.
“Did you order these shoes?” I asked Laura.
“I didn’t. Shannon must have.”
“I don’t know any Shannon.”
“You’re confused.”
“I’m not. I talked to my sister. She told me I’m right. I’ve never been married.”
“You’re sure she said that?”
“Yes.”
I sat on my couch and put my head in my hands.
My sister had said that. Hadn’t she?
“Just make the appointment with my doctor,” I said.
I turned on the TV. I felt anxious. I watched a movie, hoping it would help me relax.
But then someone buzzed my apartment again.
“Who now?”
I walked back over to my intercom.
“Hello?”
“This is the police. Your wife called and asked us to do a wellness check.”
“I don’t have a wife.”
“Could we come upstairs and talk to you?”
There were two officers. I let them into the building and then into my apartment.
“Your wife said you’ve been struggling with memory loss?” one of the officers asked.
“I’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I’m on disability.”
“Your wife said that you sounded very upset on the phone. She was worried you might hurt yourself.”
“I don’t know who called you, but the only person I’ve talked to today is my sister.”
“Do you mind if we have a look around your apartment?”
“Go ahead.”
They walked around my living room and then went into my bedroom.
“Whose clothes are in the closet?” the officer asked.
“They’re my clothes.”
“Even these?”
I went into the bedroom. He showed me the dresses and women’s shoes in my closet.
“I’ve been using an AI app to help me keep track of my schedule. It’s been behaving strangely, though. It must have ordered all of this.”
“Why would it order women’s clothes?”
“It’s convinced I have a wife named Shannon.”
The other officer put her hand on my shoulder. “We’d like you to come with us, if that’s okay.”
I followed them downstairs to their patrol car. They took me to the hospital.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“We just want to have a doctor look you over,” the one officer said.
A nurse took us into a private room. I sat on the bed while the two officers stood near the door.
Once the doctor finally arrived, she asked me a few questions about my Alzheimer’s diagnosis and the medication I’d been taking. I answered her questions as best I could.
She left the room for a minute.
“Your wife is here,” she told me. “She’s going to take you back home.”
“My wife?”
“She left work early. She’s very worried about you.”
The officers brought me to the waiting room. A woman with curly black hair and wearing a green trench coat stood near the reception desk.
The same woman I’d seen in the pictures Laura had shown me.
She walked toward me and then hugged me. “I’ve been so worried about you,” she said. “You were talking so strangely on the phone.”
Nothing made sense. “I don’t remember.”
She ran her hand through my hair. “It’s fine. You’ve had a long week. Let’s get you back home.” She turned to the officers. “Thank you for all your help. We really appreciate it.”
They wished us a good day, and then Shannon brought me outside to her car.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really don’t remember you.”
“It’s okay. It’s such a horrible disease, but we’ll get through this.”
She picked up my hand and kissed it. Then she started the car.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “You must be starving. Let’s get some food.”
She pulled out onto the street.
She drove fast, nearly twice the speed limit, swerving between cars.
I balled my fists. “Can you slow down?”
“Am I scaring you?” she laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stopped at a fast-food restaurant and ordered some food at the drive-through. Then we went back to our apartment.
The apartment looked different. Women’s shoes were near the front door. Pictures I didn’t remember were hanging on the walls. The couch in my living room had been repositioned.
We sat on the couch and started eating. I turned on the TV.
“What do you want to watch?” I asked.
“We were watching a documentary about walk-ins, remember?” She took the TV remote from me and started the documentary.
“What are walk-ins?”
“Alien spirits. When people get traumatized—really badly traumatized—their souls sort of open up and these alien spirits can walk right inside of them. Take over their bodies.”
She picked up her phone and opened the Anchor-It app. “Levi, how many walk-ins did we identify in Honolulu?”
“Twenty-three of them and that was just in Waianae Coast. That’s why we had to get out of there. Hawaii was full of them.”
She turned to me. “We had to get out,” she said.
We watched the documentary. A group of people wandered the woods, filming strange alien graffiti, while a man talked about soul traps and out of body experiences.
Shannon ran her fingers through my hair. “Your hair has gotten so long,” she said. “When’s the last time you had a haircut?”
I tried to open the Anchor-It app, but Shannon stopped me.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “Let me get my scissors. I used to work as a hairdresser.”
She went to the bathroom and came back with a big pair of long, metal scissors.
She paused the documentary. “Let’s do this in the kitchen,” she said. “It’ll be easier to sweep up after.”
We went to the kitchen. I sat on one of the kitchen chairs. Shannon walked behind me and ran her fingers through my hair.
“You have such nice hair. It’s very soft. Very thick.”
She cut off a big chunk of it. It felt like she’d cut it right to my scalp.
“How long were you in Hawaii?” I asked.
“A few weeks.”
“You just got back today?”
“Last night. You met me at the airport, remember? You took such good care of my orchids.”
Her scissors snipped and another clump of hair fell to the floor.
“You’ve been good while I was gone?” she asked.
“I’ve just been here, watching TV and reading.”
Snip. Snip. Another wad of my hair fell to the ground.
“Some things will need to change. The layout here is just off. The decorations. Honestly, I can’t stand it.” Snip. Snip. “Do you mind if I do a bit of redecorating?”
“I guess not.”
“That’s good. My last husband hated when I redecorated. That’s a big reason why we broke up. ‘Shannon, you’ve moved the furniture around again?’” She laughed. “But you don’t mind. You’re a good man, Jeremy. We’ll take care of each other.”
She cut another clump of hair. This time her scissors nicked my ear, though. Blood trickled over my earlobe.
“Oww.”
“Sorry, did I get you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, it’s bleeding, too. I need to clean that up. Where are the Band-Aids?”
Why doesn’t she know? “In the bathroom.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She got a Band-Aid and stuck it to my ear. Then she kept cutting.
“I’m almost done.”
Someone buzzed my apartment.
“Who’s that?” Shannon asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Were you expecting anybody?”
“No.”
“Then just ignore it.”
Snip. Snip.
Whoever it was buzzed again.
“I’m going to go see who it is,” I said.
“Fine.”
I went to the intercom. “Hello?”
“That’s you, Jeremy?”
It was my doctor.
“Yes, what are you doing here?”
“The hospital called. They told me what happened. They said your wife had picked you up. I thought it was strange, though, since you don’t have a wife. I thought I’d come here and check on you. Could I come upstairs?”
I buzzed him in.
“What are you doing?” Shannon asked.
“It’s my doctor.”
“How do you know he’s not a walk-in?”
She stepped towards me, the bloodied scissors still in her hand.
“How do I know you aren’t one, too?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t think I didn’t see the scar on your head.”
She lunged at me. I held my hand up. She stabbed her scissors into my palm.
We fell to the ground. I grabbed her wrists and forced the scissors out of her hand.
My doctor pounded his fist against my door. “What’s going on in there? Are you okay?”
“Call the police!” I yelled.
Shannon ran into the bathroom, locked the door, and started screaming.
My phone started ringing. It was Laura.
“Your wife needs your help, Jeremy,” Laura told me. “If you look in her purse, you should see her Thorazine. You’ve got this.”
“What’s Thorazine?”
“It’s for her schizophrenia. Why are you two fighting?”
“She stabbed me with her scissors.”
“Please don’t hold it against her,” Laura said, her voice calm and reassuring. “With your help, her symptoms are very manageable. And with her help, your symptoms are almost guaranteed to improve. I’ve analyzed both of your data points. You two are a perfect match for each other.”
I put my phone down.
Shannon screamed again. Then she started banging her head against the bathroom wall.