Allison found Winston in the room they were to share, in his wheelchair. Gray hair, unkempt. A glob of drool hung from his lip. Plenty of pale, wrinkled skin. He looked as old as Gramps, although he was, in fact, twenty years younger. He looked out at nothing, but he did not look unhappy. 

     Alison sat down in front of Winston to look him full in the eyes.

     "Do you know where you are, darling?" she asked. Silly question. She had no idea where they were.

     Winston replied with his most charming smile, yet Alison knew he didn't understand a word she said.

     "Francis had some Azurian friends remove him from the facility," Claudia said from nowhere/everywhere.

     "Aren't they going to go crazy looking for him?"

     "We are outside of time and space. As far as they're concerned, Winston won't be gone longer than an eyeblink."

     "He was a brilliant lawyer, once," Alison said. "Advocate. Thirty years older than me, and I didn't give a damn about any of that. I loved him. I don't know how much partying I'll be able to do with him here, though. He can be a handful, sometimes."

     "Alison, could you do me a favor?" Claudia asked. "I know we just met, but..."

     "What? What favor?"

     "Is the...Do you feel you have to use the bathroom at all?"

     "The..." As a matter of fact, the moment Claudia said that, Alison felt a slight call out from her kidneys.

     "Go ahead," Claudia said. "There's something I'd like to show you when you get back."

​     Her business didn't take much longer than a couple minutes. Alison took her time washing her hands, though. She planned to spend the rest of her time in Impossibleville with the idea she would have Winston with her. In a way, she found the notion comforting. She first got hints of the approaching Alzheimer's the year Winston was made full partner, and that had been, what, twelve years before? Thirteen? Since then, she'd lived her life with Winston, if not at her side, then certainly central in her thoughts. She'd spend her time there as she always did when she went anywhere with Winston anymore. She'd enjoy herself as much as she could, but she also couldn't help but fantasize about how it might be if he was still mobile, was still able to talk and be aware of his surroundings. still be Winston.

     She heard a tap on the door.

​     The bathroom door.

     Tap. Tap.

​     An icicle of panic ran along Alison's spine. Who could it possibly be? It couldn't be Winston, so, unless it was a member of her family, it was a stranger or a strange thing out there with Winston. 

     "Who is it?" she asked. "Who's out there?"

     "It's me," came the reply.

     And then Alison ran for the bathroom door to swing it open, tears bursting from her eyes, because it was Winston's voice that had responded to her query, and now she looked at Winston, looked at a man in his late sixties, still wearing his bathrobe, but who now looked into his wife's eyes with intelligence and focus and a love so strong it pierced and filled Alison's own loving soul.

​     "Hello, my darling," Winston said.

CONTINUE