Free Alien Upstairs by Pamela Sargent

at the Towers two years ago. He said Mr. Courn spent about two months avoiding everyone in the building, and they're all fairly sociable over there. Then he suddenly blossomed, began to invite everyone to parties. There were stories that he had an eye for the young ladies, and, if I may say so, for young men too.” He rolled his eyes in the direction of Larry Belder's back window. “He would disappear for a while, then return. For a time, he lived with a girl people said was his niece, then he finally moved out and bought a house. That isn't so odd, I suppose. But there were stories that he believed he was from outer space. Of course, no one put any credence in such tales, but why would a man say such a thing?"
    "He told those stories here, too,” she said. “He had us all to dinner and just said it, flat out. He seemed sane enough otherwise."
    "Well.” Mr. Epstein picked up his toolbox. “I must go, it's getting late. Good evening, Sarah."
    She went back inside. Gerard was sitting at the kitchen table, his chin in his hands. The set of apartment keys Mr. Epstein had given him lay on the table.
    "I thought you were going upstairs to fix a faucet."
    "I will. I had to sit down. This bothers me, Sarah, losing my memory. I can't stand it. You think, even if you have nothing, you have your memories, that's the one thing you'll always own. I feel as though someone's broken into my home. Worse."
    "Oh, Gerry.” She stood behind him and rubbed his shoulders; his muscles were tight. “Look, I've lost some memories, too. Maybe it's for the best, maybe our minds are rejecting all this stuff about Raf."
    "And I have to trust that what you tell me is true."
    She stopped rubbing. “Don't you?"
    He reached for her hands and drew them around his face. “I have to. I do. I think I'm beginning to hate him. I'll catch up with him somehow. We'll find him."
    I don't think we will, she thought. I don't think I want to. But she said nothing.
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    Eight
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    Gerard was awake and washing in the bathroom when Sarah arose. She went to the kitchen and made tea, then sat at the table. The thought of the winter ahead oppressed her. She considered taking the coins and going south with Gerard. Closing her eyes, she thought of palm trees and warm sand, dulcet breezes and salty air. The coins would eventually be spent, and then they would be stranded. There was more unemployment farther south, and she had few skills to sell.
    Gerard was already dressed when he came into the kitchen. He began to make Cream of Wheat. “You usually get our mail today, don't you?” he said as he stirred the hot cereal.
    "Yeah. I always go later, though, when it's not as crowded. Maybe you can get it later this week. There probably isn't anything anyway, except for bills."
    Gerard served the cereal and sat down. “Maybe Raf's mail is still there. Or maybe he left a forwarding address."
    Sarah looked up. “I was hoping we were going to forget about Raf."
    "Do you want to?"
    "I guess not,” she said, and thought, Yes, I want to forget him. She recalled the dark, damp basement under Raf's abandoned house, and shivered. She gazed at Gerard, feeling cowardly and disloyal.
    "We can't forget about him, Sarah. Or, rather, I can't forget about him because I've forgotten other things.” He smiled weakly. “Look, it won't be much trouble. We'll ask at the post office, maybe we can find out something."
    "I can just see it. He probably gave them Mars as a forwarding address."
    "Listen.” He leaned forward and put down his spoon. “We can pick up our mail before going to work. We can ask. If he picked his up, it means he's still around. If he left an address, I can try to get it, and if not, maybe they'll give us his mail."
    "Oh, Gerry, they'll never just hand it over."
    "We can try, can't we?” He picked up the dishes and took them to the sink.
    "Maybe he works for the government,”