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apology heavily slurred.
    Silently, Sadie got up, slipped on her nightgown, trod back to the bathroom. After snapping on the nightlight, she stood framed in the dimness, her chubby body only a hint through the thin negligee. After a moment she nodded. "Guess I won't be needing my diaphragm, tonight," she said, not even trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. She glanced his way. "You know, Ian, I haven't needed it but once or twice since the layoffs. Three months. I'm still a fairly young woman, only forty-one. And you're not really an old man, but you got to do something about your problem, and the drinking isn't helping either. You know?"
    Ian knew. And he knew she was right. But it was much more than the drinking. He wondered if now was a good time to tell her about Denny and Liam fading away, and what happened on the phone with Dana? That maybe he had something wrong with his eyes and ears…or maybe all of his perception of reality.
    No, he could see Sadie wasn't in the mood for a serious discussion about his problems. She was more concerned about her own needs at the moment. So Ian said nothing, just nodded his head again. Then he stared with disbelief at what was beginning to happen to his wife.
    Sadie seemed to be coming unglued, her image in the doorway blurry, dim, as if she were shrouded in fog. Ian blinked, trying to focus clearly, as the now familiar neon-blue light framed her outline—
    She had flipped the door shut.
    Still completely naked, Ian jumped up and cried out in a panic, "No, no, wait, Sadie."
    Unsteady on his feet, he reeled across the room, his pulse racing, and grabbed the knob. Then he hesitated, afraid of what he would not find in the bathroom.
    "Sadie?" he said, his heart sinking.
    No answer.
    Of course, like the others, she had faded out, too.
    At that moment Ian Sullivan realized the truth. He knew now this was really happening. People close to him were disappearing, right after they said something he didn't want to hear, almost as if he were willing them out of his life.
    They were all gone!
    Minutes ticked by…
    Numbed, defeated, and exhausted, Ian finally let his hand slide weakly from the doorknob, sighed deeply, and shuffled back to the bed and his clothes.
    In a kind of dazed stupor he dressed.
    On automatic pilot he left the house, driving slowly through a thickening mist toward the waterfront.

    ***

    Tug's was still fairly crowded but kind of quiet, subdued, the jukebox not even playing.
    Eerie.
    Ian managed to find an empty stool near the picture window at the left end of the bar. Coming in he hadn't seen Denny or anyone he knew; but then he really didn't care. Maybe it was better if he drank alone tonight, thought things out. After he ordered he glanced at the headline of today's Times Herald lying on the bar top:
    IT'S OFFICIAL: MARE ISLAND TO CLOSE
    Jesus, no wonder everyone is subdued.
    Ian glanced out the window, but could see nothing in the fog. It was gone too, like everything else. The Yard, his job, his wife, his kids, his friend. He drained the double in one belt, the whiskey burning his throat, bringing tears to his eyes. Then he took a long pull of Bud to dull the hurt. But he could think of nothing to cure the pain in his chest.
    It was like he was living in a kind of mirage or dream. Yeah, a dream. Nothing was real. It was all an illusion.
    He twisted left and stared out the window into the night again, searching, hoping to spot something over there, anything to anchor reality. But the thick fog shrouded even the lights of the Yard.
    Ian shrugged and ordered another drink.
    Then a revelation hit him.
    Maybe it wasn't the others who were gone after all. Maybe the problem was really only him.
    He wasn't a flange turner any more. He was nothing. Maybe he didn't even really exist.
    Sure that was it!
    He grinned wryly to himself and glanced up into the mirror behind the bar, knowing what he would see now. With a sense of acceptance Ian Sullivan lifted his shot glass