Keys

Katie was updating patient records when she heard the crash. A startled “Crap!” left her lips as she sprinted from the desk and down the hall to investigate the cause.

She could hear Mr. Jackson in room two-twenty-four rustling around and muttering to himself as she got closer. She had been taking care of him for over five years now. His family didn’t visit as often as they used to. Early-onset Alzheimer’s was the diagnosis when he joined their family of forgotten as the staff referred to them. Of course, after five years of residency it wasn’t quite so early-onset now.

“Mr. Jackson,” Katie crooned as she walked into the room seeing the broken lamp on the floor, “What happened here?”

“Key’s. I need my keys. Where are my keys?” he muttered as he shuffled from table to desk, stepping over the broken lamp, his clumsy step crushing the base of the bulb.

“Key’s,” he repeated. “Key’s. Have to go out. Have to get eggs. Need eggs. I told them I’d get eggs. They need to bring the car around. I need eggs. Damned kids took my keys. Probably took the car too. Took the eggs. Hope they left the bread. What good is bread with no eggs? Need the keys.”

“Mr. Jackson,” Katie said softly, trying to steer him towards the chair. “Come over here.”

He looked at Katie as if looking at a stranger then she saw a sudden glint of something in his faded grey eyes that she thought might be akin to recognition.

“Who are you?” he said looking closer at her. “Do you have my keys? You took my key’s didn’t you? Are you the cleaning lady? Did you take my keys? Damned help. Call the police. They stole the keys.”