People who work beside him forget him. Not later. Inside the hour. A conversation ends, and the man who was in it is a vendor, a gray shirt, a problem the room has already filed.
Calder keeps the washers running in a hospital laundry. When a drain diaphragm splits, he writes the fault, tags the machine, and leaves the sentence where the next hand can use it. The sentence stays. He does not. Badge numbers hold. Faces do not. A wrong formula card stays up, because taking it down would be a kind of repair, and the tag says the repair can wait.
Nessira Cole, in records, learns the only way to keep him is to read him back on a clock. Miss the hour and the man thins into the work he did.
This is not a story about spirits. It is a filing error that happens inside people. What remains of him is paper. The paper is what he is due.