Someone had been here. In my room.
It was like a macabre joke: Who’s been sleeping in my bed?
Slowly, my eyes filled in the details. I saw an empty bottle of Jim Beam on the window ledge, reflecting the lights of the city outside. That was the bottle I’d opened earlier. I’d had three glasses myself. Or was it four? Regardless, the bottle was empty now, and there were two lowball glasses beside it. I went to take a look at the glasses and saw water in the bottom. Melted ice.
Ice? I never put ice in my drink.
I picked up the second glass and saw a red smear on the rim. Lipstick. Two people had been here, a man and a woman.
I examined the room again. This time, I spotted clothes scattered near the bed. Women’s clothes. A beaded, multicolored dress lay pooled in layers like an accordion, as if it had dropped straight down over bare shoulders and hips. Near it was a lacy bra. Lavender bikini panties. Black high heels, kicked off.
The sweetness I’d smelled wafted like a freshly opened flower from the clothes and the bed. I recognized the perfume now. Obsession.
Then the rattle of a doorknob startled me. I wasn’t alone. I glanced at the bathroom door and saw a bright light go off under the crack of the frame. When the door opened, Tai emerged into the darkness of the hotel room. Chicago’s glow through the window lit up her naked body, which had a sheen of dampness from the shower. She had a towel in her hands, drying her long hair, her face obscured. I could see the prominent swell of her collarbone, her narrow hips and bony legs, and everything else, too. Chocolate-brown erect nipples dotted her shallow breasts. The triangular thatch between her legs was black and full.
She dropped the towel and noticed me. Her bright-red lips made a sexy smile, and her dark eyes devoured me.
“Oh, hi. I thought you had to go. I’m glad you stayed.”
I didn’t have time to ask her what was happening. She crossed the space between us, laced her fingers through my hair, and molded her lips against mine. Her nude body pressed against me, soft and sensuous.
“You’re cold,” she murmured. “Did you go out and come back?”
I still couldn’t find any words.
“Let me warm you up,” she said, her hand traveling down my body, slipping inside my pants. As much as my hormones didn’t want her to stop, I separated myself from her and backed away. She gave me a confused look.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this.”
She smiled at me again. “Oh, I bet you can. I could already feel things waking up.”
“Tai, it’s not that.”
“Then, what is it?” She tried to read my face, and something about my expression must have made her feel very naked. She sat down on the bed and wrapped the rumpled sheet around herself. Her smile fell away. “Ah. I get it. You feel guilty. You’re sorry we did it, aren’t you?”
I studied the bed, which looked and smelled of sex. Tai and I had made love here. In some part of my memory, I could feel her beneath me, feel her legs tightly wrapped around my back, feel myself deep inside her. But it wasn’t really my memory. It wasn’t me.
“It’s okay,” Tai went on. “I said no strings, and I meant it. I’m still glad you called. You turned to me when you needed someone, and that’s what I wanted. But I know you’re dealing with a lot of pain right now.”
“Tai, I’m sorry—” I began.
“Don’t apologize. I’ll go. When you told me you needed to leave, to clear your head, I should have guessed.”
I sat on the bed next to her and tried to figure out what to say. What she’d told me, what I saw in this room, was making my head spin.
“Tai, this will sound crazy, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened between us tonight.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
“Please. Humor me. Did I call you?”
“Are you saying you don’t remember?” she asked, with an irritated frown.
“Actually, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Are you kidding? You don’t remember what we just did?”
“I wish I could explain it to you, but I can’t.”
Her expression turned to concern. “Are you okay?”
“I have no idea. I just need to know what happened.”
She hesitated. “All right. Yes, you called me.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know. Sometime after midnight, I guess. I wasn’t asleep yet. I know it was one in the morning when I got here.”
“One o’clock?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head. “Is there any possible way you made a mistake?”
“Dylan, I saw the clock in the lobby. I’m telling you, I got here at one o’clock.”
I checked my watch and then the clock on the nightstand. There was no mistake. Everything matched.
One in the morning. That simply wasn’t possible.
I was meeting Eve Brier at the fountain in the park at exactly one in the morning. At the very same time, I was also having a rendezvous with Tai back at the hotel.
“What did I say when I called you?”
“You said you were lonely, upset. You didn’t want to be alone. You asked if I’d come over. I said sure. I mean, we both knew what you wanted. We both knew what was going to happen. I dressed accordingly.”
“You came to the hotel room?”
“Of course.”
“And I was here.”
“Well, obviously.”
“So did we—?”
“Yes. We had sex. Twice, in fact, if you need the details. You don’t remember that, either? Is this some kind of game to make yourself feel better? Are you trying to pretend it never happened?”
I didn’t answer. “Tai, please, just go on. Then what?”
“We fell asleep. When I woke up, you were already awake. Dressed. You were staring out the window. I asked you to come back to bed, but you said you needed to go. Right away. And you left. So I went into the shower, and when I got out, you were back here again. That’s all, Dylan. It was like ten minutes ago. You’re freaking me out if you really don’t remember any of this.”
“I’m sorry.”
I thought about what Tai had told me, but I had no way to explain it. Nothing made sense.
This was not a delusion.
Not a missing memory or a split personality.
No matter what games my mind was playing with me, I couldn’t be in two places at the same time, and yet I’d been in the hotel room with Tai at the same time that I was in the park with Eve Brier and then in Wilmette with Karly’s mother.
I could only come to an impossible conclusion.
Two.
There were two of us. I wasn’t hallucinating. My doppelgänger was real.
There was a Dylan Moran out there stealing his way into my life. It was as if this other Dylan had decided to follow every hidden impulse in my head and unleash my darker soul. Kill Scotty. Sleep with Tai. He was my id come to life.
This Dylan Moran was not me, but even so, we were connected by some kind of shadowy line. Echoes of his memories, of what he’d done, were in my own brain, like ghost images in a photograph. I suspected that he could sense me, too. He’d felt that I was coming back to the hotel, and that was why he’d made a fast exit.
Tai spoke softly from the bed. “If this was a mistake, Dylan, just say so. You don’t have to pretend.”
“It’s not that. I mean—okay, yes, what happened between us was a mistake. My mistake, not yours. The last thing I would ever want is to see you hurt.”
“I’m a big girl,” she replied. Then she looked down at her lap. “You know, I’ve been in love with you practically since the day we met.”
I felt as if I’d turned a knife into her chest, and I realized again how horribly unfair I’d been to her. How I’d played with her emotions without meaning to do so. “I never meant to lead you on. I should have been
more careful.”
“Hey, you were married. I knew I was playing with fire.”
I stood up from the bed. “I need to go.”
“Okay. Go.”
“I have one more question. Believe me, I know none of this makes any sense.”
“What is it?”
“A few minutes ago, when I told you that I needed to leave, did I say where I was going?”
Tai looked at me as if I were a crazy person, and maybe I was. “Home,” she said. “You said you were going home.”
Home. Back to our apartment in Lincoln Square. Our apartment, where I kept all of my memories of Karly. I’d avoided the apartment for days, but this other Dylan was drawing me back there. Only a few minutes had gone by. It was still not even dawn. If I went quickly, I could corner him before he had a chance to run.
I needed to find out how he could possibly be real.
I headed for the door, but Tai called after me. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“The sex. What was it like for you?”
“Tai, I wish I could tell you, but—”
“You don’t remember. Right. Sure.” She sounded cynical and angry, and I didn’t blame her.
“Tell me what it was like for you,” I said, because I knew she wanted me to ask.
Her face turned dark. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
“What do you mean?”
She tugged the sheet tighter around her shoulders, covering any hint of bare skin. “You weren’t tender with me like I thought you’d be. You were so raw, so . . . I don’t know . . . violent. Honestly, there were moments when it didn’t even feel like it was really you.”
CHAPTER 10
He knew I was coming. He could feel me. I was sure of that.
The neighborhood around River Park was dark, with only the occasional streetlight spilling a yellow glow on the ground. The cab let me off at the corner. I waited until it drove away before going anywhere, and I checked to make sure I was alone. I took the sidewalk beside the park, keeping an eye on the trees and empty benches.
If I was looking for him, then he was looking for me, too.
Halfway down the block, I stopped near one of the mature trees, its branches hanging down nearly to my face. From there, I could see my apartment. This was the place where I’d lived since I was thirteen years old. The building was two stories, tan brick, shaped like the rook on a chessboard. Upstairs, where Edgar lived, one large square of chambered windows faced the street. A matching set of windows was below, where Karly and I lived. I saw no lights anywhere, but I stayed where I was, watching for any movement.
It was a humid early morning, with a dank stench wafting from the river a few hundred feet behind me. The birds were starting to awaken and sing. A few traces of white fluff from the cottonwoods still clung to the grass, weeks after it had fallen. I wasn’t far from a children’s playground, and when the wind blew, metal groaned on one of the rusty swing sets. Parked cars lined the curbs on both sides of the street, but I saw no people.
I kept looking behind me, expecting him to stalk me from the rear, coming up on me with silent footsteps. I tried to embrace the madness of this situation, to listen to my senses and see the world through his eyes. I had to believe, had to accept, the reality that there were two of us. I needed to feel what he felt, receive the echoes of his presence as he was obviously receiving mine. I needed to connect with him, which was the same as connecting with myself.
Where are you?
Then I saw it.
A light came and went in our downstairs apartment. It lasted only for a moment, like a flashlight turning on and off, but it was enough to give him away. He was there. He was inside. Soon after, the shadows in the glass seemed to change shape. He’d gone to the window to look out. To look for me.
I backed away, still invisible. When I knew I was safely out of view, I ran to the corner of the street and down the block to the dead-end alley that led behind the buildings. Power lines dangled overhead. The concrete was riddled with cracks and weeds. I made my way slowly between the garages on both sides. A couple squares of light from early risers showed in the bedroom windows. One of my neighbors had a rottweiler that slept outside, and he must have smelled me coming, because he began to bark.
I reached my garage. My back fence. I let myself quietly into the yard, which was nothing but a strip of concrete patio with an old gas grill and a few plastic chairs stacked against the garage wall. Ahead of me, wooden steps climbed to our back door, then to the entrance to Edgar’s apartment above. Two buildings away, the rottweiler kept barking. I took the steps slowly, trying to avoid the squeal of loose boards. At the landing, the rear door led into the kitchen. I expected the door to be locked, but when I turned the handle, it gave way under my hand, and I felt the door opening inward. I slipped into the kitchen and eased the door shut behind me.
The air felt warm and stale, shut in for days with no windows open. The room wasn’t completely dark; a butterfly night-light cast a faint glow near the sink. I had to squeeze my eyes closed against a frontal assault of grief. Karly’s scent perfumed the kitchen. I expected to hear her humming and singing. The kitchen faucet leaked—it always did—and with each slow drip, I felt water pouring over my head, as if I’d dived into the river and was swimming through blackness.
Dylan, come back to me!
I had to force away my wife’s screams.
Where was he hiding? I listened, but wherever he was, he was frozen stiff, a statue, waiting for me to make the first move. Ahead of me was the unlit hallway. On the right was our bedroom, then the postage-stamp dining room that doubled as Karly’s office, and finally the living room, which faced the street, with a fireplace where we would sit with wine on winter nights and kiss as we watched the flames dance.
Stop it!
I couldn’t think about Karly now.
I needed a weapon. Something. Anything. I went to the kitchen counter and grabbed the butcher’s knife from our wooden block, but when I slid it out, I hissed in shock. When I held the knife high in the air, I could see that the blade was bathed in dried blood.
I knew what it was. Scotty’s blood. I was holding his murder weapon in my hand. Leaving my fingerprints. But wouldn’t they be mine anyway?
The grip of the knife was slippery. That was sweat. I started down the hallway, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. In here, I could have made my way blindfolded, because I knew every square inch of the house. As I approached the doorway to the bedroom, I looked inside, seeing the queen-size bed unmade, the way my hotel bed had been. I might leave a bed undone, but Karly never would. I realized that while I’d been staying in the hotel, he’d been staying here.
I kept going. I crossed into the dining room, where the ceramic tile changed to a hardwood floor. It should have been replaced years earlier; it had water stains and warped boards. With each footstep, I announced myself, but it didn’t matter. We both knew the score. We were both here. Strange glistening patches of wetness made the floor slippery. He was tracking water from somewhere. I continued past the dining room into the living room, all the way to the front windows. I looked outside, seeing no one illuminated under the streetlights. He hadn’t escaped. There were no places to hide in the rooms I’d checked, so that told me where he was.
I squeezed the handle of the knife even tighter in my hand. I retraced my steps and went back to the bedroom doorway. This room, so normal and familiar, now terrified me. I had to fight away memories again. Karly and I had made love in that bed hundreds of times, but it had been weeks since our bodies had joined together. First I’d been busy at work, distant, hassled, the way I usually was. And then, after her confession about Scotty, we’d avoided each other for days. I didn’t know the last time she’d been naked in my arms. I hated that I couldn’t remember. I hated that Scotty had been the last one to hold her, not me.
Inside the bedroom, a closed door led to our small closet, and a closed door led to our small b
athroom. He had to be behind one of those doors. I thought about calling out to him, but I simply listened, trying to hear someone else breathing above the wild pounding of my own heart.
I approached the bathroom door slowly, expecting it to burst open as he charged me. I waited outside, listening again, hearing nothing. Finally, with the knife poised, I threw the door open and leaped inside, jabbing the blade forward as I did. He wasn’t there, but the shower curtain was stretched across the length of the tub. The floor was wet. Steam clouded the mirror and made the air in the tiny space close and damp. I pictured him, naked in the shower, dripping as he got out and ran to the front of the house. He could feel me coming.
I went to the tub and tensed as I threw the curtain back.
He wasn’t there. The bathroom was empty.
Which left one more hiding place.
I went back to the bedroom and stood outside the closet door. It was an old, heavy wooden door with a metal knob. The closet itself was small, not much bigger than a couple of phone booths. Karly was always complaining that she had no room for her clothes.
There was no point in pretending anymore.
“I know you’re in there,” I whispered.
This time, unlike in the park, he didn’t answer me. It made me think for a moment that I was wrong. That I was crazy. Then I slowly closed my hand around the doorknob, and with the knife ready in my other hand, I pulled hard.
The door didn’t open.
I yanked again, but as I put pressure on it, someone on the other side responded with an equal pressure in reverse. I couldn’t move the door. It stayed closed. He was every bit as strong as I was. In fact, if I thought about it, he was exactly as strong as I was. We were in equilibrium, with the door fixed like a wall between us. But he was inside, and I was outside. He had nowhere to go, no way to escape. I didn’t understand the point of this game.
And then I did.
Standing outside the closet door, trying frantically to get it open, I heard a voice from inside. It wasn’t my voice. This was a stranger’s calm voice, slightly muffled and staticky. A woman’s voice on a speakerphone.
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