Infinite

by Brian Freeman

  “Tai’s not the problem,” I replied. “It’s me. Things are happening to me that are very difficult to explain. It has nothing to do with her, but to be honest, I have to know. Did it surprise you when she and I got married?”

  Roscoe never pulled punches. “You mean because you didn’t love her?”

  “You knew?”

  “Of course I knew. If you’ll recall, I told you exactly that. I told you that she loved you fully and passionately, and she deserved a man who loved her just as much. Which you didn’t. You said you’d grow to love her with time, and I told you that was about the stupidest thing I ever heard you say. On the other hand, let’s not sugarcoat the truth. You’ve never been in love with anyone, Dylan. You don’t feel anything. You’re shut up inside a world that must be awfully dark and lonely sometimes. I’ve tried to pull you out, and so has Tai, but ultimately, you have to make that choice for yourself.”

  I couldn’t stay quiet. If I didn’t say something, if I didn’t let out the secret of what was going on, I’d drown.

  “Actually, you’re wrong. That’s not who I am.”

  “Come on, Dylan. Let’s not kid ourselves. We’ve talked about this many times. You’re like a radio whose plug got kicked out of the wall when you were a boy. I’m not blaming you for that, or saying you don’t have a right to be who you are, but you can’t pretend with me.”

  “I’m not pretending, Roscoe. I’m saying I’m a different man than who you think I am. If anything, what scares me is how deeply I do feel things. I lose control too easily.”

  “You? Out of control? I can’t remember a day in your life when I’ve seen you like that. And I know you pretty well.”

  “That’s the thing. You don’t know me at all.”

  “Dylan, what are you talking about?”

  “You were right about what you said before. I’ve changed. I’m not Dylan. I mean, I am, but I’m not. Not the Dylan you know.”

  Roscoe shook his head. “What are you saying?”

  I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He was real; he was flesh and blood. “For starters, you’re supposed to be dead.”

  It took me an hour to tell him the story. When I was done, Roscoe sat motionless in the pew, with nothing but his breathing to tell me he was alive. His face had no expression, and he hadn’t said a word the entire time. People confided their worst sins to him every day, so he’d developed a stony poker face to hide his own feelings. If he thought I’d gone crazy, he was kind enough not to tell me.

  “Parallel worlds,” he murmured finally.

  “That’s it.”

  “And you come from a different one.”

  “Yes, I do.” I added after a moment, “I know this seems impossible. I’m asking a lot for you to believe it.”

  Roscoe gave me a little smile, and I saw his eyes drift to the altar. “Dylan, my faith tells me that Jesus Christ rose from the dead. Many people consider that impossible, but the doubts of others don’t shake what I know in my heart.”

  “Does that mean you think I’m telling the truth?” I asked.

  “I’m saying it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s whether you believe it yourself. Obviously, you’re convinced something extraordinary is happening to you.”

  “It is. I know how it sounds, but it’s real.”

  “Well, I was the one who said you seem like a different man,” he told me. “There’s no doubt of that. Something has caused a profound change in you, whatever that may be.”

  I still felt the need to prove what I was saying. I reached for my right hand and slipped the silver class ring off my finger. “This is your ring, Roscoe. See the engraving? I’ve worn it ever since the accident. I’m telling you the truth about my world. I haven’t seen you in four years.”

  Roscoe put the ring on the tip of his thumb and studied it. “Yes, you’re right. I’ve never seen you wearing this.”

  “But?”

  “But your Many Worlds must come with a sense of humor. In this world, I lost my ring to you in a bet the summer after our high school graduation. You’ve had it ever since. Apparently fate has a way of making even the smallest parts of our lives converge.”

  I shook my head as he gave me back the ring. “Roscoe, I’m not making this up. You died.”

  “I heard what you said. A car accident after I bailed you out of a police station. Dylan Moran in a bar fight—now that’s truly a miracle. You’re far too stoic and practical for anything like that. I don’t recommend violence, but actually, it would be nice to think you’re capable of losing control once in a while.”

  “That night changed my life,” I told him.

  “So I gather.”

  “I lost you, but I met my wife because of it.”

  Roscoe steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “I rather like the idea of me dying to help you find the love of your life. You must know that I wouldn’t have hesitated over that kind of sacrifice.”

  “I do know that.” Then I looked around at the church, which was like seeing Roscoe back home where he belonged. “But in this world, there was no accident. No bar fight. No car wrapped around the tree. You never died, and I never met Karly.”

  He gave me a strange look that I couldn’t interpret. “I doubt it would have made a difference if you had. You don’t believe in the idea of love at first sight.”

  “That’s your Dylan,” I insisted. “Not me. I fell for Karly as soon as I saw her.”

  “My Dylan,” Roscoe murmured.

  I could tell that he still had his doubts. Around us, night was setting in, which made the dangling lanterns overhead glow brighter. The stained glass deepened into shadows on the walls. We were alone, but even so, I felt a strange shift in the environment around me. The air changed, as if a door had opened and closed somewhere.

  “I know you’re humoring me,” I told him.

  Roscoe sat where he was, his lips pursed in thought. “Well, it’s a lot to take in, I won’t deny that. For the time being, let’s assume this is really happening to you. That you’re a different Dylan Moran, someone I haven’t met before. If that’s true, where is the Dylan that I grew up with? The one who belongs in this world?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he somehow disappear when you arrived?”

  “I have no idea. The other Dylan I told you about—the serial killer—he shared my world, so I can’t understand where your Dylan is. He should be here, too, but he’s been missing for two days.”

  “In which case, I’m worried about him.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “I love him. He’s my closest friend. I’m sure your Roscoe felt the same way about you.”

  “He did.”

  Roscoe stood up from the pew and gave me one of his penetrating stares that meant he was going to say something that I didn’t want to hear. “Dylan, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “If you are who you claim you are, then why are you here?”

  “I needed to see you again. To talk to you. I knew if anyone would believe me, you would.”

  “Yes, I get that. And I’m glad you came. What I want to know is, why are you here in this world and not your own?”

  “I told you. I need to stop this other Dylan. He’s a killer.”

  “That’s a job for the police. In any world. It’s not your job.”

  “The police don’t know what’s going on. They have no clue. Roscoe, this other Dylan has already killed again. The woman in the park, Betsy Kern. Another woman who looks just like Karly—”

  I stopped.

  Restlessly, I got up from the bench and paced back and forth in the aisle under the long sweep of the arched ceiling. My sharp footsteps sounded like the crack of bullets. I understood what was happening now, and my terror increased a thousandfold. My doppelgänger was here. He knew I was following him. By killing Betsy Kern, he was sending me a message.

  “Oh, my God. He’s going to kill her.”

  “
Who?”

  “Karly. That’s what this is about. That’s his plan. I need to stop him before he finds her. I’m the only one who can save her.”

  Roscoe shook his head sadly. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Save her?”

  “Of course it is. Don’t you see? I’m the only one who even knows she’s at risk.”

  “I know that’s what you’re telling yourself. But it also gives you a convenient excuse to meet her again, doesn’t it? You can meet her and make her fall in love with you. You can have the life you lost. That’s what you really want.”

  “That’s not what this is about.”

  “Isn’t it? Dylan, whether or not your story is true really doesn’t matter. You can’t live two lives at the same time. No good will come of it. You’ve already hurt people. The longer you stay on this path, the worse it will get. If any of this is real, then the best thing you can do is say the word infinite right now and go back home. Let us worry about our own world.”

  I put my hands on Roscoe’s shoulders. “I can’t do that. I failed Karly in my other life. I let her die. I should have been the one who died, not her. I’m not going to fail her again. This time, I’m going to keep her safe.”

  “That was your responsibility in your own world,” he replied firmly. “Not here. In this world, you have no connection to her at all. Wherever Karly is, she has her own life, and you don’t belong in it.”

  Roscoe knew me well, but I knew him, too. The truth always showed in his face.

  “My God. You know her, don’t you? You know Karly. You know where she is.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, you know something about her. What is it?”

  “This is a mistake. You should let it go.”

  “Roscoe, please. You have to tell me.”

  My friend sat down in the pew again. He exhaled with a heavy sigh. “I can see you’re not going to give up. One thing is consistent about every Dylan Moran. They disregard all of my good advice.”

  I waited impatiently, but Roscoe could never be rushed.

  “Almost ten years ago, I set you up on a blind date,” he went on. “Do you remember that?”

  I thought back. “Yes. You had a married friend who was a religion major at Northwestern. I met her and her husband at Thanksgiving dinner at your mother’s house. Afterward, she told you that she had a girlfriend who’d be perfect for me.”

  “Did you meet up with her girlfriend?”

  “No. I said thanks, but no thanks. I had no interest in blind dates. Why?”

  “Because in this world, you did go,” Roscoe told me. “The two of you went out to some dance club, and she didn’t like you. There was no chemistry. That was it. The two of you never went out again. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but so far, there don’t seem to be a lot of coincidences in your worlds, Dylan. The thing is, I remember the woman’s name, even after all this time. It was Karly.”

  CHAPTER 18

  I drove to the north side of the city, where Karly’s parents had their house. When I got to their upscale neighborhood in Wilmette, it was obvious that they’d never lived there. There was no dollhouse in the back of the estate where Karly had nursed me back to health after the accident. The mansion itself was unchanged, but it was no longer a testament to the real estate empire built by Susannah Chance. The woman who answered the door was a stranger who had never heard of the Chance family and who had owned the house since the 1980s.

  When I did research on my phone, I learned that Chance Properties didn’t exist. In fact, I couldn’t find any indication that it ever had. Whatever Karly’s mother had done with her life, she wasn’t in the local real estate market. I searched for Karly herself, but I got listings for different women all over the country, and nothing gave me a clue about how to find the Karly I wanted. I didn’t know where she was living or working or whether she was still in Chicago at all. In fact, I didn’t even know whether Karly Chance actually existed in this world. The blind date I’d had ten years ago might have been with a different person who just happened to have the same first name.

  But I didn’t think so. I thought Roscoe was right. Fate had a way of making our lives converge across different worlds.

  Finally, I called Roscoe’s friend Sarah, the Northwestern alum who’d originally suggested I meet Karly. She was now a homeschool mom living in Elgin. As I dialed her number, I tried to think of a way to explain my interest in finding a woman with whom I’d had a single disastrous date nearly a decade earlier. The truth was clearly not an option.

  When Sarah answered the phone, we exchanged pleasantries, which didn’t take long. Roscoe was the only thing we had in common, so we talked about him and his parish work for a minute or two, and when that well ran dry, I explained the reason for my call. I hoped she’d believe the lie.

  “This is a total fluke, Sarah. You may not be able to help me, but you’re my only lead. I’m the events manager at the LaSalle Plaza Hotel, and my assistant took a call today from a woman named Karly Chance who was interested in booking our ballroom for an event next spring. Unfortunately, my assistant must have gotten the number wrong, because my calls won’t go through. The thing is, I remembered that you set me up on a blind date with a woman named Karly Chance a long time ago. I have no idea whether it’s the same person, but I figured it was worth a try. If you were still in touch with her, I thought you might know how I could reach her.”

  Sarah had no problem believing my story, but she didn’t have much information to offer. “I’m sorry, Dylan. Karly and I lost touch after college. I haven’t talked to her in years. I’m afraid I have no idea how to get hold of her.”

  “Sure. I understand. Am I right about the name of your friend, though? It was Karly Chance?”

  “Yes, that was her.”

  “Do you know if she stayed in Chicago after school?”

  “Well, if I remember correctly, she was planning to continue at Northwestern and do graduate work in English. I don’t know if she did, but you could probably check with the university. They might have a way to track her down.”

  “I appreciate it, Sarah. I’ll let you go. Roscoe says hi.”

  I hung up the phone. I did another online search—this time adding the word Northwestern to the name Karly Chance—and not only did I find a record for her, I discovered that she was a junior member of the Northwestern faculty. The idea of Karly teaching English didn’t seem far fetched to me. Her father had been a poet and high school teacher, so it seemed as if she’d followed in his footsteps in this world rather than in the footsteps of her mother.

  The online biography didn’t include a photograph, but the website listed her office location on the third floor of University Hall. That was only about five minutes away from where I was.

  I could feel my heart racing as I drove to the campus. It was late, but being so close, I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to get an answer. My instincts all told me it was her. My Karly. My wife. She was leading a different life here, and for all I knew, she was married to someone else. The one time we’d met in this world had gone poorly. But none of that mattered. I needed to see her again.

  At night, I had no trouble parking. I walked along Chicago Avenue toward Sheridan, and I shivered a little in my thin red shirt, because the lake breeze had cooled the air. The serene stone buildings of the university surrounded me. I crossed under the black arch that led into the heart of the campus and saw the clock tower of University Hall down the path in front of me. The closer I got, the harder it was to breathe. Just by seeing her, even for a moment, I felt as if I could get a little bit of my life back.

  The doors of the white, rough-stone building were unlocked. Inside, I heard muffled voices. From somewhere nearby came the acrid smell of an illicit cigarette. The building stairs were ahead of me, and I climbed to the third floor. In the corridor, I passed a long lineup of offices, a few with doors cracked open. I could see a couple of faculty members tapping at their keyboards. Otherwise, the hallway was empty a
nd museum quiet.

  I found the room number listed on her online bio. The door was closed and locked. There was no window to see inside. But there was her name. Karly Chance. She’d posted no photograph on the door, but it was her. I saw a handwritten listing of her office hours pinned to a bulletin board, and the handwriting was unmistakably Karly’s. I’d found her. She came and went day by day down this same hall. She worked on the other side of this door. I thought about breaking in, just so I could smell the fragrance inside, because I knew it would smell like her.

  “May I help you?”

  I turned around and saw a slight Indian man studying me suspiciously from behind a pair of red glasses. He was one of the faculty members I’d seen working in his office.

  My mind was getting accustomed to lying. “Oh, I was supposed to meet Karly here, but we must have gotten our signals crossed. I tried texting her, but my messages aren’t going through.”

  “Are you a student?” the man asked, even though I obviously wasn’t.

  “No, no, I’m her cousin. I’m in town from Seattle on business, and I was supposed to take her out for a late dinner. Do you know Karly?”

  “Of course.”

  I took a chance that the world had only changed so much.

  “I’ve been looking forward to seeing her,” I went on, inventing a new story. “I don’t get out this way very often. Her dad is my favorite uncle. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Tom’s a teacher, Karly’s a teacher. I used to really like Tom’s poetry, too. I loved listening to him read his poems when they’d come out to Washington for Christmas dinner.”

  The faculty member visibly relaxed. He was obviously protective of his colleague, but I’d passed the test by talking about her family. “Yes, Tom is an accomplished poet. As is Karly, of course.”

  “Yes, she’s incredibly talented.”

  “Great trauma can bring that out in a person,” he added.

  I stuttered with surprise. “Yes.”