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 doppelg?nger 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!