I tried to hide my crushing disappointment. My body was stiff as I hugged her back. She went to kiss me, and instinctively I turned my face, making her kiss my cheek instead of my lips. I saw confusion in her eyes, but she let it go, took my hand tightly, and pulled me into our apartment.

It looked nothing like I remembered. None of the furniture that Karly and I had bought was here. No more sleek grays and blues on the walls, no more gliders where we’d drink wine and coffee, no more plush rug by the fireplace to make love. The style now reflected Tai’s taste, with enough ferns and hanging planters to turn the apartment into a rain forest. A handwoven mat with a geometric pattern lay in front of the hearth, looking hard and uninviting. The chairs were made of wood and wicker. If I hated anything when it came to furniture, it was wicker.

This was not my home. And yet it was. Photographs crowded the mantel, all of them showing me and Tai in places I couldn’t imagine being. The two of us side by side in front of Cinderella’s castle in the Magic Kingdom. The two of us wearing leis near the firepit of a Hawaiian luau. Me in a tux, her in a wedding dress. Husband and wife. Instinctively, I shook my head at the idea of any of this happening. Tai was smart and sweet, and she was a friend, and I wanted her to be happy. But I couldn’t imagine a world where I’d fallen in love with her and married her.

Except I was in that world right now.

When I didn’t say anything, Tai put both hands on my face. “Dylan, are you okay? Do you have any idea how terrified I’ve been? You’ve been gone almost two days.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Not a call, not a text, nothing. You didn’t show up at work. Your phone was off. I’ve been trying to reach you. I had visions of you being dead somewhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you need a doctor? You look terrible.”

“No, I’ll be all right.”

“Dylan, what happened to you? Where have you been?”

I didn’t have time to formulate a lie. A knock on the door interrupted us. Tai kissed me quickly, on the lips this time, and then she hurried to the outside door. I heard voices, and when Tai returned, she was with a man I recognized immediately. I couldn’t let on that I knew who he was, because in this world, we were strangers.

The tall skeletal man was Detective Harvey Bushing. He didn’t seem to have changed. When he looked at me with those sunken eyes, I thought he could see right through me and guess everything that I was hiding. I felt like running, the way I had when we first met, when he accused me of multiple murders. I had to remind myself: He doesn’t know about any of that. For him, in this place, none of that had actually happened.

Except for a murder a hundred yards away in River Park.

I was no fool. I’d been missing for two days, and a woman named Betsy Kern had been killed near my house two nights ago. Detective Bushing wasn’t going to consider that a coincidence.

He introduced himself, and we shook hands again, his grip as dry and limp as it had been the first time.

“It’s good to see you home safe and sound, Mr. Moran,” Bushing told me. “I was just coming over to see if your wife had heard from you, and here you are.”

“Good timing, Detective. Yes, here I am.”

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that your wife was pretty panicked.”

“Of course she was.”

He smiled at both of us, showing yellowed teeth that could have used a good orthodontist when he was a kid. “How about we all sit down? I’m very curious to know where you’ve been.”

“I’m actually pretty tired, Detective, and I could use a shower. Could we do this tomorrow?”

“This won’t take long, Mr. Moran. Please.” He said it in a way that didn’t give me any room to say no.

The detective took a seat on one of the wicker chairs. I sat uncomfortably on a sofa near the window, and Tai sat beside me and put her hand over mine. As she caressed me, her fingers rolled over Roscoe’s ring on my hand, and I saw her glance at it with surprise.

“Since when do you wear that?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I found it in a drawer. It’s from high school.”

An unsettled look passed across Tai’s face. She was the kind of woman who noticed things like jewelry and clothes; her eye for detail was what made her a good events manager. I’m sure she was thinking that she would have spotted that ring on my finger long before now.

“So Mr. Moran,” Detective Bushing said. “Fill us in. Where have you been for the past couple of days?”

I needed to sound convincing as I made up a story, so I used a story that was at least partly true.

“To be honest, Detective, I don’t know. I woke up a few hours ago on Navy Pier, and I have no idea how I got there. I was shocked to discover that I’d been gone for so long. I have no recollection of what happened in between.”

“Navy Pier?” Bushing asked. “Really?”

“Yes. I was sleeping on a bench. Actually, a police officer woke me up. I’m sure he made a note of it.”

“Navy Pier is more than ten miles from here. How did you get there? Did you walk? Take a bus? Did someone take you there?”

“As I said, I don’t remember.”

“Well, what’s your last memory?” Bushing asked.

I hesitated, because nothing that had actually happened in this world meant anything to me. “Everything is pretty blurry. I remember I had dinner with my grandfather on Monday night. Chinese food.”

“But nothing after that?”

“I don’t think so.”

Bushing focused on Tai. “When did you say your husband left home?”

“Tuesday evening around nine. He was going to take a walk in the park.”

He turned to me again. “You don’t remember that, Mr. Moran?”

“No.”

“Do you remember anything at all from that evening?”

“Not a thing.”

“Have you ever had a blackout like this before?”

“Never.”

“Were you drinking that night?”

Tai interrupted. “My husband rarely drinks. The occasional beer or glass of wine, and that’s all. On Tuesday, I made Filipino food for dinner, and we had salabat with it. That’s ginger tea.”

I was surprised to learn that, in this world, Dylan Moran had no problems with alcohol. He’d also shut down his emotions and his temper. And he’d married Tai. Different man. Different choices.

“Do you usually follow a particular route when you walk?” Bushing asked.

“No, not really.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“I already told you, I don’t remember. If Tai says I left the house to go for a walk, that’s what I did. But after that, I have no memory until I found myself on that bench near the lake.”

Detective Bushing dug into the inside pocket of his ill-fitting sport coat and extracted a piece of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to me, and I saw a photograph that matched the picture I’d seen on the front page of the Tribune. It was the woman who’d been killed in River Park.

“Do you recognize this woman?” he asked me.

I shook my head. “No.”

“She doesn’t look familiar at all?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen her around the neighborhood?”

“I told you, no. Who is she?”

Tai murmured near my ear. “She was murdered.”

I pasted surprise on my face. “Murdered? That’s terrible.”

“In fact, she was stabbed to death in River Park on Tuesday night, Mr. Moran,” Detective Bushing went on. “Her roommate said she went out for a run, right around the same time that you took a walk. Same time, same night, same park. Her body was found the next morning. You can understand why your disappearance was of considerable concern to us, Mr. Moran. Two people in the park, one dead, one missing. I can’t help but wonder if whatever happened to you was somehow connected to the murder.”

“I wish I could help you, Detective. I didn’t know this woman, and I don’t remember anything about Tuesday night.”

The detective’s eyes shifted to my left hand. He took note of the purplish bruises. “What happened to your hand, Mr. Moran?”

I wiggled my fingers, because they still hurt. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t remember how you injured yourself?”

“No.”

“It looks like you hit someone.”

Next to me, Tai laughed. “Dylan? Hit someone? That’s ridiculous.”

“I wish I could tell you what happened, Detective, but I can’t.” Then I added impatiently, “Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all I have for now. If you do remember anything, please call me right away. Oh, and I wonder if you’d mind if I bagged the clothes you’re wearing and took them with me for analysis.”

“My clothes? Why?”

“Well, I’d like to run forensic tests that might fill in some of the blanks in your memory. For all we know, you may have seen the murder taking place and tried to intercede. If you were involved in some kind of fight in the park, perhaps the person you struggled with left behind traces of DNA on your clothes. Whoever that person is could be a killer.”

His hawk eyes stared at me, and I knew what he was thinking. Or maybe Betsy Kern left her DNA on your clothes. I was pretty sure that he didn’t believe my story of having no memory of the past two days. He thought I was lying, and he wanted me to know it.