The people parted for me like some kind of sordid celebrity. Look, there goes OJ. One man tried to be a hero by stopping me, but I planted my foot and delivered a hook across his jaw that sent him reeling. Don’t get into a bar fight with Dylan Moran; he’s been there before. Other men closed in on me, but as they did, I bolted for the steps and escaped into the cool night. Not far away, police sirens blared, heading for the club from multiple directions.

I ran. So did other club hoppers dispersing from the alley. I sprinted below the L tracks, which loomed over my head like a metal centipede. For four blocks, I ran full out, and then I stopped, slumping against a wall to catch my breath. My head snapped up as I spotted the lights of a squad car speeding toward me, and I quickly spun around the corner into an empty alley. When the police car passed, I went back to the street. I knew I needed to get out of the neighborhood before the cops cordoned off the area, and my car was parked several blocks away. But I found it hard to move. I squatted down, my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands as I endured a new wave of grief.

When I finally looked up, I saw him.

Diagonally across the street, near the stairs that led to the Brown Line L station, Dylan Moran stared back at me. He was in his leather jacket, a cigarette dripping from his mouth. He leaned against one of the yellow concrete impact poles off the curb. His grin was gone; he was emotionless again. Her blood was on him, the way it was on me. Seeing him, I felt a rage like nothing in my life. I erupted from where I was and charged toward him. He watched me come, not even moving at first. Then he flicked his cigarette to the street and walked unhurriedly up the stairs to the train station.

It took me no time to cross the street. Like an animal, I bolted up the stairs after him, but when I got to the top, the station was already empty. No one was there. I used my fare card to spin through the turnstile, and when I got to the platform, I ran along the tracks in both directions. There were no hiding places, no way for him to escape.

Even so, Dylan was gone. I could almost hear the echo in my head.

Infinite.

He was done with this world, and he’d left me behind to take the fall. It was another perfect crime.

After I made it back to my car, I drove aimlessly through the downtown streets until I was nowhere near the club. Then I pulled to the curb. There was only one thing I could think to do. I called Roscoe. In every world, when I needed him, he was there to rescue me.

We agreed to meet near the sandy shoreline of North Avenue Beach. It didn’t take me long to get there, and I sat in the car with dried tears on my face and my clothes soaked in blood. The midnight beach in front of me was empty. A stiff cold breeze blew into the car and sent spray over the windshield. I lowered the window, listening to the rhythmic roar of the surf, which went in and out like my wife’s last breaths.

This was my catastrophic reward for trying to be a hero.

The Dylan who owned this life was dead. So was Tai. So was a woman named Betsy Kern.

So was Karly.

I’d destroyed all of them, and the man I’d chased here had already moved on to kill again.

As I sat there, the waves lulled me with a kind of hypnosis. I wasn’t even aware of time passing, but when I looked up, I saw the glow of headlights in my mirror. A car parked beside me, and Roscoe got out. He wore a light-blue windbreaker and casual clothes rather than his priest’s collar. Standing next to the car, he shivered a little and watched the lake, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He was probably thinking about all the times we’d biked here as kids and hung out on summer afternoons by the water.

Roscoe climbed into the passenger seat next to me. With a single glance, he took note of my condition.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“So I take it that isn’t your blood.”

“It’s Karly’s.”

He adjusted his black glasses and spoke softly. “I’m sorry, Dylan.”

“Thanks.”

“I brought the fresh clothes you wanted,” he added.

I just nodded.

“I heard on the radio about a murder at the Spybar. They said a suspect was on the loose. Was that you?”

“Yes, it was me, but it wasn’t me. Not that it matters. The killer had my face, so what will anyone believe? But I didn’t do this, Roscoe. I know it’s hard for you to accept anything I’ve told you, but I hope you’ll have faith in me. I did not do this.”

This would have been the time for Roscoe to point out that he’d warned me about the dangers of being in this world, but he was gracious. His deep voice soothed me, the way it always did. “You’re my best friend, Dylan. I’ve said you could always call me for help, and I mean that. As for having faith in you, that goes without saying.”

“That means a lot.”

“So what happens now? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. He won. I lost. Now he’s gone, and here I am.” I pushed open the car door, because I needed to breathe in the fresh air. “Do you want to take a walk on the beach? Like in the old days? We may never have another opportunity to do that together.”

“If you like.”

We crossed to the sand and then to the rolling edge of the surf. It was a clear night under moon and stars, and the waves made white ribbons as they broke toward shore. We wandered north, not talking. Around us, I could see a few beach dwellers huddled under blankets, hoping to avoid the park security. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw the city skyline awash in light. Where we’d walked, the lake was already wiping our footsteps clean.

I stopped, confronting more memories.

“When we were about sixteen, we came out here on a summer afternoon,” I said. “We saw a little kid flailing in the water. His mother was distracted because her youngest was crying. The two of us plunged in and saved him. Did that happen here, too?”

“Yes, it did.”

“His mom bought both of us new bikes.”

“I remember.”

“I always felt good about what we did. The strange thing is, now I know there’s also a world out there where we didn’t save him. We failed, and he died.”

Roscoe put a hand on my shoulder. “I prefer to look at how hard God worked to put us on that beach at the exact moment when the boy was drowning. We almost missed the bus going down here—do you remember that? We were complaining because we were going to have to wait another twenty minutes for the next one. But as it turned out, the bus we wanted was running late. So we made it. If that hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t have been here to save that child.”

“Yes, but there’s also a world where we missed the bus,” I protested. “So what’s the point? There’s no meaning to any of it. There’s no plan.”

“Not at all. It simply means in a different world, there’s a different plan.”

A sad smile creased my face. “I’ve always envied the strength of your beliefs, Roscoe. I wish I shared them. If there’s been one good thing about being here, it’s seeing you again. I’m going to miss you.”

“Are you saying you have to go?”

“You were right all along. I don’t belong here.”

“Will you follow this other Dylan again? And stop him this time?”

“No, it’s time for me to go back to where I came from and face what I left behind. That’s what you said I should do, isn’t it? Say the word and go home. I was a fool to think I could change the world.”

Roscoe squatted in the sand and let it run through his fingers. Then he spoke to me softly. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you’re ready to go home, Dylan. That’s not who you are. If you believe in what you’re doing, the worst thing you can do is give up. The fact that you failed doesn’t mean that you should quit. The friend I’ve known my whole life would never give up.”

“You really think I should try again? After everything that happened here? What if I make it worse wherever I go next?”

He shrugged and looked up at me. “What if you make it better?”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Roscoe, but even if you’re right, it’s a moot point. The only thing I can do is go back home. I have no way to go anywhere else. I can’t chase him, even if I wanted to.”

“Why not?”

“I have no way back into the portal without Eve Brier.”

He flinched at the sound of the name. “Eve Brier?”

“She’s the therapist who sent me here. The idea of trying to bridge the Many Worlds was her idea. But as far as I can tell, she doesn’t exist in this world. There’s no record of her anywhere.”

Roscoe dipped his hand in the cool water and shook his head. “God really does work hard to make things come together.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know her,” he replied.

“What?”

“Well, I don’t know if she’s your Eve Brier. She’s not a therapist, that’s for sure. But I do know an Eve Brier, and I’m not surprised you wouldn’t find any record of her online. She’s a drug addict. Homeless, has been for years. She comes into the parish sometimes when we’re preparing meals.”

“An addict?”

“Yes, she’s very smart, but she went off the rails a long time ago and never made it back. Actually, I think she was in medical school once upon a time. She got thrown out over theft of prescription drugs. It’s only gotten worse since then. She’s been hospitalized for overdoses multiple times.”