Dark Matter(71)

“I did something else stupid.”

“What?”

“I used some of our money to buy a phone.”

“Why did you need a phone?”

“So I could call Daniela and pretend to be her Jason.”

I brace for Amanda to lose it again, but instead she steps toward me and cradles my neck and kisses the top of my head.

“Stand,” she says.

“Why?”

“Just do what you’re told.”

I rise.

She unzips my jacket and helps slide my arms out of the sleeves. Then she pushes me back onto the bed and kneels.

Unlaces my boots.

Pries them off my feet and tosses them into the corner.

I say, “For the first time, I think I understand how the Jason you knew might have done what he did to me. I’m having some f*cked-up thoughts.”

“Our minds aren’t built to handle this. Seeing all these different versions of your wife—I can’t even imagine.”

“He must have followed me for weeks. To work. On date nights with Daniela. He probably sat on that same bench and watched us moving through our house at night, imagining me out of the picture. Do you know what I almost did tonight?”

“What?” She looks scared to hear.

“I figure they probably keep their spare key in the same place we keep it. I left the movie early. I was going to find the key and let myself inside the house. I wanted to hide in a closet and watch their life. Watch them sleep. It’s sick, I know. And I know your Jason was probably in my house multiple times before the night he finally worked up the nerve to steal my life.”

“But you didn’t do it.”

“No.”

“Because you’re a decent man.”

“I don’t feel very decent right now.”

I fall back onto the mattress and stare up at the ceiling of this hotel room that, in all its inconsequential permutations, has become our home away from the box.

Amanda crawls onto the bed beside me.

“This isn’t working, Jason.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re just spinning our wheels.”

“I don’t agree. Look where we started. Remember that first world we stepped into, with the buildings crashing down all around us?”

“I’ve lost count of how many Chicagos we’ve been to.”

“We’re getting closer to my—”

“We’re not getting closer, Jason. The world you’re looking for is a grain of sand on an infinite beach.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’ve seen your wife murdered. Die of a horrible disease. You’ve seen her not recognize you. Married to other men. Married to multiple versions of you. How much more of this can you take before you suffer a psychotic break? It’s not that far off from your current mental state.”

“It’s not about what I can or can’t take. It’s about finding my Daniela.”

“Really? That’s what you were doing sitting on a bench all day? Looking for your wife? Look at me. We have sixteen ampoules left. We’re running out of chances.”

My head is pounding.

Spinning.

“Jason.” I feel her hands on my face now. “You know what the definition of insanity is?”

“What?”

“Doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results.”

“Next time—”

“What? Next time we’ll find your home? How? You going to fill another notebook tonight? Would it make a difference if you did?” She lays her hand on my chest. “Your heart is going crazy. You have to calm down.”

Rolling over, she turns off the lamp on the table between the beds.

Lies down beside me, but there’s nothing sexual about her touch.

My head feels better with the lights off.

The only illumination in the room is the blue neon light from the sign outside the window, and it’s late enough that the passing cars on the street below are few and far between.

Sleep is riding in. Mercifully.

I shut my eyes, thinking of the five notebooks stacked on my bedside table. Almost every page is filled with my increasingly manic scrawl. I keep thinking if I write enough, if I’m specific enough, that I’ll capture a full-enough picture of my world to finally take me home.

But it’s not happening.

Amanda isn’t wrong.

I’m looking for a grain of sand on an infinite beach.





In the morning, Amanda is no longer beside me. I lie on my side, watching the sunlight push through the blinds, listening to the noise of traffic humming through the walls. The clock is behind me on the bedside table. I can’t see the time, but it feels late. We’ve slept in.

I sit up, throw back the covers, look over at Amanda’s bed.

It’s empty.

“Amanda?”

I start quickly toward the bathroom to see if she’s in there, but what I see on top of the dresser makes me stop.

Some cash.

A few coins.

Eight ampoules.

And a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook, covered in Amanda’s handwriting.

Jason. After last night, it was clear to me that you’ve made a decision to go down a path I can’t follow. I struggled with this all night. As your friend, as a therapist, I want to help you. I want to fix you. But I can’t. And I can’t keep watching you fall down. Especially if I’m part of the reason you keep falling down. To what extent is our collective subconscious driving our connections to these worlds? It’s not that I don’t want you to get back to your wife. I want nothing more. But we’ve been together now for weeks. It’s hard not to get attached, especially under these circumstances, when you’re all I have.