Infinite(31)

“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” I said.

Eve gave me a tight smile. “In a way.”

“What will it be like?”

“The first time can be overwhelming,” she warned me. “Whatever it is you see with your eyes, what you’re really doing is going to the inner depths of your brain. Like you’re at a kind of Grand Central Station, where the various versions of yourself cross paths. I don’t know what you’ll see, but the sensory overload may well be too much for you. If it is, you know the safe word to get out.”

“Infinite.”

“That’s right. If you say the word, it should break you out of wherever you are and end the session.”

“And take me right back here?” I asked.

“It will take you somewhere. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’ve always assumed that the Dylan I sent out into the void was the same Dylan who came back to me. But now I don’t know if that’s true. For all I know, some other Dylan will end up here on the bench with me in a few seconds. I won’t be aware of it. And nothing else will seem to have changed.”

“I hate to think that I’d be handing my bad choices to someone else,” I said with a smile.

Eve’s face turned severe. “Don’t joke. You act like this situation can’t get worse for you, Dylan. It can. It can get much worse. And remember, wherever you go, another Dylan is already there. It’s his life, not yours.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning you should remember what I said before. You might find yourself tempted to stay. You might want to kill that other version of yourself and take over his world.”

“I’m not a killer,” I insisted again.

“Are you sure?”

I didn’t answer her. I stared at the sun, getting higher over the water. The city was coming to life. Soon people would be coming down the pier. Impatiently, I rolled up my sleeve. “Let’s get on with it.”

Eve readied the needle. She drew in the liquid from the vial and tapped the hypodermic with one of her fingernails. She slid closer to me on the bench and took hold of my wrist, pushing on the seam of my arm to find the vein. When she found it, she put the metal point against my skin.

“Last chance,” she said.

“Do it.”

I felt the puncture like the prick of a bee sting. She pushed the plunger down.

For a brief moment, the world stayed the same. Nothing happened. I was Dylan Moran, I was on Navy Pier, I was sitting on a bench with Dr. Eve Brier. A part of me was gripped by hesitation, wanting to hold on to this world, but it was too late to stop. My bloodstream carried the drug throughout my body, and it washed over me like a wave rolling across sand. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I wasn’t on the pier anymore. Wherever I was traveling, I was far away.

I heard a chorus, like a billion whispers, each one soft, but together so loud that I wanted to clap my hands over my ears. I saw nothing at first. Whiteness. Blackness. Then something took shape in front of me. Something physical. Something familiar. I saw a diner on a clean city street. It was late, and I could see bright lights through the window. A man sat alone at the counter, a lonely urban stranger. Suit. Fedora. His back was to me. Near him, but not with him, were two others, a man and a woman. He was in a suit like the first man. She had red hair and a red dress.

This wasn’t real.

This was a painting that I’d seen thousands of times before.

I was in the Art Institute, staring at Nighthawks.





CHAPTER 13

“Sometimes I’ll look at this painting for hours,” a voice next to me said. “I don’t know what it is, but it just sucks me inside. Funny story, actually. This painting wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my grandfather. When he was a kid, he accidentally bumped into the museum director and saved him from getting killed in a car accident. The director bought Nighthawks from Edward Hopper the next year.”

I glanced at the man who was talking. He had a casual smile, which was not like my smile at all. He wore a gray collarless T-shirt with a few buttons at the neck. His stonewashed jeans were frayed. He had a full beard in serious need of a trim, and his brown hair was wildly messy, sticking up in a dozen places. I wouldn’t have been caught dead looking like that, but regardless, it was me.

Me but not me. A double. A twin.

“I think I’ve heard that story before,” I told him.

He looked at me, but his face showed no reaction, as if he saw nothing strange about encountering an exact likeness of himself. Or maybe he didn’t even notice. “Oh, yeah? You’ve met Edgar? Well, he comes here a lot. He’ll tell the story to anybody he meets.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Do you come here a lot, too?”

“Me? Not so much anymore. I moved away from Chicago a couple of years ago. Too many people, too much winter. I tried to get Edgar to go with me, but he’s a stubborn old mule, wouldn’t leave the city. I’m on the sand near Cocoa now. Pick up odd jobs here and there, but it’s all about the waves.”

“Surfing?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Well, that’s one way to live,” I said, absolutely horrified.

“Yeah. Best thing I ever did.” He stuck out his hand for me to shake. “Dylan Moran. Ex-Chicagoan turned beach bum.”