Infinite(44)

Roscoe gave me a little smile, and I saw his eyes drift to the altar. “Dylan, my faith tells me that Jesus Christ rose from the dead. Many people consider that impossible, but the doubts of others don’t shake what I know in my heart.”

“Does that mean you think I’m telling the truth?” I asked.

“I’m saying it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s whether you believe it yourself. Obviously, you’re convinced something extraordinary is happening to you.”

“It is. I know how it sounds, but it’s real.”

“Well, I was the one who said you seem like a different man,” he told me. “There’s no doubt of that. Something has caused a profound change in you, whatever that may be.”

I still felt the need to prove what I was saying. I reached for my right hand and slipped the silver class ring off my finger. “This is your ring, Roscoe. See the engraving? I’ve worn it ever since the accident. I’m telling you the truth about my world. I haven’t seen you in four years.”

Roscoe put the ring on the tip of his thumb and studied it. “Yes, you’re right. I’ve never seen you wearing this.”

“But?”

“But your Many Worlds must come with a sense of humor. In this world, I lost my ring to you in a bet the summer after our high school graduation. You’ve had it ever since. Apparently fate has a way of making even the smallest parts of our lives converge.”

I shook my head as he gave me back the ring. “Roscoe, I’m not making this up. You died.”

“I heard what you said. A car accident after I bailed you out of a police station. Dylan Moran in a bar fight—now that’s truly a miracle. You’re far too stoic and practical for anything like that. I don’t recommend violence, but actually, it would be nice to think you’re capable of losing control once in a while.”

“That night changed my life,” I told him.

“So I gather.”

“I lost you, but I met my wife because of it.”

Roscoe steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “I rather like the idea of me dying to help you find the love of your life. You must know that I wouldn’t have hesitated over that kind of sacrifice.”

“I do know that.” Then I looked around at the church, which was like seeing Roscoe back home where he belonged. “But in this world, there was no accident. No bar fight. No car wrapped around the tree. You never died, and I never met Karly.”

He gave me a strange look that I couldn’t interpret. “I doubt it would have made a difference if you had. You don’t believe in the idea of love at first sight.”

“That’s your Dylan,” I insisted. “Not me. I fell for Karly as soon as I saw her.”

“My Dylan,” Roscoe murmured.

I could tell that he still had his doubts. Around us, night was setting in, which made the dangling lanterns overhead glow brighter. The stained glass deepened into shadows on the walls. We were alone, but even so, I felt a strange shift in the environment around me. The air changed, as if a door had opened and closed somewhere.

“I know you’re humoring me,” I told him.

Roscoe sat where he was, his lips pursed in thought. “Well, it’s a lot to take in, I won’t deny that. For the time being, let’s assume this is really happening to you. That you’re a different Dylan Moran, someone I haven’t met before. If that’s true, where is the Dylan that I grew up with? The one who belongs in this world?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he somehow disappear when you arrived?”

“I have no idea. The other Dylan I told you about—the serial killer—he shared my world, so I can’t understand where your Dylan is. He should be here, too, but he’s been missing for two days.”

“In which case, I’m worried about him.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I love him. He’s my closest friend. I’m sure your Roscoe felt the same way about you.”

“He did.”

Roscoe stood up from the pew and gave me one of his penetrating stares that meant he was going to say something that I didn’t want to hear. “Dylan, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“If you are who you claim you are, then why are you here?”

“I needed to see you again. To talk to you. I knew if anyone would believe me, you would.”

“Yes, I get that. And I’m glad you came. What I want to know is, why are you here in this world and not your own?”

“I told you. I need to stop this other Dylan. He’s a killer.”

“That’s a job for the police. In any world. It’s not your job.”

“The police don’t know what’s going on. They have no clue. Roscoe, this other Dylan has already killed again. The woman in the park, Betsy Kern. Another woman who looks just like Karly—”

I stopped.

Restlessly, I got up from the bench and paced back and forth in the aisle under the long sweep of the arched ceiling. My sharp footsteps sounded like the crack of bullets. I understood what was happening now, and my terror increased a thousandfold. My doppelg?nger was here. He knew I was following him. By killing Betsy Kern, he was sending me a message.

“Oh, my God. He’s going to kill her.”