Infinite(49)

It was too early to head downtown, so first I took a walk on the trails of the park to clear my head. I crossed the open grass, passing the jungle gyms and the community pool, and reached the path that led along the bank of the Chicago River. A strip of weeds and clover ended in dense trees, obscuring the fence that protected the steep slope over the water. The path was closed off by police tape here for at least fifty yards. I knew why. Betsy Kern had been found hidden in the brush near this spot, a knife in her heart. She was the latest victim in a chain of violence that stretched across the Many Worlds.

I walked north by the river. Ahead of me, the path descended under Foster Avenue, where graffiti marred the stone wall and the steel girders of the bridge. I walked beside the river’s drab green water here. Beyond the bridge, the trail climbed into a new section of parkland. By that time, the horizon was brightening, but in the semidarkness, the trail lights hadn’t switched off.

I came upon a weeping willow whose dangling branches swished against the sidewalk. As I passed the tree, I disturbed an enormous rat, which scampered practically over my toes into the dense undergrowth near the water. Seeing the rat made me freeze, although rats were a common sight along the river. I was still looking down at my feet when I spotted a fleck of gold reflecting the shine from the light post. It made me curious. I squatted and used my fingers to brush away the mud to see what it was.

What I found was a brass button. I picked it up and rubbed the metal to clean it, and then I used my phone to light up the button in my hand. The insignia showed a small crown and shield, with the initials HSM underneath. I knew that those initials stood for Hart Schaffner Marx, because that was the brand of navy blazer I’d been wearing yesterday, and my coat had identical buttons on the cuffs.

The Dylan who lived here, Tai’s husband, owned the same blazer. I didn’t think that was a coincidence.

I stared at the dark riverbank where the rat had disappeared. The weeds beside the trail grew particularly high here. Between the brush and the trees clustered tightly together, I couldn’t even see the rusted fence on the riverbank. I looked up and down the trail to make sure I was still alone, and then I plunged into the weeds. When I reached the fence, I didn’t even need to climb it. The mesh had been cut away from the post, leaving a gap where I could squeeze to the other side. Only a few feet separated me from the river at the bottom of the slope. A dense web of green branches leaned over the water. I heard the low slurp of the current. Birds chattered loudly, as if warning me away.

It was still night in here, dark and deep. Using my phone again, I lit up a small patch of the woods around me, watching a cloud of insects flock to the glow. When I turned the light to the ground, I caused a stir, as half a dozen more rats scattered from where they’d been feeding. When I looked at what they’d left behind, my stomach lurched. I held in the urge to vomit. I squeezed my eyes shut and took several deep breaths. Then I steeled myself to see what was below me.

A body.

A body with no face. That was partly because of the rats eating away what was left of the corpse and partly because someone had used a shovel or club to bash the man’s face to a pulp. He was completely unrecognizable, but he was wearing a Hart Schaffner Marx navy blazer identical to the one I owned. I checked the cuff and saw a missing button, and below the cuff, the body was missing something else. His hand had been cut off. I checked and found that the other hand was missing, too.

No fingerprints.

It was an eerie feeling, staring at myself, dead. Because I knew this was Dylan Moran. Tai’s Dylan Moran, who was never coming home to her. No one was likely to identify him in his current state, and that was assuming his body was found at all before the rats skeletonized him and gnawed away what was left of the bones. He’d simply ooze away into the ground.

What did I do next? I did nothing.

I left him there. I definitely wasn’t going to call the police.

When I was sure no one else was nearby, I slipped through the fence again and headed toward home. His home. No one would be looking for him, no one would wonder if the body was his, because Dylan Moran wasn’t missing. He was right where he was supposed to be. I was here in his place.

I had a strange, disorienting realization about what this all meant.

If I wanted it, this man’s life was mine.



Eve Brier had already warned me. You might be tempted to stay.

Roscoe had feared the same thing. They were both right.

I’d come to this world to stop a killer, but now that I was here, I found myself wondering: What if I really could find Karly?

Could we be together again?

Could I have what I’d lost?

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that, but it gave me a sick feeling to think about rebuilding my life over the decomposing body of another Dylan Moran.

I didn’t know what to do. I needed Eve’s help. I needed to find out more about the Many Worlds and what would happen to me if I stayed.

She’d given me her business card when we first met. It listed the address of her office in the tapering black tower that Chicagoans would always call the Hancock Center. Her psychiatry practice was lucrative enough to afford her exclusive space along the Magnificent Mile.

I drove downtown, parked a couple of blocks away, and joined the morning chaos on Michigan Avenue. It felt normal to be here, as if nothing in my world had changed. I could head south to my favorite lunch places, and they would recognize me. I could walk into my office at the LaSalle Plaza and go to work, and no one would find anything strange about it.