Infinite(64)

Karly.

We’d agreed to meet at nine o’clock on the Northwestern campus. Outside the window, darkness had fallen in the time it had taken me to get free. When I checked the clock, I saw that it was nine thirty. He was already with her.

Using my phone, I found the contact number for the Norris center and waited through what felt like two dozen rings before someone answered. It was Saturday night. I was sure the place was busy. I asked to be transferred to security, and this time a gruff voice answered immediately.

What to say?

“One of your faculty members, Karly Chance, is meeting someone in the coffee bar on the second floor. You need to get up there and get her away from him. He’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How do you know?”

“Please, just go talk to her and tell her she isn’t safe. Karly Chance. Do you know who she is?”

“No, I don’t. You need to tell me what’s going on, sir.”

“Karly Chance. She’s on the English faculty. Blond hair, ragged cut down to her shoulders, fair skin, blue eyes, about thirty. She’s with a man named Dylan Moran. Messy black hair, lean, not very tall. He’s wearing a checked purple shirt and gray vest. You need to hurry.”

“I’m heading up there right now, sir, but you need to tell me what this is all about.”

I needed a story he’d believe. I needed something. Anything.

“Look, Dylan’s my roommate. He’s obsessed with this woman. He read her book, and now he won’t stop talking about her. He was on campus the other night stalking a girl near Goodrich who looked just like her. He’s unstable, takes a lot of meds. When he left the apartment tonight, he took a knife. Search him. You’ll find it.”

“A knife? Are you sure?”

“I’m absolutely certain.”

“Okay, hang on.”

The sound on the phone grew muffled. I could hear the background noise of a large crowd of people, and then I heard the man’s voice again, talking to someone else. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The length of time felt excruciating, and I squeezed the phone impatiently.

Finally, he came back on the line.

“Karly Chance? English professor?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“She hasn’t been in here tonight.”

“She must be. We were supposed—I mean, Dylan told me that he was meeting her there at nine o’clock.”

“Well, she didn’t show. The coffee guy knows her. He hasn’t seen her. He’s been here all evening.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think. “Okay. Okay. Can you put out a security alert to the rest of the campus? Have them look for her. She lives in Goodrich. Somebody needs to check her apartment.”

“First you better tell me your name, sir.”

I hesitated. You really can’t hesitate when somebody asks you your name.

“What’s this all about?” the guard went on, a new shadow of suspicion in his voice. “Who are you? How do you know Ms. Chance?”

“Just look for her! Please!”

I hung up the phone. I paced in the bedroom, overrun by panic. Where were they? Maybe Karly had skipped the date, but my ego told me that wasn’t true. She wouldn’t have stood me up, not after the conversation we’d had today. But if it wasn’t Karly, then it was him. He’d changed the place where we were supposed to meet. He’d assumed I would get free and alert the campus police, so he’d reached out to her to pick a new location away from the university.

Where did they go?

They were out among millions of people on a Chicago Saturday night. They could be anywhere.

I tried the office number I’d found on Karly’s faculty profile. It went straight to a generic voice mail message. I tapped out a short e-mail to her university account: You’re in danger. Get away from Dylan now. But I had no idea whether it would reach her.

Where?

Where would they meet?

Then I remembered a fragment of our conversation. We’d talked about wishing for a do-over in life for our worst mistakes, a chance to go back and change whatever we’d done wrong.

Wasn’t that what tonight was for Dylan and Karly?

A do-over for a disastrous blind date?

If Dylan asked the Karly of this world where she wanted to go, I was willing to bet she’d go back to the beginning. She’d suggest we try our first date over again and see if we could get it right this time.

“We went to a club, didn’t we? I don’t even remember which one.”

“The Spybar.”



The entrance to the basement dance club called the Spybar was down an alley off Franklin in the artsy River North neighborhood. By the time I got there, a line of twenty-something club hoppers stretched around the corner from the black-draped entrance. I stood under the rusted steel beams of the L tracks, and one of the trains thundered like a roller coaster over my head.

From across the street, I studied the people in line. Dylan and Karly weren’t there. That meant they were already inside. Or it meant I was completely wrong and they weren’t here at all. I needed to get into the club and find out. I had no time to wait, so I found two Hispanic girls in skintight outfits near the front of the line. I gave them each fifty dollars and paid their covers, and five minutes later, I was down the stairs and inside the club.