Infinite(72)

Tai went to cross the street, but then she took a breath and turned back to me. She grabbed my hand. “I really am sorry, Dylan.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but I always felt like I should have been able to reach you back then. Like I could have changed how you were. Made the anger go away. I mean, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I always had kind of a thing for you. I never said anything about it. Maybe I should have. I always had this idea in the back of my head that if we’d gotten together, it would have helped you become a better person. That sounds arrogant. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I appreciate the sentiment, but it doesn’t work that way, Tai. You wouldn’t have been able to change me.”

“I guess. Are you doing better? You were always so hard on the whole world, especially yourself. I hoped you’d find some softness, you know? I wanted you to have peace.”

“I’m getting there.”

“I’m glad.” She put her arms around me in a quick, awkward embrace, and then she bowed her head in embarrassment. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

The light changed. She started across Michigan Avenue toward the Hilton. My eyes followed her, but then I looked beyond her to the crowded sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.

He was standing right there.

My Dylan. The Dylan in the leather jacket. The Dylan I was here to kill.

He stood on the corner and eyed me with his own steely resolve. Tai must have seen him, too, because she stopped in the middle of the street. Her shoulders spun around so she could look behind her. Finding me where I was supposed to be, she began to look back to confirm the impossibility of what her eyes were seeing.

As she did, a Chicago tour bus blocked our view of the Hilton. When it passed, the other Dylan had already vanished. I was sure he was in the crowd of pedestrians now, but as far as Tai was concerned, he was just a momentary trick of her imagination. She continued to the opposite corner and gave a little wave as she headed south for the LaSalle Plaza.

I didn’t bother chasing after my doppelg?nger. Not yet.

I knew that when the time came, he’d find me.



Obviously, the Dylan Moran who lived in this world had made mistakes even worse than mine.

I wanted to know who he was, what had happened that sent him to prison, and whether Karly was a part of his life. There was one person who could always give me answers. Roscoe. That was assuming there had been no car accident in this world that had taken him away from me.

I headed for Roscoe’s South Side church, but when I went inside, I noticed a poster on the bulletin board with photographs of the church staff. My heart fell when I saw that Roscoe wasn’t listed among them. I wondered if he was gone, as he was in my own world, but when I asked one of the priests about him, I was relieved to learn that no one named Roscoe Tate had ever been associated with the church.

So where was he?

I retraced my steps to the medical clinic on Irving Park where Roscoe’s mother practiced. Fortunately, this part of the world hadn’t changed. As I approached the building, I saw Alicia Tate coming out the front door, and her face broke into a broad smile as she spotted me on the sidewalk.

“Dylan, what a nice surprise.”

Unlike Tai, Alicia sounded genuinely happy to see me.

“Do you need to talk to me?” she went on. “I was just on my way to the hospital to make rounds, but if something’s wrong, I can fit you in.”

“No, actually, I was trying to find—”

I stopped without saying his name. If Roscoe was dead, I didn’t want to sound like a fool. However, Alicia leaped to the correct assumption.

“Oh, you’re looking for Roscoe. Of course. Well, he’s inside. You know him, that boy works too hard.”

“Look who’s talking,” I said.

Alicia squeezed my shoulder affectionately. “You’re sweet. Go on in, he’ll be happy to see you.”

I continued into the clinic, where several patients were waiting in the lobby. I didn’t have time to ask the receptionist about Roscoe before the inner door opened, and my friend emerged, stooping slightly to help an elderly black woman who was using a walker. He wore more stylish, expensive glasses than he’d worn as a priest, and his face was smoothly shaven, but otherwise, he hadn’t changed. Like his mother, Roscoe wore a white doctor’s coat, which made me smile. Apparently, in this world, Alicia Tate had gotten her wish by having her son follow in her footsteps.

As Roscoe straightened up, he saw me. He wore the same sober expression I’d known since we were boys. “Dylan, hey, what are you doing here? Everything okay?”

“Fine, but I need a minute if you can spare it.”

He glanced around the crowded waiting room and at the watch on his wrist. “I’m a little slammed, but sure, come on back.”

I followed him down the inner hallway. We turned into a small office, where he sat behind a beat-up desk, under a wall that included a framed copy of his medical degree from the Pritzker School at the University of Chicago. Alicia had gone there, too. On his desk, I saw pictures of him with his parents, along with a small photo of the two of us, back when we were kids playing football in Horner Park.

He followed my stare. “Long time ago, huh?”

“Very. And now look at you. That little kid’s a doctor.”