Infinite(95)

“Look like?”

“Did he look like me?”

A curious smile crossed her face. It was an odd question. “A little bit, I guess. You’ll get to meet him. Once you have your strength back, we’ll drive down there and thank him together. His name is Harvey Bushing.”

I laughed, which made me cough.

“What’s funny?” Karly asked me.

“Life. Fate. God.”

She was still holding my hand. We sat silently, as an echo of horror rippled over both of us and slowly receded. I watched Karly open her mouth to say something more, then close it again. Her eyes filled with tears. It was a dam bursting, letting out guilt and shame and remorse. I knew how she felt, because I’d felt all the same things.

“Dylan, what happened before—what I did—”

I squeezed her hand. “Stop.”

“I’m just so sorry. Please, please, say you can forgive me. If I hadn’t been such a fool—”

“Stop,” I said again.

“I love you. I love you so much. You’re my world. What I did, how I betrayed you, I can’t believe that was me.”

“Karly.”

She clamped her mouth shut and wiped her face. Her messy blond hair dangled across her cheeks.

“It wasn’t you,” I told her, struggling with the words.

“Don’t talk. You shouldn’t talk.”

“I have to. Listen to me. This was my fault. I almost lost you, because I couldn’t let go of my past. You saw something in me the day we met, and I’ve never been able to live up to it. I’ve spent my life angry and bitter and frustrated with the whole world, instead of treasuring what the world gave me. You. Well, that other Dylan is gone. I killed him. I just hope it’s not too late for the two of us.”

Karly started crying again. “It’s not. Believe me, it’s not.”

“You married one Dylan Moran,” I told her, “but I swear to you, I’m not the same, not anymore. I’m not him. I’m a different man.”



Later that day, Karly went home to shower, and I slept in the hospital bed. My sleep felt absolutely dreamless, which was just what I wanted. Then I opened my eyes and recoiled, seeing a woman in a white hospital coat looking down at me. Underneath the white coat, she was dressed in black.

All at once, I felt as if I’d jumped down the rabbit hole again.

“Mr. Moran? I’m Dr. Eve Brier.”

It was her. She hadn’t changed at all. She gave me that mysterious smile that was all too familiar. Her eyes had the same seductive quality that I remembered from— From what?

From a dream?

Or from other worlds?

“I know who you are,” I said.

That made her hesitate. “You know me? Well, your wife probably mentioned that I’m the doctor who’s been monitoring you while you were in your coma. You had us all very worried. It’s a great relief to see you doing so well.”

“Thank you.”

I kept looking for a sign in her face, for some kind of recognition that she knew what had been happening to me. I wanted her to admit that she was still my conjurer. My magician.

Instead, she checked my vitals, and that was all.

“We’ll still need to monitor you closely for a while, Mr. Moran, but right now, everything looks extremely promising.”

“Good.”

“You may find you have memory lapses,” she added, as if I were lying on her couch in Hancock Center, twenty-nine floors above the endless lights of the Lucent sculpture.

“Not so far,” I said. Then I added pointedly, “I remember everything.”

“I’m pleased to hear it, but you may still experience side effects from the oxygen deprivation. You may become aware of cognitive difficulties that require some relearning and rehabilitation. I also suggest that you think about getting counseling after you’re released. The physical implications of what you’ve been through are serious enough, but there are likely to be emotional and psychological ramifications, too. Don’t feel that you have to manage those things alone.”

“If I have Karly, I’ll be fine.”

“I understand, but you may want to consider professional counseling, too.”

I said nothing. Dr. Brier looked disconcerted by my attitude. She checked my pulse, which she’d already done, and the touch of her fingers was warm. Her nails were long, and they pressed slightly into my skin. Then she bent over to check my lungs with her stethoscope and asked me to breathe as deeply as I could. While she was close to me, I caught a faint aroma of perfume, like roses, which took me back to the embrace she’d given me near the Buckingham Fountain.

“Your lungs are clear,” she said. “That’s excellent.”

“Good.”

“Are you in pain? I can give you something.”

“I don’t want anything.”

Dr. Brier stood up and slipped the stethoscope out of her ears. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me in bed. “You know, Mr. Moran, patients who are in induced comas often have disturbing experiences.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Extremely vivid nightmares are common. Some patients describe them as hallucinations or phantasms. They experience terror, paranoia. Elements of the real world can creep into their dreams, albeit in distorted fashion. The sensations can feel quite real, and they can linger for a while once you regain consciousness. Did you go through anything like that?”