“You actually went to other worlds?”

“I went to several worlds, but the first time—”

“Yes?”

“The first time felt like it was the real world. That’s how I remember it. I don’t recall getting there through the Art Institute. You even had me say the safe word for you in that world, and nothing changed. I didn’t come back here. I don’t understand how that could be.”

“The safe word only works if you’re aware of what’s happening to you,” Eve replied. “Your brain may not have been ready to process the experience yet.”

I thought about that world and everything I’d experienced. The insanity. The violence. The doppelgänger breaking into my life. Of course, none of it was real. Of course, I was already deep inside Eve’s therapy.

So why did being here feel wrong?

“I’m distressed if this was traumatic for you,” Eve went on. “That was definitely never the point of the therapy.”

She sensed my disorientation and tried to reassure me with a smile.

“Look, we obviously need to talk about everything you experienced,” she went on, “but it’s better if we don’t do that right now. You need time to process. We can set up another appointment in a few days, and you can fill me in on what you went through. In the meantime, hopefully your short-term memory will begin to come back, too.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“It might be better if you don’t drive yourself home.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m starting to feel better. But I do have some questions. With my memory gone, I need to know—well, I need to know more about who I am. I’m a little lost about what’s real and what’s not.”

“Certainly. Ask anything you want.”

I paced back and forth in her office, trying to gather my thoughts. Eve’s desk was on the opposite wall, and I ran my hand along the oak surface. She had a copy of her book there: Many Worlds, Many Minds. It matched the book I’d purchased in the hotel ballroom, at a time when I still thought I was in the real world. When I picked it up and turned it over, I saw the same photograph of Eve that I’d seen in the poster for her event.

“Dylan?” Eve asked. “Are you okay?”

I put the book back down on her desk. “I guess so. You called me Dylan. That’s my name, right? Dylan Moran.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“Where do I work?”

“You tell me,” she replied. “It’s easier to get your memory back if you let your brain help you. Where do you think you work?”

“I’m the events manager for the LaSalle Plaza Hotel.”

“That’s right.”

“I live in an apartment across from River Park. My grandfather, Edgar, lives upstairs.”

“Yes.”