As I got back to Michigan Avenue, nothing felt out of place around me. The city looked and smelled the same. The water tower was where it was supposed to be. The shops, people, and traffic hadn’t changed. When I checked my wallet, I found a parking ticket for a garage on Chestnut. It was dated early that morning, just as Eve had told me. The key fob in my pocket led me to a used Ford in the garage, and the documents in the glove compartment told me I’d purchased the car three weeks ago. That would have been shortly after the accident.

Everything fit. So why could I remember nothing between then and now?

Why did I feel like I didn’t belong here?

I drove from the garage into the city. Eve had told me to go home and rest, but I wasn’t ready to do that yet. I was still struggling to decide if I could trust what my senses were telling me. I kept looking for a flaw, a clue, a telltale sign that this world was an illusion like the others. At every stoplight, I checked faces in the cars and crosswalks, hunting for another Dylan Moran. If I saw one of my doubles, then I would know that my brain was lying. But the only Dylan in this world seemed to be me.

My first stop was near Horner Park where Roscoe had died. I needed to see the scars on the ash tree at the corner. They were still there, marking the collision that had killed my friend. Nothing was different. When I was done there, I walked two blocks and found the home listed for sale by Chance Properties. Scotty Ryan’s truck was outside. He was doing renovations; he was still alive. I had no memory of whether I’d gotten into a fight with him over his affair with Karly, but it was obvious that no version of myself had come to the house and stabbed him to death.

What I remembered of the past few weeks wasn’t real.

What I didn’t remember was real. I still found that hard to accept.

My next stop was at Alicia Tate’s clinic. I needed to see someone I’d known for years, someone who would never lie to me. The last time I’d been in this clinic, which felt like only hours ago, I’d seen Roscoe, alive. I still expected him to come through the door, even though I knew that was impossible.

Alicia hugged me when she saw me. She looked normal; she looked the same. When she took me back to her office, she asked me how I was, and I told her very honestly that I didn’t know.

“Alicia, this is an odd question, but when did you last see me?”

She gave me a quizzical stare. “What?”