“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?”

“I’m still processing what I went through,” I replied.

“Of course. Well, I’ll let you rest.”

She gave me that strange intimate smile again, and I thought to myself: You know, don’t you?

When she got to the door, I called after her. “Dr. Brier?”

“Yes?”

“Say the word.”

She came closer to the bed. “What?”

“Say the word.”

We stared at each other. Doctor and patient. Illusionist and fool. Puppet master and doll. I expected her to let the truth slip. I thought she’d put up a finger to remind me to be quiet and then soundlessly invite me to read her lips.

She’d mouth the word and wink.

Infinite.

But no. She played her part to the end. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Moran.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Thank you for everything. I mean that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You changed my life, and I’ll always be grateful. Eve.”

“It was my pleasure. Dylan.”

Then she was gone.

And me? I was home.

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

“Is Ellie still okay?” I teased my wife. “It’s been at least twenty minutes since you checked.”