I hung up the phone. The hotel room was quiet, just the rumbling white noise of the fan blowing warm air. I’d turned up the heat, but I was still cold, because my clothes were soaking wet. I peeled them off and stood shivering in the darkness. I’d bought a bottle of bourbon in the gift shop earlier, and I opened it and poured a glass, neat. The amber liquid trailed fire down my throat into my stomach, and the warmth spread. I took it to the window and stared out at the city, where night had fallen. In the distance, I could see the gold lights of the fountain, the glow of waterfront condominium towers, and the kaleidoscope of the huge Ferris wheel out on Navy Pier.

Where was he?

Who was he, this man that my mind had conjured? Was he down in that darkness, staring up at my window?

I didn’t know what was happening to me. I wanted my old life back the way it was. I wanted Karly, naked like me, her skin pressed up against me from behind, her chin on my shoulder. If I closed my eyes, I could feel her there. I could hear her whispering to me. I would turn around, and we would kiss, and our eyes would glisten with desire, and we would tumble onto the bed and melt into each other with breathless, urgent laughter.

We’d had so many moments like that.

We would never have them again.

I drank more bourbon, but my body was still cold. When my third glass was empty, I went into the bathroom and ran a scalding-hot bath for myself. As the tub filled, I slid down into it, the hot water lapping at my skin. I let it go as high as it could, and then I sank down below the surface. I immersed my whole body, and the hot, clean water became black as night, and the slimy mud oozed over my skin, and my wife screamed for me to save her.

Dylan, come find me! I’m still here!

If I drowned myself, I’d be with my wife again. But my body betrayed me. As I ran out of air, I threw myself upward. My face burst from the water, and I gasped for breath, gagging and coughing. I opened the tub drain and listened to the loud, sucking slurp as the water went down. When the tub was empty and I was cold again, I finally climbed out and went back into the bedroom.

I needed to talk to someone about all of this. About my grief and my hallucinations. I needed answers.

I realized there was someone in the hotel who could help. Dr. Eve Brier—author, philosopher, and psychiatrist—was downstairs, and according to Tai, she knew me, even though I didn’t know her. I wanted to understand how that was possible.

“Don’t you know her?”

“No.”