This last bit, in French… don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, was uttered in the tone of a wounded boy. Gessen’s heart flipped in his chest. He fought to keep his face neutral, not wanting to scare whoever this was back into hiding. Was it Vidor’s alter, springing forth from some dark corner of his psyche? Or was this Malik Sayid, the boy he’d known in Paris, proclaiming his rightful existence? So nice to see you again, he wanted to say, but held his tongue. For several moments, in spite of his years of experience, Gessen didn’t quite know what to do. He’d come across such cases in the literature, but each patient was unique, and nothing he’d read about would help him here.

‘Would you like to lie down?’

‘Why would I want to lie down?’ he snapped. ‘I feel perfectly fine.’

And just like that, Vidor’s persona slotted back into place. Damn. He would have to find a way to coax the alter out of hiding again. Vidor’s woozy state from the pain meds might have provided a doorway. Perhaps some form of deep relaxation would bring the alter back.

Gessen stood and beckoned with his hand. ‘All the same, why don’t you stretch out on the couch in the next room?’

Vidor pressed his knuckles against his temples. ‘It’s this damn headache. I thought it was gone, but it’s come back with a vengeance.’

‘Could be a migraine,’ Gessen said. ‘The best thing for that is to lie quietly in a darkened room.’ He led Vidor into the adjoining treatment area and helped him onto the couch. After Gessen covered him with a blanket, he pressed a button on his desk that switched on the camera installed in the ceiling.

How long had Vidor’s alter been lurking under the dominant personality? Had he emerged before, perhaps during times of crisis? Or had he remained hidden from view for years? Gessen would need more information to know what he was dealing with. It might be dissociation, a case of repressed identity, or even an extended fugue state.

That Vidor had felt agitated in Ismail’s presence made sense now. He might have suspected that Vidor was not who he claimed to be. Whatever the case, Ismail’s physical proximity could have triggered the slumbering alter to appear. If Vidor was indeed Malik, someone from Egypt, as Ismail was, might have detected a hint of common ancestry in Vidor’s face. Or perhaps even goaded Vidor by tossing out a few choice insults in Arabic to see how he would react. If that were the case, there could be more behind Ismail’s death than he’d first suspected. If Vidor felt somehow that the young Egyptian was a threat to his identity, even on a subconscious level, it might have been reason enough to get Ismail out of the way.