After reading through the transcript a second time, Gessen placed his pen on the desk and rubbed his eyes. Was this the story of Malik Sayid, and evidence of a bona fide case of dissociative identity disorder, or was this tale of abandonment and terror simply a waking dream? Perhaps it belonged to someone Vidor knew as a child, or was drawn from a fable he’d read long ago? Since it was impossible to shine a light on Vidor’s psyche, Gessen’s only hope at solving the puzzle was to tease out the threads of his entwined personalities – if that’s what they were – one careful step at a time.

49

Paris, France
23 December 2008

Dear Dr Gessen,
Ever since your visit to my home in Paris, when I reminisced about my brother, Vida, so many memories have come flooding back. Not just during the day while I’m awake and pottering about the kitchen, but in the darkest hours of the night, as well. Such dreams that I haven’t had in years have infiltrated my slumber. And not just memories of Vida, but also that student we took in for a short time as a lodger. When you asked me about him, I could hardly remember anything about that boy, as the tragedy of Vida’s premature demise crowded out everything else. But a singular memory has come back to me, and it’s a vivid one. Though that boy – whose name I can’t remember – was older than Vida by a year or two, he seemed to worship my brother, even to the point of copying his gestures and slang.

He was an excellent mimic, that boy, and quite a delightful person, actually, though painfully shy. Rather anxious about doing or saying the wrong thing. He arrived in Paris from a foreign country, though I can’t say which one, and it was clear to me that he was desperate to fit into our way of life. One night when Vida had gone out with his friends, our young lodger moped about the flat, almost as if he’d been abandoned. I’m no psychologist, but it was obvious to anyone who looked that the poor boy had never received much affection or love.