The door opens then, and a woman with long, very straight brown hair and a white doctor coat steps inside. She is young and pretty but in an aggressively earthy way—no makeup, no jewelry, square bangs. Like she was once told that she was quite beautiful and has worked hard to hide it ever since. I try to stop crying. But that only makes it worse.

“Jeez, are you okay?” She rushes over to grab some tissues off a nearby table. And then there’s the awkward moment when she realizes I cannot wipe my own face because I am restrained—she looks so surprised. Like she’s new to this. She hesitates for a second, then starts to undo my wrists. “Here, I’m sorry about these . . .” Her voice drifts like she doesn’t even want to say out loud what they are.

Once my hands are free, I take the tissues and dry my face.

“Did you find my friend?” I ask. “His name is Jasper. I was on the bridge looking for him. I wasn’t going to jump or anything. But the police came, and I think maybe they thought I was him—or I don’t know. But they were definitely confused.” I close my mouth tight, hope that when I speak again my words will slow. “They said they would look for Jasper. I need to know that he’s okay.”

Because he has to be.

“That’s awful.” She looks confused, then sympathetic—maybe even a little appalled on my behalf. “I’m sorry, I’m Dr. Alvarez. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about your friend. But I will try to find out. Let me quickly take your vitals first.”

I nod. Cooperative, that’s the way to go, at least for now. I am glad for the tranquilizers that are still in my system because they’re keeping my pulse in check even though I am terrified. And staying calm will make it easier to prove there is nothing wrong with me. This Dr. Alvarez does genuinely want to help. I can feel it. She is easy to read with my own anxiety sidelined—even if it is only by medication. And there is no deception, no hesitation. It would be good to keep her on my side. Because this is a mistake, a mix-up, a totally messed up and terrible one—not to mention ironic. But—as Dr. Shepard has reminded me time and again over the years—coincidence is not the same as causation. And the saner I can act, the faster all of this is going to get sorted out.