He looks at me like I’m crazy. “How is that possible?”
“I just need you to listen. The night after I escaped from this place, I went to a hospital. They ran a tox screen that returned traces of a mysterious psychoactive compound. When I saw you at Daniela’s art reception, you asked me if the ‘compound’ had worked out. What exactly were you working on for me?”
“You asked me to build a drug that would temporarily alter the functioning of brain chemistry in three Brodmann areas of the prefrontal cortex. It took me four years. At least you paid me well.”
“Alter how?”
“Put them to sleep for a little while. I had no idea what the application was.”
“You understand the concept behind Schr?dinger’s cat?”
“Sure.”
“And how observation determines reality?”
“Yes.”
“This other version of me was trying to put a human being into superposition. Theoretically impossible, considering our consciousness and force of observation would never allow it. But if there was a mechanism in the brain that was responsible for the observer effect…”
“You wanted to turn it off.”
“Exactly.”
“So my drug stops us from decohering?”
“I think so.”
“But it doesn’t stop others from decohering us. It doesn’t stop their observer effect from determining our reality.”
“That’s where the box comes in.”
“Holy shit. So you figured out a way to turn a human being into a living and dead cat? That’s…terrifying.”
The cell door unlocks and opens.
We both look up, see Leighton standing in the threshold, flanked by his guards—two middle-aged men with too-tight polo shirts tucked into their jeans and slightly past-prime physiques.
They strike me as men for whom violence is just work.
Leighton says, “Ryan, would you come with us, please?”
Ryan hesitates.
“Drag him out of there.”
“I’m coming.”
Ryan rises and limps to the door.
The guards each take an arm and haul him away, but Leighton stays behind.
He looks at me.
“This is not who I am, Jason. I hate this. I hate that you’re forcing me to be this monster. What’s about to happen? It’s not my choice. It’s yours.”
I lunge off the bed and charge Leighton, but he slams the door in my face.
—
They kill the lights to my cell.
All I can see is the glowing green dot from the surveillance camera that watches me over the door.
I sit in the corner in the dark, thinking how I’ve been on a collision course with this moment since I first heard those footsteps rushing up behind me in my neighborhood, in my world, five impossible days ago.
Since I saw a geisha mask and a gun, and fear and confusion became the only stars in my sky.
In this moment, there is no logic.
No problem-solving.
No scientific method.
I am simply devastated, broken, terrified, and on the brink of just wanting it all to end.
I watched as the love of my life was murdered right in front of me.
My old friend is likely being tortured as I sit here.
And these people will undoubtedly make me suffer before my end comes.
I am so afraid.
I miss Charlie.
I miss Daniela.
I miss my run-down brownstone that I never had the money to properly remodel.
I miss our rusty Suburban.
I miss my office on campus.
My students.
I miss the life that’s mine.
And there in the darkness, like the filaments of a lightbulb warming to life, the truth finds me.
I hear the voice of my abductor, somehow familiar, asking questions about my life.
My job.
My wife.
If I ever called her “Dani.”
He knew who Ryan Holder was.
Jesus.
He took me to an abandoned power plant.
Drugged me.
Asked me questions about my life.
Took my phone, my clothes.
Holy fuck.
It’s staring me in the face now.
My heart shuddering with rage.
He did these things so he could step into my shoes.
So he could have the life that’s mine.
The woman I love.
My son.
My job.
My house.
Because that man was me.
This other Jason, the one who built the box—he did this to me.
As the green light of the surveillance camera goes dark, I realize that on some level, I’ve known since I first laid eyes on the box.
Just haven’t been willing to look it in the eye.
And why would I?
It’s one thing to be lost in a world that’s not your own.
Another thing entirely to know you’ve been replaced in yours.
That a better version of you has stepped into your life.
He’s smarter than I am, no question.
Is he also a better father to Charlie?
A better husband to Daniela?
A better lover?
He did this to me.
No.
It’s way more fucked up than that.
I did this to me.
When I hear the locks in the door retract, I instinctively scoot back against the wall.
This is it.
They’ve come for me.
The door opens slowly, revealing a single person standing in the threshold, profiled against the light beyond.
They step inside, close the door after them.
I can’t see a thing.
But I can smell her—trace of perfume, body wash.