Dark Matter

by Blake Crouch

“You could’ve won that prize,” Daniela says. “You could’ve owned this city’s art scene.” “But we did this.” She gestures at the high-ceilinged expanse of our brownstone. I bought it pre-Daniela with an inheritance. “And we did that,” she says, pointing to Charlie as he sketches with a beautiful intensity that reminds me of Daniela when she’s absorbed in a painting.

The older I get, the less I understand.

“This isn’t how your life turned out. Only how it ended. Your life was beautiful.”

I think I understand how the Jason you knew might have done what he did to me. I’m having some fucked-up thoughts.” “Our minds aren’t built to handle this. Seeing all these different versions of your wife—I can’t even imagine.” “He must have followed me for weeks. To work. On date nights with Daniela. He probably sat on that same bench and watched us moving through our house at night, imagining me out of the picture. Do you know what I almost did tonight?” “What?” She looks scared to hear. “I figure they probably keep their spare key in the same place we keep it. I left the movie early. I was going to find the key and let myself inside the house. I wanted to hide in a closet and watch their life. Watch them sleep. It’s sick, I know. And I know your Jason was probably in my house multiple times before the night he finally worked up the nerve to steal my life.” “But you didn’t do it.” “No.” “Because you’re a decent man.” “I don’t feel very decent right now.”