I was at the hospital early in the morning. I’d already decided I wasn’t leaving until they let me see William. If that meant I had to spend the night in a chair in the lobby, that’s what I was going to do. Jessica and Peter had offered to take Edgar for as long as I needed, and I didn’t care about anything else. Not my job, my house, none of it. All that mattered was him.

After a few hours, the receptionist took pity on me and brought me coffee and a granola bar. She couldn’t give me any information, but she assured me someone would speak to me soon. I noticed she didn’t say I’d be able to see William, but I didn’t let that deter me.

I finished my coffee and used the restroom, then went back to my seat. A few minutes later, a man came in. He glanced at me and my heart sank. It was Eric Andrews, from Homeland Security Investigations—the man who’d come to my office asking questions about William. I had a feeling William’s situation was about to get worse.

“Dr. Nichols,” he said.

“Mr. Andrews?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Please, call me Eric,” he said. “I came to see if I could speak to William.”

“Now is when you choose to come question him?” I asked. “When he’s being held against his will in a psychiatric facility?”

“I’m not conducting an official investigation.” He sat in the chair next to me.

“Then why are you here?”

“You might say I’m here for personal reasons,” he said. “William Cole has become something of a thorn in my side.”

I glanced at the receptionist, but she wasn’t paying attention to us. “So, if you’re not investigating him now, will you tell me why you were? Did he do something?”

“No, William didn’t do anything,” he said. “I was given false information. Granted, I can’t find proof of his identity. But I was led to believe he might be involved in an international crime ring. Human trafficking, that sort of thing.”

My mouth dropped open. “What? Why would anyone think William was involved in something like that?”

“Knowing what I know now, it’s obvious the person who contacted me about him was lying,” he said. “It was clear after just some cursory research that there’s no evidence of William doing anything illegal. Someone wanted to make trouble for him, and tried to use me to do it.”

“Is there any chance you’ll tell me who that someone is?”

“I think you can guess,” he said.

“It isn’t Blake Callahan, is it?”

He nodded. “Afraid so. And I’ve put myself in a risky position, professionally speaking. I know Blake. We went to college together. So when he called me and asked if I’d investigate someone, I should have passed him onto one of my colleagues. But I said I’d do it as a favor.”

I shook my head. “Oh my god, that asshole. I can’t believe him.”

“I owe you an apology,” he said. “I’m sure my visit to your office caused a fair amount of distress.”

“It did, but I guess I’m glad to hear William isn’t under investigation. Although, now…” I gestured to our surroundings. “How did you know he was here?”

“I have access to that type of information,” he said.

“So, Blake tried to get rid of him,” I said. “You know, I wondered if it was him. He said something about William’s identity, and that he had connections. Is there anything you can do about him giving you a false report?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he said. “Blake contacted me privately and I didn’t open an official investigation. I wanted to see if his story checked out before I got other resources involved. The silver lining is that William isn’t flagged by my department. That could have come back to haunt him later. But there isn’t a record of any of this.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” I said. “So why are you here? What sort of personal interest do you have in him?”

“Two reasons,” he said. “I’ve been trying to put together the connection to Blake. I haven’t seen him socially in years, but frankly I was shocked to realize he fed me false information. I wanted to talk to William to see if I could find out why.”

“Well, it’s either because Blake is obsessed with me and he’s a sore loser, or he’s after my inheritance.”

“I take it you and Blake had a relationship?” he asked.

“Not even that,” I said. “We went out a few times. But he doesn’t seem to know how to take rejection.”

He nodded slowly. “I see.”

“What’s the second reason?”

“Curiosity,” he said. “I didn’t find anything that connected William to any illegal activity. But I also didn’t find any evidence of his identity. The man you know as William Cole doesn’t exist on record anywhere. I’d like to see if I can find out why.”

“I can tell you what he’ll say. He’ll tell you he didn’t exist before last year. That he doesn’t have a traceable identity because there’s nothing to trace. He’s just William.”

“No offense intended, but perhaps that’s why he’s here?”

“His story is more complicated than that,” I said. “But yes, I’m sure that’s part of it.”

“Do you still have my card?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You’ve answered a lot of my questions, so I won’t bother William today,” he said. “But I’d still like to speak with him, if he’s willing.”

“Okay, I’ll let him know.”

Eric stood, and I followed. He shook my hand. “Thanks for your time, Dr. Nichols.”

“Ivy,” I said. “And you’re welcome.”

“Good luck,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Eric left, and I went back to waiting.

It was well into the afternoon before a nurse came out and led me to an office. Framed certificates and plaques decorated the walls and there were bookshelves packed with thick medical and psychiatry texts. A middle-aged man in a white coat sat at the desk. He greeted me with a warm smile as I took the seat across from him.

“You must be Ivy,” he said. His voice was soft, almost soothing. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “When can I see William?”

“Soon,” he said. “He’s meeting with another of our specialists right now. I’d like to talk with you first, before you see him.”

I crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap. “Okay.”

“As you may or may not be aware, William has a number of psychiatric issues that need to be addressed,” he said. “First, the amnesia. What he’s experiencing is not a typical presentation. Patients who have experienced brain trauma might lose the memory of the incident that caused the damage, and a short time after. Others will have difficulty making new memories, making them appear forgetful and distracted. But it’s extremely rare for someone to lose access to the memories of their entire past.”

“Then why do you think he has amnesia?”

He looked surprised by my question. “Well, he has no recollection of his past. I’d say that qualifies as a severe case of amnesia.”

“Can you determine the cause?”

“Not at this point,” he said. “William’s apparent lack of memory makes it difficult to determine if he had a brain injury. And his tests so far have come back normal.”

“Is there another explanation?”

“The other explanation is that he’s lying.” He opened a folder and continued before I could argue that point. “He’s also experiencing a very detailed delusion that involves you. I assume you’re aware of this?”

“Delusion is your word, doctor,” I said.

“He believes he is something other than a normal man, who was sent here to save you from an as yet unknown calamity,” he said. “That’s certainly a delusion. Or again, he’s a very skilled liar.”

I dug my fingernails into my fists at hearing the word liar again. “I realize his story sounds impossible. But there are pieces of it that are very true. Pieces that I can’t explain.”

“His paintings,” he said.

“Yes.”

“He accurately painted scenes from your life?” he asked. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes, he did,” I said. “And they aren’t things just anyone would know.”

“Does he paint other things?” he asked.

“There’s one painting I don’t recognize,” I said. “I’m not sure what it means, if anything.”

He looked at me for a long moment. I tried not to fidget.

“I have a number of concerns for William,” he said. “Not the least of which are his violent tendencies.”

“William isn’t violent,” I said. “Getting into a fight with someone who is harassing his girlfriend does not make a man violent.”

“It’s not the fight I’m referring to,” he said. “He has threatened, several times now, to kill this man, Blake Callahan.”

“He’s just angry because Blake won’t leave me alone,” I said. “He barely even hurt Blake, and believe me, he could have. He was in control of that fight the entire time. If he was really in danger of committing murder, don’t you think he would have done worse?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps he’s planning something more subtle. Maybe when his girlfriend isn’t watching.”

Once again, William’s words after the break-in at Dorset ran through my mind. If he touches you, I’ll end him. But I was sure that didn’t mean he’d plot a murder. He simply meant he’d defend me, physically if necessary. “I don’t believe for a second that William is a murderer.”

“Here’s what you need to understand. William has built an entire reality based on his belief in himself as your divinely-sent protector. He sees himself as something like a guardian angel, only not religion-specific. Since he’s not tying his created reality to an outside source, such as the belief structure of a religious tradition, his mind is free to make up rules as he sees fit. In effect, he’s created his own moral code. Now, if anyone suggested he was a danger to you, I would disagree vehemently. That would grossly violate the moral code he’s built for himself. But killing someone he believes is a threat to you won’t even register as wrong in his mind. He sees it as an action that is completely justified. His internal logic is driven by his delusions, and his amnesia completely supports his created self-concept.”

“Is that why you’re holding him here?” I asked. “Because you think he’s going to murder Blake Callahan?”

“He’s being held because he told the police officer who questioned him a very bizarre story about who he believes himself to be,” he said. “And that included specific threats on Blake Callahan’s life. This led them to determine he might be a danger to others and needed to be evaluated.”

I let out a breath and brushed my hair back from my face. “You said you had several concerns, is that right?”

“Yes,” he said. “My other concern is you.”

I straightened in my chair. “Excuse me?”

“Do you understand what enabling is?”

“Yes,” I said. “When someone protects another person from the natural consequences of their actions, thus removing potential motivations for change.”

“Well stated,” he said. “But enabling can also mean feeding into a person’s misguided or skewed self-concept. Indulging in false beliefs.”

“So how am I enabling him?”

“By playing along with his story,” he said. “You’re allowing him to believe that you are, in fact, the Ivy of his imagination.”

“I am his Ivy,” I said. “His apartment is filled with paintings of my memories.”

“The issue here is that you are the centerpiece of his delusion,” he said. “And I’m concerned that your presence in his life is obstructing any chance he has of getting better.”

I stared at him, my heart racing, my cheeks flushing with the heat of my anger.

“I can see I’ve upset you,” he said. “And I apologize. But I’m not doing either of you any favors by holding back the truth.”

“The word truth implies objectivity,” I said. “What you gave is your opinion.”

“If you want to argue semantics,” he said. “But it’s my professional opinion, and I’ve been doing this for twenty-five years.”

“Can I see him now?”

He took a deep breath. “He’ll be ready to see you shortly.”

“When can he leave?”

“We can only hold him for seventy-two hours,” he said. “After that, it’s up to him.”

I heard the implication in his voice—that he hoped William would admit himself for treatment.

“We want to help William,” he said. “This hospital is not the enemy.”

Logic and emotion warred in my mind. There was a certain level of reason in what the doctor was telling me. I couldn’t deny it completely. But I hated the idea that I was bad for William—hated it with every cell in my body. Every ounce of my soul. And I knew William wasn’t crazy. He might have amnesia, but he didn’t need to be in a psychiatric hospital.

“I just need to see him,” I said. “Please.”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll have someone take you back.”

* * *

After making me wait another twenty minutes, the nurse led me to what appeared to be a common area. Patients sat at circular tables, some playing games or working on puzzles. Two couches and several armchairs faced a TV in one corner, and windows lined the adjacent wall. A few hospital staff lingered around the edges, watching. Another sat with a patient, speaking to her in a quiet voice.

William stood alone in front of a window, looking out over a view of a concrete courtyard. He was dressed in gray sweats and a white t-shirt, gray socks on his feet.

My throat felt thick and my chest tight at the sight of him. He turned, and his face lit up with a smile.

“Ivy,” he said. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

I hurried to him and landed in his arms. I held him tight, putting my face in his neck. Inhaled his scent. He rested his cheek against my head and rubbed my back.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said. “They gave me something, so I’m a little out of it. I keep telling them I’m not sick. Did you stay with Jessica?”

“Yeah, I did. Edgar’s still there.”

“Good,” he said.

I decided now wasn’t a good time to tell him about my conversation with Eric Andrews. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. And I wanted to make sure they’d let him out when the seventy-two hours were over. I knew they couldn’t continue to hold him just because of his supposed delusions about me. But I needed to make sure he wasn’t fixated on Blake—or talking about killing him. That had me worried. Giving him more reasons to hate Blake didn’t seem like a good plan at the moment.

“Listen,” I said, taking his hand and pulling him to one of the tables. We both sat down, and he kept my hand in his. “I think the main reason they brought you here is because they’re worried you’re dangerous.”

“They just don’t understand,” he said, and I could hear the frustration in his voice.

“I know. But I think it will help if you explain to them that you’re not going to murder anyone.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“They think you might be planning to murder Blake,” I said. “Or at least capable of it.”

He met my gaze and his eyes seemed to come into focus. “I’m not planning to murder him. But I’ll do what has to be done to keep you safe.”

“But see, when you say that to the police, or the doctors here, they think that means you’re dangerous,” I said.

“I’m only a danger to someone who’s a threat to you,” he said.

I tucked my hair behind my ear and looked down at the table. This was what the doctor had been referring to. His self-created moral code. “Yeah, but you can’t just say you’re okay with killing someone.”

“Ivy, I’m not some psycho who’s going to start chopping people up,” he said. “You know me. You know why I’m here.”

“Yes, I know, you think you’re supposed to save me.”

He pulled his hand away. “I think I’m supposed to save you?”

“I just mean, yes, I know. You’ve told me.”

“That’s not what you mean.” He sat up straighter and leaned away. The change in his body language was subtle, yet it screamed at me.

“I’m just trying to help you,” I said.

He stared at me for a second, his face frozen. “You don’t believe me.”

His voice held such a mixture of shock and desolation, it sucked the air right out of my lungs. I nearly gasped for breath.

“William—”

“No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “You don’t believe me. You think it’s all a lie.”

I put my hand over his, but he snatched it away. “No. No, I don’t think it’s a lie.”

“Then what is it?” he asked. “Why do I have your paintings all over my walls?”

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice choking with tears.

“You don’t know because you don’t believe it’s real.”

“It’s not that simple,” I said. “I know your paintings are true. I just don’t understand how.”

“They led me to you,” he said, tapping the table with his finger. “I knew they would, and they did. My visions told me what I needed to know to find you. And they were right.”

“Yes, they were right,” I said. “But who were you before? There could be an entire life you’re missing.”

“There isn’t,” he said. “There’s nothing before. I was created for this.”

“But how can someone just appear out of nowhere?” I asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I thought you understood,” he said. “But you don’t, do you? You don’t believe in me.”

The hurt in his eyes gutted me. Cut me like a knife to the back. Except I felt the blood on my hands, the knife falling from my limp fingertips. The wound was William’s, and I’d inflicted it.

His eyes moved from mine, coming to rest on the table. His shoulders slumped, like I’d taken all the fight out of him. “You can go.”

“No, William, please.”

“Maybe they’re right,” he said, his voice quiet. “Maybe I am crazy.”

I put a trembling hand to my lips. “No. William, you’re not. Please don’t say that.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m here.” He stood, slowly, like he barely had the energy to stand. A nurse in blue scrubs appeared, as if from nowhere, and put a hand on his arm.

“William, wait.”

He didn’t look at me. He just let the nurse lead him away, his feet shuffling across the floor, soft whispers of sound coming from the bottoms of his socks.

I watched him go, tears streaming down my face. My skin was prickling cold, the weight on my chest so heavy I could barely breathe. Shaking with the effort of holding in my sobs, I gathered up my purse and left.