I blinked.

I remembered Ben telling me before I ever boarded the plane to come here that he was looking at a picture of Annalise and that she was a dead ringer for Felicity. I suppose, however, that simply hearing someone say something like that makes it easy to discount their opinion. Even though I hadn’t seen the picture myself, I was positive that I, of all people, would have no trouble telling the two women apart. After all, I had been married to one of them for almost fifteen years, so surely I would know my own wife.

However, at this moment my personal perception was no longer crystal clear on that point.

Without thinking, I muttered aloud, “Felicity?”

Her name tumbled into the room wrapped in a question. I knew the woman I had just seen in front of me couldn’t possibly be my wife, but the image was truly beyond uncanny.

As if triggered by my question, the light overhead bloomed, and I once again found myself with at least one foot in a different plane of existence.

I can hear my own voice echoing in the room as I utter my wife’s name.

Though her breathing never alters from its frantic pace, the woman suddenly jerks as if startled. Pushing herself forward, she sits up, still straddling the man. She stops twisting her heel then drops her foot down to the bed, and her victim is given a momentary reprieve from his agony. Cocking her head to one side, she appears to be listening intently, as if she hears my voice as well.

Slowly she turns toward me.

I study her face as she looks through me, creasing her brow. I can begin to see the differences in her features, but not at first glance, or even the second for that matter. I takes a long moment before I am certain that I am not looking at my wife.