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This isn’t Baader-Meinhof this time, because I have been studying this particular jacket for weeks. I know the thickness of the zipper and the way the leather is worn to a place where it’s almost white around the edges of the lapels.

It’s Mackenzie’s jacket. The one I am wearing right now. And that thought overwhelms me until it’s replaced with one even more alarming as the jacket’s wearer turns to give Lucca’s back a friendly slap, and I catch his profile.

His hair is long and not covered by a hat like it was earlier tonight, and he has an auburn beard trimmed short and neat, and when he smiles it’s as if my worlds collide, two thunderclouds clashing so hard they strike a bolt of electricity so intense my whole body shakes.

It’s Zee.

No, not only is it Zee, it’s the busker.

They are one and the same.

My heart begins to pound hard and fast, and even in my ghostly body, I find it hard to breathe.

I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.

The bushy beard and the scraggly hair created some kind of Clark Kent–like magic. But I knew Zee looked familiar. I just never in a million years expected him to be a fictitious figment plucked from somewhere deep within my subconscious, and yet, here he is.

“You guys are late,” Lucca says, nudging his almost empty pint glass with his fingers.

“Sorry, man,” Zee says. “Auditions went long.”

“Find anyone good?” Lucca asks. Zee’s date makes a quick, sharp shake of her head, her mouth stretching into an expression that says, nope and don’t ask.

“I just can’t get that guy out of my head,” Zee says. “He’s exactly what the band needs, if only I could find him, but he’s Cinda-fucking-rella.”

Lucca signals to the bartender, who pulls three new pints from the taps and sets them down in front of him.

“Who’s he playing with now?” Lucca asks.

“That’s the thing,” Zee says. “I have no idea. I tracked down what I was sure was the same band, but the drummer definitely wasn’t the right guy. I have half a mind to drive back up there and start roaming the streets. West Lake isn’t that big. It would probably be more effective than anything else I’ve tried.”

Zee’s date sits up straight. “Wait a minute. That band was from West Lake?”

Zee nods.

“I just met someone from there. She’s in my anatomy class. I can text her and see if she might know anything.”

Zee grabs both her hands. “You find him for me, I will give you anything you want. Anything.”

She removes her hands from his grip with a laugh. “You can start by buying my beer.” She pulls a phone from her back pocket and begins to type.

I don’t know why I’m here, why the jacket or my brain has brought me to this particular time and place. I wonder if it’s even real. Lucca, Zee, even this bar exists somewhere in my subconscious. Could it be that I’m simply creating a story around what Mackenzie told me only moments ago? But what about the last hallucination at the festival? I hadn’t met Zee yet, and I definitely didn’t know about Mackenzie and the drums. It’s not adding up.

My thoughts are interrupted as the woman smacks her hand down on the bar and then holds it over the mouthpiece of her phone, turning to Zee. “I would like to point out that I just accomplished in mere minutes what you failed to do in weeks.” She holds out her hand. “Someone hand me a pen.”

Both men look at each other.

She rolls her eyes. “You two are a waste of good pockets,” and she reaches into her purse and pulls out a black eyeliner, then, pressing her phone between her cheek and shoulder, scrawls something on the coaster in front of her. When she’s done, she pops the liner and phone into her bag and slides the coaster along the bar to Zee. “His name is Mackenzie. My girl Jules knows his cousin.”

Zee picks up the coaster with the number and kisses it. “You are a tremendous woman.” He shoves the coaster into the pocket of his jacket before kissing her next. One kiss becomes two. Two becomes three. I catch Lucca looking over and rolling his eyes twice.

The make-out continues until Zee gets up, and the two of them head off to somewhere else in the bar. I watch Lucca for a while, then look around to see if anything notable is going on. I don’t recognize anyone. Nothing else is happening that looks out of character for a night at the pub. I can’t even see Zee.

Finally, after about ten more minutes, Lucca gets up. He flags down the bartender and pays his tab. He turns as if he’s about to leave but stops.

Zee’s jacket is still hanging off the back of the barstool next to him.

Lucca looks around as if he’s deciding what to do.