"Will I see her again?"
"I don't think so."
Those are the last words Jennie Kim hears before the masked abductor knocks her unconscious then Jennie woke up in an entirely different world. Suddenly, her house is not her house, she's not married to L...
Lisa will help her make sense of whatever's happening.
The cab parks across from Jennie's house and she pays him the rest of his fare.
She hurries across the street and up the steps, pulling keys out of her pocket that aren't her keys. As Jennie tries to find the one that fits the lock, she realize the door that she's opening is not her door. Well, it is her door. It's her street. Her number on the mailbox. But the handle isn't right, the wood is too elegant, and the hinges are some iron, gothic-looking things more suited to a medieval tavern.
Jennie turns the deadbolt.
The door swings inward.
Something is wrong.
Very, very wrong.
She step across the threshold, into the dining room.
It doesn't smell like her house. Doesn't smell like anything but the faintest odor of dust. Like no one has lived here in quite some time. The lights are out, and not just some of them. Every last one.
Jennie closes the door and fumble in the darkness until her hand grazes a dimmer switch. A chandelier made of antlers warms the room above a minimalist glass table that isn't hers and chairs that aren't hers.
she calls out, "Hello?"
The house is so quiet.
Revoltingly quiet.
In her home on the mantel behind the dining-room table there's a large, candid photograph of her and Lisa sitting side by side.
In the house that Jennie's currently in, there's a deep-contrast black-and-white photograph of the same canyon. More artfully done, but with no one in it.
Jennie moves on to the kitchen, and at her entrance, a sensor triggers the recessed lighting.
It's gorgeous.
Expensive.
And lifeless.
In her kitchen, there's a bunch of notes by Lisa held by magnets to their white LG refrigerator. It makes Jennie smile every time she sees it.
In the kitchen that Jennie's currently in, there's not even a blemish on the steel facade of the LG refrigerator.
"Lisa!"
Jennie tries again, "Lisa!"
She heads up the stairs to the second floor.
The hallway is dark and the light switch isn't where it should be, but it doesn't matter.
She steps into the next room on the left.
Their bedroom.
Except it's not. There's none of their polaroid pictures. No messy bed, no framed picture of them kissing, no desk with Jennie's to-be-checked papers across it, no lamps, no fluffy pillows, no clothes of them scattered all over the floor.
Instead, just a monitor sitting on an expansive desk that's covered in books and loose paper.
Jennie walks in shock to the center of the room. She can feel her heart beating faster out of panic, then she noticed something:
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