Jennie wander away from the box, trying to temper her hope.
This could be an abandoned power plant in Seoul in any number of worlds.
As she moves slowly down the row of generators, a glint on the floor catches her eye.
Jennie approaches.
Resting in a crack in the concrete six inches from the base of the generator: an empty ampoule with its neck snapped off. In all the abandoned power plants she havepassed through during the last month, she have never seen it.
Perhaps the one Jennie2 injected himself with seconds before she lost consciousness, on the night she stole Jennie's life.
I should check everything first. Jennit thoughts.
Over the last month, she's been in Seouls that looked similar, but there's something different about this one. It isn't just that empty ampoule. It's something deeper that IJennie can't explain other than to say it feels like a place where she belongs. It feels like hers.
She wonders—
Is Lisa, my Lisa, alive and well under this snow-laden clouds?
___________________________________
Jennie exits the train and thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. Snow is sticking to the familiar streets of her neighborhood. To the sidewalks. To the cars parked along the curbs. The headlight beams from rush-hour traffic slash through the profusion of snowflakes.
Up and down her block, the houses stand glowing and lovely in the storm.
A fragile half inch has already collected on the steps to her porch, where a single set of footprints leads to the door.
Through the front window of the house, Jennie sees the lights on inside, and from where she stand on the sidewalk, this looks exactly like home.
Jennie keep expecting to discover that some minor detail is off—the wrong front door, the wrong street number, a piece of furniture on the stoop she doesn't recognize.
But the door is right.
The street number is right.
There's even a tesseract chandelier hanging above the dinner table in the front room, and Jennie is close enough to see the large photograph on the mantel—
Lisa and her.
Through the open doorway that leads from the dining room into the kitchen, Jennie glimpse the other Jennie standing at the island, holding a bottle of wine.
Reaching across, she pours into someone's wineglass.
Elation hits, but it doesn't last.
From her vantage point, all she can see is a beautiful hand holding the stem of the glass, and it crashes down on Jennie again what the other her did to Jennie.
All that she took.
Everything she stole.
Jennie can't hear anything out here in the snow, but she sees the other her laugh and take a sip of wine.
What are they talking about?
When was the last time they fucked?
Is Lisa happier now than she was a month ago, with me?
Can I stand to know the answer to that question?
The sane, even voice in her head is wisely suggesting that Jennie should move away from the house right now.
I'm not ready to do this. I have no plan.
Only rage and jealousy.
And Jennie shouldn't get ahead of herself. She still needs more confirmation that this is indeed her world.
A little ways down the block, Jennie see the familiar back end of their house.
Walking over, she brushes off the snow that's clinging to the Seoul tag.
The license plate number is hers.
The paint is the right color.
Jennie clears the back windshield.
The Unicorn decal looks perfect, in as much as it's half ripped off. Jennie instantly regretted putting the sticker on the glass the moment she did it. Tried to tear it off, but only managed to remove the lower half of the unicorn's face, so all that's left is it's horns and eyes.
But that was three years ago.
Jennie needs something more recent, more definitive.
Several weeks before she was abducted, Jennie accidentally backed their Daewoo Sedan into a parking meter near campus. It didn't do much damage beyond cracking the right rear taillight and denting in the bumper.
Jennie wipes the snow off the red plastic of the taillight and then the bumper.
She touches the crack.
She touches the dent.
No other Daewoo Sedan in the countless Seoul she have visited has borne these markings.
Rising, Jennie glances across the street toward that bench where she once spent an entire day watching another version of her life unfold. It's empty at the moment, the snow piling up silently on the seat.
Shit.
A few feet behind the bench, a figure watches Jennie through the snowy darkness.
Jennie begins walking quickly down the sidewalk, thinking it probably looked as if she were stealing the license plate off the Suburban.
She have to be more careful.
___________________________________
The blue neon sign in the front window of Village Tap blinks through the storm, like a signal from a lighthouse, telling Jennie that she's close to home.
There is no Hotel Royale in this world, so Jennie checks into the sad Days Inn across from her local bar.
Two nights is all she can afford, and it brings her cash reserves down to ₩134634 and change.
The business center is a tiny room down the hallway on the first floor, with a borderline-obsolete desktop, fax machine, and printer.
Online, Jennie confirms three pieces of information.
1. Jennie Kim is a professor in the Yonsei physics department.
2. Both Kim Jisoo and Park Chaeyoung just won the Pavia award for their separate research contributions in the field of neuroscience and medicine.
3. Lalisa Manoban isn't a renowned dancer, and she doesn't work as a photographer. Her charmingly amateurish website displays several pieces of her blog and teaches dance lessons to a workshop that her wife knows too well.
As she trudges up the stairwell to her third-floor room, Jennie finally begin to let myself believe.
This is my world.
___________________________________
Jennie sits by the window of her hotel room, staring down at the blinking neon sign of Village Tap.
She is not a violent person.
She'd never hit any living thing.
Never even tried to.
But if she wants her wife back, there's simply no way around it.
She have to do a terrible thing.
Have to do what Jennie2 did to her, only without the conscience-protecting option of simply putting her back into the box. Even though Jennie have one ampoule left, she wouldn't repeat her mistake.
She should've killed Jennie when she had the chance.
Jennie feels the physicist side of her brain creeping in, trying to take over the controls.
She is a scientist, after all. A process-minded thinker.
So she thinks of thit like a lab experiment.
There's a result Ishewant to achieve.
What are the steps it will take for her to arrive at that result?
First, define the desired result.
Kill the Jennie Kim who's living in my home and put her in a place where no one will ever find her again.
What tools do I need to accomplish that?
A car.
A gun.
Some method of restraining her.
A shovel.
A safe place to dispose of her body.
I hate these thoughts.
Yes, she took Jennie's wife and her life, but the idea of the preparation and the violence is so ugly.
There's a forest preserve an hour south of Seoul. Jennie's been there several times with Lisa, usually in the fall when the leaves are turning and they're antsy for wilderness and solitude and a day out of the city.
She could drive Jennie2 there at night, or make her drive, just like she did to Jennie.
Lead her down one of the trails that Jennie knows on the north side of the river.
Jennie will have been there a day or two prior, so her grave will already be dug in some quiet, secluded place. She'll have researched how deep to make it so animals can't smell the rot. Make her think she's going to dig her own grave, so she thinks she has more time to figure out an escape or to convince Jennie not to do it. Then, when they're within twenty feet of the hole, Jennie will drop the shovel and say that it's time to start digging.
As the other bends down to pick it up, Jennie will do the thing she can't imagine.
She will fire a bullet into the back of the other's head.
Then Jennie will drag her over to the hole and roll her into it and cover her up with dirt.
The good news is that no one will be looking for her.
Jennie will slide back into her life the same way Jennie2 slid into hers.
Maybe years down the road, Jennie will tell Lisa the truth.
Maybe she'll never tell her.
___________________________________
The sporting-goods store is three blocks away and still an hour shy of closing.
Jennie could never imagine what would drive someone to want to own one.
She have only fired a gun two or three times in her life, while she was in high school in states. Even then, shooting at rusted oil drums on her best friend's farm, she didn't experience the same thrill as the other kids. It scared her too much. As she would stand facing the target, aiming the heavy pistol, she couldn't escape the thought that she was holding death.
The store is called Field and Glove, and Jennie's one of three customers at that late hour.
Wandering past racks of windbreakers and a wall of running shoes, she make her way towards the counter at the back of the store.
Shotguns and rifles hang on the wall over boxes of ammunition.
Handguns gleam under glass at the counter.
Black ones.
Chrome ones.
Ones with cylinders.
Ones without.
Ones that look like they should only be carried by vigilante cops in 1970s action movies.
A woman walks over wearing a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans. She's got a distinct Annie Oakley vibe with her frizzy red hair and a tattoo that wraps around her freckled right arm and reads: ...the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
"Help you with something?" she asks.
"Yeah, I was looking to buy a handgun, but to be honest, I don't know the first thing about them."
"Why do you want one?"
"Home defense."
She pulls a set of keys out of her pocket and unlocks the cabinet Jennie's standing in front of. She watches her arm reach under the glass and lift out a black pistol.
"So this is a Glock 23. Forty caliber. Austrian-made. Solid knockdown power. I could also set you up in a subcompact version if you wanted something smaller for a concealed-carry permit."
"And this will stop an intruder?"
"Oh yeah. This'll put 'em down, and they won't be getting back up."
She pulls the slide, checks to make sure the tube is clear, and then locks it back and ejects the magazine.
"How many bullets does it hold?"
"Thirteen rounds."
She offers Jennie the gun.
Jennie's not exactly sure what she's supposed to do with it. Aim it? Feel the weight?
She hold it awkwardly in her hand, and even though it isn't loaded, Jennie registers that same I'm-holding-death unease.
The price tag hanging from the trigger guard reads ₩672000
Jennie needs to figure out her money situation.
"What do you think of it?" she asks.
"Yeah. I mean, it feels like a gun."
"I could show you a few others. I have a really nice Smith and Wesson .357 if you were thinking more along the lines of a revolver."
"No, this would do fine. I just need to scrape together some cash. What's the background-check process?"
"Do you have a FOID card?"
"What's that?"
"A firearm owners' identification card that's issued by the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency. You have to apply for it."
"How long does that take?"
She doesn't answer.
Just stares at Jennie strangely, then reaches out and takes the Glock from her hand and returns it to its resting place under the glass.
Jennie asks, "Did I say something wrong?"
"You're Jennie, right?"
"How do you know my name?"
"I've been standing here trying to put it all together, to make sure I wasn't crazy. You don't know my name?"
"No."
"See, I think you're messing with me, and it's not a wise—"
"I've never spoken to you before. In fact, I haven't been in this store in probably four years."
She locks the cabinet and returns the key ring to her pocket.
"I think you should leave now, Jennie."
"I don't understand—"
"If this isn't some game, then you have a head injury or Alzheimer's or you're just plain crazy."
"What are you talking about?"
"You really don't know?"
"No."
She leans her elbows on the counter. "Two days ago, you walked in here, said you wanted to buy a handgun. I showed you the same Glock. You said it was for home defense."
What does this mean? Is Jennie2 generally preparing in case I possibly return, or is she actually expecting me?
"Did you sell me a gun?" Jennie asks.
"No, you didn't have a FOID card. You said you needed to get cash. I don't think you even had a driver's license."
Now a prickling sensation trails down Jennie's spine.
Her knees go weak.
She says, "And it wasn't just two days ago. I got a weird vibe from you, so yesterday, I asked Chanyeol, who also works the gun counter, if he'd ever seen you in here before. He had. Three other times in the last week. And now, here you are again."
Jennie braces herself against the counter.
"So, Jennie, I don't ever want to see you in this store again. Not even to buy a jockstrap. If I do, I'll call the police. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
She looks scared and resolute, and Jennie would not want to cross her in a dark alley where she took Jennie for a threat.
"I understand."
"Get out of my store.
___________________________________
Jennie steps out into the pouring snow, the flakes blasting her face, her headspinning.
She glances down the street, see a cab approaching. When she raises her arm, it veers toward her, easing to a stop alongside the curb. Pulling open the rear passenger door, Jennie hops in.
"Where to?" the cabbie asks.
Where to.
Great question.
"A hotel, please."
"Which one?"
"I don't know. Something within ten blocks. Something cheap. I want you to pick it."
He looks back through the Plexiglas separating the front and backseats.
"You want me to pick it?"
"Yes."
For a moment, Jennie thinks he isn't going to do it. Maybe it's too weird a request. Maybe he's going to order her out. But instead, he starts the meter running and pulls back out into traffic.
___________________________________
Jennie stares through the window at the snow falling through headlights, taillights, streetlights, flashing lights.
Her heart stomping inside her chest, her thoughts racing.
I need to calm down.
Approach this logically, rationally.
The cab pulls over in front of a seedy-looking hotel called the End o' Days.
The cabbie glances back, asks, "This work for you?"
Jennie pays the fare and head for the front office.
There's a Bulls game on the radio and a heavy hotel clerk behind the desk eating Chinese food from a fleet of white cartons.
Brushing the snow off her shoulders, she checks in under a name that only she, her wife and their family knows—Pranpriya Manoban.
Jennie pays for a single night.
She heads up to the fourth floor and lock herself inside the room behind the deadbolt and the chain.
It's utterly without life.
A bed with a depressing floral-print comforter.
Formica table.
Dressers built of particleboard.
At least it's warm.
Jennie moves to the curtains and peek outside.
It's snowing hard enough that the streets are beginning to empty and the pavement is frosting over, showing the tire tracks of passing cars.
She undress and stow her last ampoule in the Gideon Bible in the bottom drawer of the bedside table.
Then she jumps in the shower.
She needs to think.
___________________________________
Jennie ride the elevator down to the first floor and uses her keycard to access the business center.
She have an idea.
Bringing up the free email service she uses in this world, she types in the first idea for a username that comes to mind.
Her name spelled out in Lisa's language: ninimanoban.
Not surprisingly, it's already taken.
The password is obvious.
The one she have used for almost everything the last ten years: lini4ever
Jennie attempts to log in.
It works.
She finds herself in a newly created email account whose inbox contains several introductory emails from the provider and one recent email from
"Jennie" that has already been opened.
The subject heading: Welcome Home The Real Jennie Kim
jennie opens it.
There's no message in the email.
Just a hyperlink.
The new page loads and an alert pops up on the screen:
Welcome to UberChat!
There are currently three active participants.
Are you a new user?
Jennie clicks Yes.
Your username is Jason9.
Jennie has to create a password before logging in.
A large window displays the entire history of a conversation.
A selection of emoticons.
A small field in which to type and send public messages to the board and private messages to individual participants. Jennie scrolls to the top of the conversation, which started approximately eighteen hours ago. The most recent message is forty minutes old.
JennieADMIN: I've seen some of you around the house. I know there's more of you out there.
Jennie3: Is this seriously happening?
Jennie4: Is this seriously happening?
Jennie6: Unreal.
Jennie3: So how many of you went to field & glove?
JennieADMIN: Three days ago.
Jennie4: Two.
Jennie6: I bought one in Donghwa-Dong.
Jennie5: You have a gun?
Jennie6: Yes.
JennieADMIN: Who all thought about Myeongnyun?
Jennie3: Guilty.
Jennie4: Guilty.
Jennie6: I actually drove out there and dug a hole last night. Was all ready to go. Had a car lined up. Shovel. Rope. Everything planned out perfectly. This evening, I went to the house to wait for the Jennie who did this to all of us to leave. But then I saw myself behind the car.
Jennie8: Why'd you call it off, jason6?
Jennie6: What's the point of going forward with it? If I got rid of her, one of you would just show up and do the same thing to me.
Jennie3: Did everyone run through the game-theory scenarios?
Jennie4: Yes.
Jennie6: Yes.
Jennie8: Yes.
JennieADMIN: Yes.
Jennie3: So we all know there's no way this ends well.
Jennie4: You could all just kill yourselves and let me have her.
JennieADMIN: I opened this chat room and have administrator controls. Five more Jasons are lurking right now, just FYI.
Jennie3: Why don't we all join forces and conquer the world? Can you imagine what would happen with this many versions of us actually working together? (Only halfkidding)
Jennie6: Can I imagine what would happen? Totally. They'd put us in a government lab and test us until the end of time.
Jennie4: Can I just say what we're all thinking? This is fucking weird.
Jennie5: I have a gun too. None of you fought as hard as I did to get home. None of you saw what I saw.
Jennie7: You have no idea what the rest of us went through.
Jennie5: I saw hell. Literally. Hell. Where are you right now, Jennie7? I've already killed two of us.
Another alert flashes across the screen: You have a private message from Jennie7.
Jennie opens the message, her head pounding, exploding:
Jennie7: I know this situation is totally insane, but do you want to partner with me? Two minds are stronger than one. We could work together to get rid of the others, and when all the smoke has cleared, I'm sure we can figure something out. Time is critical. What do you say?
What do I say? Jennie thought.
She can hardly breathe.
She leaves the business center.
Sweat runs down her sides, but she feels so cold.
The first-floor hallway is empty, quiet.
She hurries to the elevator and ride up to the fourth floor.
Stepping off onto the beige carpeting, She moves quickly down the hall and lock herself back in her room.
Spiraling.
How did she not anticipate it happening?
In hindsight, it was inevitable.
Though she wasn't branching into alternate realities in the corridor, she certainly was in every world she stepped into. Which means other versions of her were split off in those worlds of ash and ice and plague.
The infinite nature of the corridor precluded Jennie from running into more versions of herself, but she did see one—the Jennie with her back flayed open.
Undoubtedly most of those Jennies were killed or lost forever in other worlds, but some, like Jennie, made the right choices. Or got lucky. Their paths might have altered from hers, through different doors, different worlds, but they eventually found their respective ways back to this Seoul.
They all want the same thing—to get their life back.
Jesus.
Their life.
Their wife.
What if most of these other Jennies are exactly like her? Decent human who want back what was taken from them. And if that's the case, what right do Jennie have to Lisa over the rest of them?
This isn't just a game of chess. It's a game of chess against Jennie herself.
She doesn't want to see it that way, but she can't help it. The other Jennies want the thing in the world that is most precious to her—Lisa. That makes them her enemy. Jennie asks herself what she would be willing to do to regain her life.
Would she kill another version of her if it meant she could spend the rest of her days with Lisa? Would they?
Jennie pictures these other versions of her sitting in their lonely hotel rooms, or walking the snowy streets, or watching my brownstone, wrestling with this exact line of thinking.
Asking themselves these same questions.
Attempting to forecast their doppelgängers' next moves.
There can be no sharing. It's strictly competitive, a zero-sum game, where only one of them can win.
If anyone is reckless, if things get out of hand and Lisa is injured or killed, then no one wins. That must be why things seemed normal when Jennie looked inside the front window of her house several hours ago.
No one knows which move to make, so no one has made a play against Jennie2.