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Ryan’s eyes snap open.

He straightens in the chair.

“What do you mean?” Daniela asks.

“Do you trust me?”

She reaches over and touches my hand. Pure electricity. “Of course, honey.”

Ryan says, “Even when you and I have been on the outs, I’ve always respected your decency and integrity.”

Daniela looks concerned. “Everything okay?”

I shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t do this.

But I’m going to.

“A hypothetical,” I say. “A man of science, a physics professor, is living here in Chicago. He isn’t wildly successful like he always dreamed, but he’s happy, mostly content, and married”—I look at Daniela, thinking of how Ryan described it back at the gallery—“to the woman of his dreams. They have a son. They have a good life.

“One night, this man goes to a bar to see an old friend, a college buddy who recently won a prestigious award. On the walk back, something happens. He never makes it home. He’s abducted. The events are murky, but when he finally regains his full presence of mind, he’s in a lab in South Chicago, and everything has changed. His house is different. He’s not a professor anymore. He’s no longer married to this woman.”

Daniela asks, “Are you saying he thinks these things have changed, or that they’ve actually changed?”

“I’m saying that from his perspective, this isn’t his world anymore.”

“He has a brain tumor,” Ryan suggests.

I look at my old friend. “MRI says no.”

“Then maybe people are messing with him. Running an elaborate prank that infiltrates every aspect of his life. I think I saw that in a movie once.”

“In less than eight hours, the inside of his house was completely renovated. And not just different pictures on the walls. New appliances. New furniture. Light switches were moved. No prank could possibly be this complex. And what would be the point? This is just a normal guy. Why would anyone want to mess with him at this level?”

“Then he’s crazy,” Ryan says.

“I’m not crazy.”

It becomes very quiet in the loft.

Daniela takes hold of my hand. “What are you trying to tell us, Jason?”

I look at her. “Earlier tonight, you told me that a conversation you and I had inspired your installation.”

“It did.”

“Can you tell me about this conversation?”

“You don’t remember?”