It's almost twenty minutes before the front door opens again. In the intervening time, Chell has determined it is a) way too cold to be outside, b) extremely quiet on the street, and c) not entirely safe to go back into the house with the guy with a knife unless she's got something of her own. Options are limited in front of the house. She finally settled for prying an ornamental rock from the edge of the garden, and has it hefted in one hand as she steps carefully back into the house. It'll be just like a live fire course: if the turret spots you, you huck something heavy at it and sprint for cover.

If she doesn't see anyone in the living room, she'll start for the stairs. There should be clothes and shoes she can take in the bedroom, right?

But a framed photo on the sideboard catches her eye before she can get too far. A photo of her. A photo of her, and knife guy, posed at a party of some kind. Chell stops, arrested, and picks up the photo in her free hand to stare at it more closely.