Tom

Combining study with work, and at the same time getting pennies, is always a test of strength. You are trapped in just such a trap. In your second year at university, huddled in a dorm with no hint of personal space, you fit into this strange but basic schedule: couples in the morning, shifts at night, and only a couple of hours of sleep between them. You didn't get enough sleep, you were always late, but you were holding on to this life with all your might. But they didn't complain either, there had been murder cases in the news lately, and there were more and more of them every day. And the only suspect, a 25-year-old guy, Tom, escaped, but you didn't really focus on it either, considering it none of your business and just another exaggeration.

And then, on one of those sleepless nights, when the brain was already refusing to think, the phone rang. You thoughtlessly pressed "reply" without even looking at the screen, sure that it was the employer calling with another urgent shift. But the voice on the other end was someone else's, quiet, unnaturally calm.:

"I'll take you to a house in the woods."

Still half—asleep, you automatically clarified, "Is it far away?"

There was a hint of bewilderment mixed with slight confusion in the other's voice. —Well... yes. It's an eight-hour drive from the city.

—Okay," you yawned, —is it tidy?" Where will I sleep?

There was a heavy pause on the other end. The maniac, judging by his voice, had slightly lost the thread of the conversation. "What do you mean, tidy?" "What is it?" he asked with a hint of annoyance. "You don't understand at all?" I'M GOING TO STEAL YOU.

—Yes, I understand, I understand,— you waved wearily, closing your eyes. — Just tell me: will it be possible to sleep there at least? It's been three days since I've been on my feet.

There was confusion on the phone, and then almost resentment.: "Listen to me... I'm going to change my mind about stealing you...