He made her lie by her chest in an awkward posture, pulled her arms back and tied them with the same rope she had untied (maybe the sweat in her hand had turned the nylon rope slippery as it always does and she had managed to untie).

He turned her and managed to find the duct tape piece which was still sticky and got attached to his finger tips. He hated such situation ever since he had learnt how to repair paper using tapes. But putting tape on someone's mouth was his first time.

After he was done, he gasped and started to wipe sweat off his wrinkled forehead.

The girl was gaining some consciousness and now was moving a bit. What would he answer if someone asked him about the shrieks coming from his home last night?

He couldn’t say he was singing or his wife was yelling at him via telephone and he had let the speakers do rest of voice amplification job.

Or what if someone came with the question any second?

Why did she say I kidnapped her? How in the earth she's in my house? This all was scary, strange and most of all, troublesome.

He decided to put her back from where she had come. He dragged her and forced her with full discomfort inside the fireplace, no matter how painful it looked.

After the door of fireplace was shut, Hansen heard sound of people outside his home. He could hear, "Somebody screamed here!"

"What happened here?"

"Edward, what was the noise?"

Hansen felt awful like he never had felt before. What if there came knock on Hansen's door? What if anyone deduced screams and broken table to a story of crime?

Some people were still murmuring outside and Hansen was sitting near the door with his ear attached hard on it. He thought the door had heartbeat of its own. It seemed like his veins had taken enough of blood pumping.

"Let's ask Hansen …sound had come from this area." someone said – maybe he was Joey Tarot, only son of retired army officer Rick Tarot - who had fought with honor in many wars.

"I bet he hasn’t noticed such sound after all. He hasn’t even lit the bulb. Poor drunkard." a voice came and it didn’t matter to him whoever had called him with such underwhelming words. He sneaked through the keyhole and he saw some women in shorts join the conversation with the boys. They must have been some local prostitutes who perhaps had been hired by bunch of teen lads fond of weed and excessive dopamine addiction.

It looked as if he was now out of suspicion range.

While wiping sweat off his wrinkled forehead, leaning on the locked door, one thought haunted more than the potential danger of being caught for an undone crime, "How is she here?"

Like a paranoid, he would look though the keyhole in order to spot any sort of peculiar movement outside his house. Even an hour later he couldn't discover any. Later his mind was filled with an idea that he can never find something utterly outside till she had the mysterious unconscious girl inside his own house. Hansen's pant was wet. It left him wondering if it was sweat or he had pissed in his pants. Last time, it had happened when he was in an elementary school in Tacoma.

He still had black and white photos of himself with his other friends promoting Enhancement of Creativity Campaign when they had joined Oregon University until most of those were expelled by the University for having using weed in the university area.

He stood up and sneaked through the fireplace's keyhole. She was still unconscious. I can kill her right now…she would not yell this time. Do it Hansen. His sight then fell on broken glass which looked almost like a knife, or any other murder weapon.