He had brushed and flossed his teeth, set his alarm, and put an envelope he wanted to mail on the mantle. He turned on the porch light, turned off the reading lamp in the living room, doffing his robe to slip naked beneath the cool sheets and was just drifting off to sleep when he heard it. A noise coming from the kitchen. The sound of a pot shifting on the drying rack? He was about to ignore it and turn his focus back inward, closing his eyes and rolling them back, when the unmistakeable sound of footsteps creaking across the wooden floor of the foyer made him sit up lightning fast. He held his breath, eyes wide, listening intently, but the creaking had stopped, as if whoever it was had heard his reaction and stopped mid-step.

It was then that he saw the head creeping around the doorframe, the eyes on him.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?!"

And the eyes disappeared, the sound of feet running across the foyer into the kitchen. He bolted from bed, naked, running after the intruder, almost slipping and falling on his ass on the polished wood floor. The intruder got to the back door leading out of the kitchen and fumbled with the lock, just enough lag time for him to catch her.

It was a woman. She was crying when he grabbed her, spun her around in a furious rage.

"Who are you?!" He demanded.

She collapsed in his strong grasp, sobbing violently. Her face was dirty, a patch of blood dried at the corner of her mouth. Her sobs only angered him further; he shook her fiercely.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?!"