He comes every night. Every-du-th. Always - up to the elbows in someone else's blood, with a wild look and a crazy smile. I still wonder why he didn't kill me. Maybe there is simply no one else to return to? I remember that at that time I collected my thoughts for a long time, looked at him, watched how in the twilight of the room, by the light of only one lamp, yellow glare played on his pale face from the fact that the lamp was barely noticeably blinking.