Early the next morning, Lydia's condition grew worse and worse. She swayed when she walked and had no choice but to take sick leave and stay home.
"Your boss is really generous. You can recuperate at home and still get paid in full," Howie said enviously.
"Don't talk to me. Let me have some peace and quiet," Lydia said weakly.
The sleep she'd gotten the previous night had tortured her to death.
Every time she closed her eyes, all kinds of horrifying images appeared, just like when she'd first watched a horror movie as a teenage girl.
But she was nearly thirty now. How could she still be afraid? Could it be that even old women had a young girl's heart?
It wasn't until five in the morning, after dawn broke, that she finally fell asleep amid the sounds beginning outside.
The usual noisy traffic, voices, even gunshots—sounds that normally gave her headaches—now made her feel incredibly safe.
Without those lullabies, she couldn't sleep at all.
It was utterly absurd.
Leaning against the sofa, she pressed one hand to her brow and used the other to call the coworker who had lent her the video.
"A horror movie? No, I gave you a robot repair manual," the coworker said in surprise.
"Take another careful look yourself."
She sent the video back to him.
At noon that day, she finally got a good sleep.
She didn't see those terrifying eyes again.
Nor did she dream.
But then her male coworker called, saying in terror, "No, impossible! They've caught up to me! Ah!"
"Hans, what's wrong?" Lydia asked anxiously.
She then called the patrol officers and asked them to check on her coworker at his home.
They brushed her off with a few words and told her to confirm her coworker's condition