A man had spent fifteen long years behind bars, locked away in a maximum-security prison. But one fateful night, under the cover of darkness, he made his daring escape. Driven by desperation and a hunger for freedom, he fled into the night, evading police and security at every turn.
Weary and in need of supplies, the fugitive stumbled upon a quiet suburban neighborhood. He scanned the houses and chose one that seemed isolated, its lights dim, its occupants seemingly asleep. He crept to the back door, jimmied the lock, and slipped inside, moving silently like a shadow. His heart pounded as he searched for anything useful—money, weapons, food. But what he found instead was a young couple asleep in their bed.
The moment the man stepped into the bedroom, the couple jolted awake. The woman gasped, clutching at the sheets, while the man tried to sit up, his face pale with fear. The intruder brandished a knife and ordered the man out of bed. Trembling, the husband obeyed. The fugitive forced him into a chair, using bedsheets to bind his hands tightly. Then, turning his attention to the woman, he tied her wrists to the bedposts, ensuring she was restrained.
The couple barely breathed as the fugitive climbed onto the bed. The woman tensed, her heart racing. He leaned in, his face inches from hers, and his lips brushed against her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut, frozen in fear. Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away and stood up. Without another word, he disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
The moment the door clicked shut, the husband frantically whispered to his wife. “Listen to me. This guy is dangerous. Look at his clothes—he’s an escaped convict. He’s probably been locked up for years without seeing a woman.”
The wife swallowed hard, listening to her husband’s fearful words.
“I saw how he kissed your neck,” the husband continued. “If he wants sex, don’t fight him. Don’t scream. Just do what he says. We need to get out of this alive. No matter what, stay strong. I love you.”
The woman remained silent for a moment, then turned her head slightly toward her husband. Her voice was calm, almost amused, as she whispered back, “He wasn’t kissing my neck. He was whispering in my ear.”
The husband frowned. “What? What did he say?”
“He told me he’s gay,” she continued. “He said he thinks you’re cute and asked if we had any Vaseline.”
The husband’s eyes widened in horror as his wife added, “I told him it was in the bathroom.”
There was a long pause before she smirked slightly and whispered, “Be strong, honey. I love you too.”
The husband sat frozen, his face pale, his mind racing. The bathroom door was still closed, and silence filled the air. Every second felt like an eternity.
“Do you think he’ll—” the husband began, but his voice faltered.
“I don’t know,” the wife replied, her tone laced with amusement. “But if I were you, I’d start thinking of a way to get us out of this.”
Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and the fugitive stepped out, a smirk playing on his lips. He held the Vaseline in one hand, rolling it between his fingers.
The husband broke into a cold sweat. The fugitive locked eyes with him and chuckled. “Relax, man. I’m just messing with you.” He tossed the Vaseline onto the bed and let out a laugh.
Both the husband and wife exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to believe. The fugitive sighed, stretched his arms, and muttered, “You guys are way too tense. Look, I just needed a place to crash for a bit. I’ll be gone before sunrise.”
He walked toward the window, peered outside, and then turned back to them. “Cops are probably looking for me. But don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. Just need some rest.”
The couple remained still, unsure whether to breathe a sigh of relief or remain on high alert. The fugitive shook his head and plopped onto the armchair in the corner. “You should get some sleep,” he said. “It’s gonna be a long night.”
The husband and wife exchanged another look, neither willing to close their eyes just yet. The night was far from over.