NATURE. NEAR THE DACHA. MORNING.

The sun shone brightly, flooding the green, slightly peeling roof of the dacha with light. Liza drove her car onto a small rise, which offered a perfect observation point. From here, she couldn’t be seen, but the dacha lay spread out before her. Gleb, true to form, stepped out onto the veranda with a cup of coffee. After finishing the bitter drink, he removed his terry cloth robe, revealing his muscular torso, and, deeply inhaling the cool morning air, began his physical exercises.

“A perfect shot for the ‘Bachelor’s Morning’ column,” Liza chuckled, snapping the camera’s shutter.

An hour later, Gleb finished his workout, wheeled out his bicycle, and rode unhurriedly towards the forest. Waiting until his figure disappeared from sight, Liza started the engine and, driving sharply off the rise, headed straight for the dacha.

NATURE. THE DACHA YARD.

Liza parked right by the dacha’s porch. Hastily grabbing a small box containing an electric stove and a sack that was slightly rustling, she looked around. Convinced no one saw her strange baggage, the girl quickly entered the house.

INTERIOR. DACHA. CORRIDOR/BEDROOM.

In the entryway, Liza immediately unpacked the electric stove, and with the sack slung over her shoulder, she flew up to the second floor. In the bedroom, she opened the sack—mice popped out like corks and immediately scattered, rustling in the corners. Liza, ignoring them, began inspecting Gleb’s belongings.

She was satisfied to find neatly folded boxer shorts—“Seems like they’re all normal, no flowers,” she muttered, taking a picture. In a pant pocket, she found condoms. Another click of the shutter. On the bedside table—a book of Petrarch’s sonnets, which was also photographed. Finally, Liza opened a separate cabinet where socks were neatly stacked. “Wow...” she picked up one pair and held it to her nose. The socks smelled of perfume.

At that moment, she heard someone entering the house. Gleb had returned. Liza instantly put the socks back and hurried downstairs.

On the landing, Gleb froze, seeing the uninvited guest.

“Liza?!” he said in surprise, casting a quick glance at her empty sack. “What are you doing here?”

Liza, trying to look as natural as possible, descended.

“I knocked several times, and no one opened. I thought maybe something happened, and decided to come in to find you,” she said in a deliberately caring tone. “And I brought you an electric stove instead of the gas one, and something tasty for tea,” She held up the sack. “Please accept it as an apology for the inconvenience with the water and gas.”

Gleb frowned.

“Thank you, but I don’t need anything. Please, leave.”

“No, no,” Liza insisted, “I simply must treat you to tea! And check the electric stove at the same time.”

Without waiting for a reply, she practically flew into the kitchen, putting the kettle on.

INTERIOR. DACHA. KITCHEN.

While making tea, Liza began bombarding Gleb with questions:

“Such a man, and alone... I guess you don’t have friends? Maybe you’re hiding from something? If so, I’m ready to listen. Sometimes a delicate soul hides behind a mask of cool composure like yours.”

Gleb, reserved and silent, listened to her idle chatter. As soon as the tea and treats were on the table, he abruptly interrupted her.

“Your apologies are accepted. I want to be alone and have my tea.”

Before Liza could object, Gleb practically ushered her out the door and strictly asked her not to return without his permission.

INTERIOR. NEWSPAPER PUBLISHING HOUSE. OFFICE.

At the publishing house, Liza dumped the developed photos onto the table. Vika grabbed them curiously.

“What is this?”

“Material I dug up on Gleb.”

Vika looked at the photo of the underwear:

“Nice briefs. But they don’t look like a queer’s underwear at all.”

“So, do all queers wear flowers?” Liza shrugged. “Maybe he’s active.”

“There’s no compromising information yet... Oh, what’s this? Condoms? Do gays use condoms? Looks like he’s not small, if it’s that size of a condom. With that size, Gleb is definitely active!”

Volodya, sitting nearby, was indignant:

“What nonsense are you up to?!”

Vika picked up the photo with the book.

“Oh, he reads Petrarch!”

Volodya immediately quipped sarcastically:

“Now that’s a lead! What normal guy reads sonnets? Normal guys only pick their noses, scatter their socks, and lounge on the couch. That’s how women imagine real men, right?” and, to Liza’s and Vika’s surprise, Volodya began to recite one of Petrarch’s sonnets by heart:

“From these eyes long since I should have fled, Hope of compassion is a foolish thought, That they would cease the siege which they have wrought, That any remedy my heart has fed.”

Liza interrupted Volodya:

“And Gleb also wears pajamas and his clothes are folded better than any housewife’s!”

Volodya sarcastically concluded:

“One hundred percent confirmation that he’s gay. Real men don’t wear pajamas! And we don’t use wardrobes.”

“And his socks smell of perfume!” Liza blurted out.

Volodya pondered.

“Now that is actually a strange fact.”

Volodya looked at Liza seriously:

“You’re going too far. You’re playing spy. You broke into his house. That’s illegal, Gleb could sue.”

“My intuition tells me he won’t. Gleb is not in a position to do so right now,” Liza answered resolutely. “The fact that he ran away so far from everyone only confirms it. I’m not going to give up.”

NATURE. NEAR THE DACHA. LATE EVENING.

Late in the evening, Liza returned to the rise near the dacha. It was quite cold outside. She saw Gleb walking around the yard, looking for firewood. After checking the shed, he called Liza, who, watching him through binoculars, answered his call.

“Where is the firewood you mentioned?” Gleb’s voice on the phone was full of irritation. “I need to start the stove. It’s freezing here.”

“You need to chop it, the axe is in the small shed behind the house,” Liza smiled maliciously in response, feeling satisfied that he was freezing.

Gleb didn’t answer, but simply slammed the phone down in annoyance. Liza, leaning against her old car, watched what was happening. She enjoyed watching Gleb awkwardly, almost comically, wielding the heavy axe. Soon, covered in icy chips and panting, he carried armfuls of clumsily chopped wood into the house. A few minutes later, a thin wisp of smoke finally rose from the chimney. To avoid freezing entirely, Liza began to jump up and down by the car, slapping her shoulders.

Suddenly, Gleb came out of the house. He quickly, hunched against the cold, headed for the dilapidated outdoor toilet located away from the house. Liza glanced around and noticed a massive but short log at the foot of the small embankment. A predatory smile appeared on her face. Grabbing the log, she cautiously, trying not to make a noise from the crumbling earth, descended the slope, approaching the toilet from the rear.

Gleb was sitting inside, and his focused puffing was barely audible through the thin boards. Liza crept up quietly, on tiptoe, like a huntress, and gathering all her strength, she threw the log with full force at the back wall of the toilet.

The bang was deafening, the boards cracked with a dry crunch. Gleb, like a bullet released, instantly ran out into the yard. While Gleb was looking around and frantically pulling up his trousers, Liza had already hidden in the thickets at the foot of the slope. Gleb saw no one.

Suddenly in the distance, a sharp, blue lightning flashed above the horizon, and simultaneously a strong, icy wind blew. Gleb, seeing the stormy flashes, started breathing heavily—it seemed the fear of the elements overpowered the fear of a nighttime attack. He quickly retreated back into the house, slamming the door shut behind him. Liza, rubbing her hands with satisfaction, climbed back up to the rise.

INTERIOR. DACHA. BEDROOM.

Night fell, bringing with it pitch darkness and an incessant thunderstorm. In the bedroom, Gleb, breathing heavily, furiously drew the curtains, sealing the windows shut, just to avoid seeing the flashes of lightning that drove him to panic. He was trembling violently, more from nervous tension than from the cold, and quickly dived under the blanket.

As soon as he turned off the light, plunging the room into blackness, something distinctly scratched in the silence of the house. The sound was quiet, but persistent, and seemed to come right from the walls. Gleb tensed. And then he felt a slight, barely noticeable movement under the blanket. With a sharp motion, Gleb turned on the night light. The dim yellowish light snatched a terrifying sight from the darkness: mice, a whole dozen, scuttled across the floor, darting and hiding in the shadows of the furniture. And under his blanket, completely peacefully and calmly, sat one small grey mouse, looking at him with its tiny bead eyes.

Crying out in disgust, Gleb, as if stung, jumped out of bed, recoiling from the bedding as if from the plague.

“Liza, you’ll see!!” he roared into the void.

At that moment, a devastating clap of thunder sounded. Gleb turned on the overhead light, flooding the bedroom with bright light. He quickly grabbed the heavy blanket, dragging it away from the bed with the mice, and moved to the corner of the room where an old, soft armchair stood. He climbed into it and covered himself completely, totally isolating himself from the mice. Outside the window, a frantic, heavy rain began, lashing against the glass, drowning out all other sounds except the thunder. Gleb hid under the blanket, breathing heavily and intermittently with every new clap of thunder.

INTERIOR. NEWSPAPER EDITORIAL OFFICE. OFFICE. MORNING.

Morning greeted the editorial office with silence, broken only by the rustling of turning pages and the tapping of keyboards.

“Where is the young spy, Liza?” Volodya’s voice sounded cheerful and slightly mocking as he appeared in the doorway and headed toward Vika’s desk.

Vika, without looking up from the monitor, replied:

“On stakeout. She spent the whole night at the dacha. We’re waiting for explosive news from her. Or at least her safe return,” there was a slight concern in her tone.

Volodya nodded thoughtfully, and then his gaze fell on something lying on Vika’s desk. He picked up the object—a bright green carnival mask, depicting either a frog or an alien—and began carelessly twirling it in his hands. A sly smile appeared on his face.

“Where are you going?” Vika finally lifted her head, seeing him resolutely heading for the exit.

Volodya stopped in the doorway, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. He winked at her and tossed over his shoulder:

“To have some fun. Liza shouldn’t be the only one doing this.”

With those words, he vanished, and Vika sighed and returned to work.

NATURE. RISE NEAR THE DACHA/DACHA.

Liza was sound asleep in the car on the rise. She was woken by the creak of the wicket gate opening. She saw Gleb cycling away. The girl immediately left the car and headed towards the dacha. Entering the house, she took out her camera. Suddenly, Liza noticed drops of blood on the stairs. She went upstairs, following them. The drops led her to the bedroom.

Holding her breath, Liza opened the closet door. Inside, hanging from a rope, was the corpse of a bloodied cat. A sign was attached to it: “The cat couldn’t catch mice.” Liza screamed, ran out of the room, and stumbled out of the house.

NATURE. RISE NEAR THE DACHA.

Terrified by what she had seen, Liza scrambled madly up the rise to where she had left her car. Her heart pounded, one thought hammering in her head: run. In absolute panic, she was so focused on the car that she completely failed to notice an old, battered motorcycle neatly parked in the bushes nearby.

Sinking into the car with trembling hands, Liza hadn’t even had time to catch her breath to start the engine when a man abruptly rose from the back seat. His face was hidden behind a bright green mask. Without letting him utter a single word, Liza, acting on pure adrenaline, reacted instantly: she punched him straight in the nose and, without losing a second, sprayed him with the gas canister she always kept ready. While the man writhed from the acrid gas, clutching his mask and wheezing, she swiftly jumped out of the car.

Grabbing her phone, Liza tried to dial the police, but the screen remained dark: the phone was completely dead. Not wasting time, she ran back down the slope, towards the house, where she hoped there was some working landline phone.

INTERIOR. DACHA. HALL.

Running into the hall, Liza, breathing heavily, frantically tried to turn on the old rotary phone, feverishly tugging at the cord. In her fear and haste, she completely failed to notice Gleb, surprisingly calm and unperturbed, entering the house through the back door.

“You probably need to plug the phone in,” Gleb said calmly, watching with slight surprise as Liza ran around the hall with the disconnected device in her hands.

Liza shrieked, seeing him so suddenly. Phone in hand, she bolted toward the front door. Opening it, she ran into the same man in the green mask who seemed to have recovered and was following her. In a fresh bout of terror, she instinctively struck him on the head with the phone she still gripped. The man fell with a dull thud and groaned loudly. Gleb stood in the middle of the hall, watching the scene calmly and with undisguised astonishment. The masked man lying on the floor, wheezing in pain, managed to grab Liza’s leg.

“Liza...” he whispered faintly, but with a recognizable intonation.

Hearing the familiar voice, which did not fit the image of a masked maniac, she froze. It was... Volodya.

In complete horror and bewilderment, Liza slowly looked at Gleb, who, maintaining Olympic calm and composure, silently waited for the conclusion. Nodding towards the prostrate Volodya, he said calmly:

“Now, it’s time for us to talk, Liza.”