Silence. Some headlights send shadows sliding slowly across the wall behind you but the cars aren't coming down your street, they're further in the distance.
It's late. Your cigarettes are starting to wear off. Your laser intensity focus runs out and you're just boned dead tired. You crawl under a heavy wooden desk and close your eyes. You can afford to sleep for a few hours; the house can watch itself for a few hours. You drift off.
You wake to the warm glow of the sun on your face. You make to stretch and stand but no part of you moves. You're laying completely flat on your back, arms tucked tightly to your side, and you can't move at all. Your vision clears up. You're tied to a table in a room you don't recognize. What the hell is going on.