"He's not going to spend the night here, is he?"

My aunt came to visit us one day. We sat down to have some tea and chat. I looked at my aunt, and she seemed either thoughtful or upset. I carefully began to inquire if anything was wrong. My aunt assured me that everything was perfectly fine and that she wasn't in a bad mood, she just couldn't get the strange incident that had happened to her friend out of her head. I became curious and asked her to share her story with me. This is what my aunt told me:

"My old friend Tamara came running to me the day before yesterday, completely out of sorts. We rarely see each other in the summer. She usually looks for tenants for the summer—you can't live on just her pension. She gives them the keys, takes the money, and then goes off to her dacha, into the countryside. Where else would she go, all alone?" And then she came running to me without calling, completely out of her mind. I managed to calm her down, gave her some valerian drops, and started asking questions. She started telling me that an hour ago, three girls from a part-time program had come to see her. They were here to finish their exams and were looking for an apartment for a month. Then they came across Tamara's ad, called, and asked to look at the apartment for rent. Toma let them in and saw that all three were sweet, attractive girls. She didn't even ask for a higher price; she showed them around the apartment, showing them everything. The girls immediately agreed to move in—the institute was a five-minute walk away, and it was inexpensive. Then, in the living room, they had ironed out all the details of the contract. Tamara took their money, handed them the keys, grabbed their bags with a few things, and headed for the door: "Okay, girls, have a good time. I'm going to the dacha—everything is at your disposal." And then one girl said to her, “Excuse me, but when is the guy leaving? You said you were renting out the entire apartment, we just agreed.” Toma was surprised, “What guy?” The girl was also perplexed, “What guy? Well, there he is, in the hallway…” She pointed confidently from the living room toward the hallway. Her friends started nudging her, and Toma glanced at her with distrust, “Honey, are you sick by any chance? I live alone, and there’s no guy here at all. Who did you see there?” The girl looked offended. She took two steps from the window and pointed toward the hallway, “Well, then, who do you think is sitting on the dressing table? That guy over there—the black one, in the white T-shirt and tights? He’s not going to spend the night here, is he?” Her friends looked at her blankly, and Toma nearly collapsed, clutching her heart.

I told my aunt that I didn't understand. What kind of guy was he, where did he come from? Surely the girl was either just trying to get me to lower the price or was mentally ill. Then my aunt told me a story about how nine years ago, her friend Toma had a handsome son. His hair was jet black, and his blue eyes had a girlish aloofness. However, he was weak-willed. Something happened to him, and he cowardly hanged himself in the living room with a chandelier hook, leaving his mother alone. They took him down from the noose in a white T-shirt and tights. And, tellingly, I remembered that this guy liked to sit not in the kitchen or the living room, but in the hallway on a dresser drawer, because that's where the phone was, and he often made calls.