STOLEN Chapter 3-4
He reseated the bag on his shoulder and walked forth, against his quenching stomach and shouting guts. He needs to get away from the place and he needs to get away fast. He doesn't care anymore about the old man, Miss Serene, Rosli Hakim or who the hell answered the phone just now. All he wants to do is disappear, as he had always done before.
"Mister Zakri?" a voice called him before he could reach the main street. Zakri stopped and look back. It was a stout man wearing tuxedo with bow tie and a red ribbon on his breast pocket. A black top hat adorned his weird round head. "You must be Mister Zakri, am I correct?" he said again, pointing towards Zakri and smiling.
Zakri looked to the man. He reseated the encumbering bag on his shoulder. His eye darts between the two rows of shop houses sandwiching him. He eyed the roofs for snipers – none. He eyed his sides for signs of ambush party waiting – he could not see them. He gulped. He could feel his body heating. His pulse race. He closed his eyes and placed the bag to the ground and raised his hands to the air.
"Yes I am and you are?" he looked back to the stout man. The glare from the sun reflected on the man's glasses forced him to squint. He shades his face with his hand.
"My name is Mr. Drood." said the stout man.
Zakri whipped to his back and met with the man's slit eyes. He could feel the putrid smell coming from the man's mouth and the weird green fangs cracked but not broken pierced his mouth. He gulped.
Mr. Drood laughed. Fear wrapped itself around Zakri. His instinct kicked in and pooled into his mind a word – DANGER. Before Zakri could react, Mr. Drood jerked. His hand pierced Zakri's chest like a sharp lance. His flabby arms bulged with muscles. He smiled again and pushed Zakri up till his feet no longer touches the ground.