CHAPTER FORTY

Harold stared hard at the phone as his heart thumped and released blood in a similar rhythm to the wall clock's tick-tocks. From Prof. Ericson's phone which he had in his hands, it was as if Francis, whoever he was, was manipulating Prof. Ericson into...

Harold heard the shuffles of feet and in an hasty scuffle, he put the phone back into the drawer and slammed it shut. He hurried to the nearest shelf and as he picked a book, the hinges whined again, the door opened wide and Prof. Ericson stood at the door, surveying the perimeter and watching Harold work for a few seconds. 

Harold who pretended he was oblivious of his lecturer's presence continued working until his professor spoke.

“You've barely done a thing since I left,” he said disappointedly with a tint of anger as he strolled in, holding a folded document in his hands. 

“I'm very sorry, sir,” Harold started. “It's just that I got tired and decided t