CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

In a blurry haste, Harold Girard ousted his nightcloth and in its place, a casual plain blue shirt that hugged the upper part of his body and denim jeans covered his nudity. He flicked on the electric bulb switch strapped to the wall and the pale dark lightbulb that hung from the center of the room came alive.

He rashly picked up his phone and texted Trisha;

WILKES IS GONE. DON'T GO TO ANY CLASS YET, I'M COMING TO YOUR HOSTEL.

He shoved his phone into his pocket as a cuss escaped his lips then he dashed out of his room, latched the door and bolted down the hallway which was empty but for an obese student with too much blonde hair that rambled to his left. He got to the staircase before spiralling downwards and heading out into the calm, chill and unruffled morn.

He brought out his phone expecting a reply from Trisha as he peered down on the screen whilst jogging down the asphalt and heavin