The front door handle jingled opened and a white man entered. All electricity had been shut off and all devices unplugged. Even the lightbulbs were slightly unscrewed as a prevention.
Malcolm had slipped out of the house from the sliding door in the back as soon as his Caucasian enemy had entered. Cautious steps brought him outside one of the bedroom windows on the side of the house. He stood at an angle where he could peer into the house without worrying about being visible from inside.
The white man had definitely just come straight from work. Leaving the professional setting, he had removed the jacket of his suit and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp, white dress shirt. He even went as far as to ditch the tie and remove the top button of his shirt.
This was thrilling to him.
Well, it usually was. Tonight, his face carried a feeling of bemusement.
The house had never been dark, quiet or empty before.
And then from no movement at all to frustrated, quick movements, his hands fumbled from pocket to pocket until he retrieved his phone. He dialed a number and held the phone up to his ear.
He started talking as soon as the person on the other side picked up.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing—”
“Huh?” The white man replied and immediately hung up and dialed a different number. “What the—“
“Four.” The same voice as before continued.
The man hung up again. He began frisking through each room of the house but found no one. The voice from the phone was not automated, which aroused his suspicion.
He stopped and his phone immediately began ringing. Carelessly, through muscle memory, he picked up.
“Who are you? Why are you counting down?” He asked with a cracked voice.
He suddenly realized that he was no longer confused but rather scared. Sweat trickled down his neck and onto his chest leaving puddles in his expensive attire. He unbuttoned a second button of his shirt as he felt the throbbing of his own heart.
The line on the phone went dead.
He froze. He no longer heard the countdown through the phone but now audibly. And from behind him.
He turned. With one eye he could see an angry, Black face. His other eye was staring down the barrel of a gun.
“One.” Malcolm said.
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