His asset

CHAPTER THREE: PILLAR OF ANGUISH

After taking a shower, I slide on a jean short, throwing on a white shirt. Proceeding to my living room, I scanned around to make sure that they hadn't destroyed or took any of my property. Satisfied by my still well decorated room, I opened the entrance door; the sight in front of me halting me in place.

About four groups of people crowded around, each talking in whispers and murmurs as if trying not to be heard by even the walls.
The two I recognized rooted amongest the second closer crowd were my neighbors. The rest were outsiders here to grab the previous night's gossip.

I wondered if someone was killed, but doubted it all too soon when I noticed their expression communicate without word, that of mendacious sadness and anger, except for that of my neighbors whose facial demeanours showed they were genuinely unpleased.

I stood on the spot in front of my door, pondering on whether to join them and investigate what was amiss. My fingers clicking relentlessly on the door frame as I deliberated. Naturally, I wasn't a nosy person, the reason why I found it difficult to strut over. Then, I decided after what felt like ages to go verify what the gunshots of last night had been all about. Non of them had took notice of me all the while, which was comforting. I stopped yet for the second time when I stepped on something, retrieving my foot, I saw a dark-brown paper bag lying harmlessly on the hard floor.

I looked back up at the crowd; down at the paper. Slowly, precisely, with my fingers outstretched and reaching down, I bent and picked it up. I tore open the bag, looking inside at the same time in spiked curiosity. I was surprised to see money notes neatly wrapped-gasped at the fact that it was identical to the one I'd given to the criminals, which made it the more confusing.

Had he dropped it unknowingly when they were departing? Because there was no way it could be considered as a generous act from the goodness of his heart. They wouldn't crease through the trouble, only to deposit the money back at my door step.

In rising excitement, I retreated inside, directing with my back, the door to its hinges. Solving the mystery surrounding the money was more important to me at the time than engaging in early morning talks.

The moment I dumped myself on a couch with the money resting on my laps, a knock sounded at the door startling me for a heartbeat. Placing a hand on my chest, I moved it up and down in hope of slowing my pounding heart. Telling myself that there are people outside and the thieves couldn't have possibly returned.

A second knock echoed all through my sitting room, more loudly and urgent than the first. Clouded with suspicious of possible danger, I rose cautiously to my feet, tiptoed gradually to the door; wrapping my fingers around the knob, I shut my eyes, with still hard-beating heart in my chest, counted to five before yanking the door open with such a strength that could be accredited to three people. Esther, an employee of mine, recoiled in what I assumed to be blocking out any upcoming accident that night take place by the force to which I answered the door. Embarrassed all together of what she'd think of my bruised face.
"Here for the key?" I asked promptly, desperate to be alone.

"No, ma'am. You have to come with me to the establishment right away." She breathed frantically. Nervously.

I frowned; what could the problem be again?
"What is it?" I questioned, cautioning myself inwardly not to panic-just yet.

"See it for yourself, ma'am," she said frantically, clasping and unclasping her fingers. Stealing glances over her shoulder at the gradually decreasing news mongers.

"Did anyone die?"

She raised a brow at that. "No. But you have to come. Now, please."

Well, at this point I'd run out of questions. Left with the only option of doing as she'd requested, I said, "Give me a minute." I strode to my bedroom, changed my shorts to longer one. Hurriedly slipped on white flats before making my way out of the sitting room. I half-ran and half-walked in front of her to my unisex-salon located at about five blocks away from my apartment.

The instant it came to sight, I stopped dead on my track, shocked at what I saw ahead. My head automatically began to spin.

"Miss, Amanda, I'm very sorry. I arrived here to see it like this," Esther whispered beside me.

"What the hell is happening!" Harry, one of my three workers, shouted closing up behind. I didn't bother to look back, the display in front of me was interesting view enough. The rhythm my heart chose to dance this time alerts a near-future leap out from my mouth. I felt liquid streaming out my lacrimal glands and moistening the layers of my eyeball, down to my lashes. Quickly, I blinked my eyes forcing tears back. I didn't want to weep in front of my workers.

EMPTY!

My shop was empty. Every damn single equipment gone!

I forced my legs to move closer, holding back resurfacing tears. Who stripped me of my source of living? Why'd he or she do this to me just after spending almost all of my savings on my mother's treatment and siblings college enrollment. How do I start over again?

All these lamentation and questions boiled in my mind; the burden seeming to crush down the organ in my chest, weighing down upon my shoulder, draining the remaining strength left of me from the night before.

"I saw this attached to the only mirror spared," Clara, my third employee informed, stretching a piece of paper to me.

I plucked it from from her right hand, swiftly unfolded it. "We have to call the police. Something has to be done about the cruelty. Whoever had carried out the robbery must not go unpunished," Harry mumbled. Obviously pissed of having his means of income cut off without warning.

"You are right, the cops has to be au fait straight away," Esther contributed sharply.

"Too many crimes are being..."

I tuned out of their protest focusing on the white sheet-following each line of words after the other which reads:

Hey, bitch. I hope this meets you well.
Even though I desire for it to be in pieces.
Before you read through, I'm sure you
were happy thinking you'd gotten
your money back. (Laughs)
Go back and recheck the bills.
With so much joy, I deprive you of
your livelihood. Since you wouldn't
give me a chance in your life, a chance
to own you, you'll have to suffer all
over again. Experience how it feels
to live without me by your side. I
don't take lightly to rejection. Neither
do I give a fig of your upcoming strive.
Don't think of informing the uniform guys, or I swear I'm gonna have to prevent you from seeing the beginning of tomorrow.

Have a rough life my dearest.

Yours truest secret admirer.

I read the damn words over and over again till my eyes hurt. Fear attacked me, exhaustion embraced me. The more I tried to pinpoint who the secret admirer was, the more my vision reel. I've had my share of violent boyfriend years back, who is now six feet below, after he engaged in gun battle with his gang rival.

Encountering yet again an unknown criminal professing in deeds, his charisma of self oblectation clawed so menacingly at my very existence. My breath came in ragged out my nostrils. My chest rising and falling rapidly like that of someone who had raced five miles on foot and experiencing a heart attack.

Who the hell is he? I wished to be able to fathom his identity. I had rejected countless advances from men for years after subsequently dealing with my ex psycho boyfriend. An undergo that hunts me constantly. Life threatening trail I'll live to always remember.

The problem was, how do I begin?