A Dangerous Mission [5]

(Malory)

I exit the taxi and take a look at my surroundings. I’d never been to this place before.

There’s a white concrete sign that reads ‘Millennium Lane’ in letters painted in gold. A tall cream wall surrounds the compound and there’s a guard booth connecting a large automatic gate to the walls. The gate appears to be the only way into the compound. I walk towards it.

This... doesn’t look anything like a gang’s neighbourhood...

Looks more like a gated community for rich people.

Huh.

I stop at the guard booth, where the middle-aged security looks down at me with polite smile plastered over his face.

“Good evening, Miss,” he says.

I swallow hard.

Why am I so nervous?

“Good evening, sir. I’m here to see Kyle Davidson.”

Does Kyle really live in a place like this? How rich could his uncle possibly be?

“Oh!” the guard says, surprised. “That young man has never had a guest of his own before. You must be a school friend?”

He’s never had a guest over? I don’t understand... Should I even be here, then? Ugh, and I’m not his friend.

“Yes, sir.” I reply with a broad smile.

“Go on right in, then,” he says to me. “Walk straight along the sidewalk, He’s at house number eight.”

With the flip of a switch, the automatic gate opens and I’m able to walk right in.

Wasn’t he going to ask me for my name or something? Wasn’t he supposed to keep a record of who goes in and out? Why did he let me in so easily? Is this how these gated communities actually work? I guess the security here isn’t really as tight as people who aren’t rich or live in these kinds of places expect it to be. Why did he let me in knowing Kyle doesn’t usually have visitors?

I thank him and look around the compound as I walk down the sidewalk, next to the perfectly paved road.

All the houses in the compound are larger than life. The compound inhabits a large golf course, and each house shelters at least two or three cars –judging only from the houses I could see through that weren’t surrounded by opaque walls. There are seniors playing golf in the distance, and some driving their golf carts. There is a pond shaped like a heart, and a beautifully built shed nearby to it where I personally would love to have a barbeque. All the tension in my body disperses and I shove my phone into my pocket.

There’s no need to feel like I could be threatened –or at least it doesn’t feel that way at all.

Finally I spot a large, nude-coloured house with two separate balconies. The balcony on the second floor is smaller than the balcony on the third floor –which is basically the roof. The rails of these balconies are adorned with glimmering bronze tiles. The accent colours of the house are monochromatically matching the nude colour of the paint. I can’t see much of the first floor –this house is blocked by one of those opaque walls.

There are cameras at the front gate. There’s a mailbox on the wall that reads “#8”.

I’d reached my destination. I ring the doorbell three times and wait. There is no response for quite some time. I ring the bell again.

Again, I receive no response.

I turn towards the golf course in frustration. “Jeez, Davidson! Are you sleeping or something? Seriously why do you have a doorbell if you don’t answer when it ri-”

-A hand holding a piece of cloth appears from behind me and covers my mouth. I panic. My heartbeat speeds up. I could feel my breaths becoming laboured. The first thing I notice when I process what has happened is that there is nothing that can drug me in the cloth; it is completely dry.

Still, the strange, long arms pull me into the house through the small doorway in the automatic gate. I send my elbow back to hit the person in their abdomen but I hit the metal instead and groan into the cloth, painfully, as my elbow begins to throb. I scream, but there’s no one who can possibly hear me. The arms don’t let go of me. Instead, I feel myself being pulled backwards until the metal door is kicked shut.