A Man among Wolves

Chapter 16

Fortunately, Selva's tired brain was quick enough to recognise the man.

He dived down to the floor of his row instantly.

Here, it was pitch black. For a few seconds, Selva panicked that he became blind. Except for the stench of alcohol and vomit from somewhere nearby, none of his senses seemed to work. He kept blinking his eyes to form some image before him.

Then, as his eyes adjusted, he saw a better view of his surroundings. His vision was still limited. There were the attachments of the seats to the floor beside him. To his front, the way to the aisle and beyond could be made out, if he squinted enough. There seemed to be something at the end. But he wasn't sure what.

Selva perked his ears up, trying to listen.

He could hear just a few words of the conversation. They were distant from him and the movie was loud. But they did seem to be discussing loudly, to hear themselves over the din of the film behind them.

They seemed to searching for someone.

Him.

Selva imagined the scene. The eyebrow man swinging the torchlight at all the seats to view their occupants. The red-haired man trying to pick out the familiar face. The face of the man who was one of the reasons his boss was behind bars.

Selva wanted to slap himself. The urge was very strong. He had been stupid enough to let his hunger eclipse everything else on his mind which was why that wretched man had identified him. Starving would have been a better way, a more pleasurable way to die than this! Self-hatred, helplessness and especially fear paralyzed him at his place. He was worried about the sound of his loud breathing betraying him and his hand moved up to cover his mouth and nose. Tighter than it was necessary. Suffocating would also be a better way to die...

There was no way out. If he tried to run, he would have to run along the aisle to the door of the hall.

Which meant he would run right into them.

No, he had to lie this one out.

Then, he saw it and his heart stopped for a minute.

The silhouette of a rat materialised into view from the darkness before him, a foot away. It seemed to be moving toward him. But it was taking its time. It was sniffing the legs of the seats. Then, its whiskers came into view. It seemed to be a huge animal for a rat, perhaps an anomaly of its kind. Or was he imagining it?

He closed his mouth tighter, listening. The fiendish hum of the air-conditioner and the macabre background music of the movie were loud enough to drown most of the other noises. But he could hear some of the whispers, although he couldn't make out the words. At that moment, the rat was making whispering noises too as it scampered forward, guided forward by the invisible hand of fate. It was hard to distinguish the men's voices from the rat's scurrying. It was like separating milk and water.

Surely, they were gone by now! There were just a few occupants inside the hall. A couple of glances in the torchlight would have been enough to reveal that Selva wasn't there...

He heard the red-haired man's voice. That same shrill voice of his.

But it sounded louder than before!

They were moving closer!

Selva didn't dare raise his head to look but he presumed they were searching every row, probably even the space between the rows to see if he was hiding. Soon, they would reach the last row. One swing of the torchlight would reveal him sprawled on the floor, hand clamped on the mouth, with a rat and a pile of vomit for neighbours. What would happen next didn't need a prediction!

Now, there was another loud noise, which added to the din. It was the loudest of them all.

Selva's own heartbeat!

The rat inched forward. He could see its face better than before. There was a dirty, reddish cleft on its forehead, as if the animal had had a third eye there until someone had gouged it out. The sight made him sick. Watching this big, scar faced rodent come closer to his face was worse than everything else that was happening around him.

Selva couldn't help but relieve himself right there.

They seemed to be taking their time, searching every row meticulously. But they were nearing. Maybe already more than halfway there.

There has to be a way out! He can't die here. He didn't want to die here, wet in his own urine like a coward. Maybe he could just get up and run towards the exit like a madman. Maybe he could jump from seat to seat along the rows and make it to the exit. Yes, he could try that. Even if that didn't work, it would still be a worthy way to die than lying paralyzed on this floor, in a pool of his own excretion. But if it did, he would escape.

The rat's whiskers were tickling his hand. He could feel its breath on his fingers.

No, he can't do that. He wasn't Rajinikanth. He wasn't Kamal Hassan. The red-haired man would catch him easily if he tried stunts like that. Although it sounded heroic, it would be a stupid way to die!

What else could he do? The image of the cinema hall's layout that he had seen when he entered flashed across his memory.

Now he could hear their footsteps. They were just a couple of rows away.

The rat bit him hard on his forefinger. A very painful bite.

And that jolt kicked his body into action. He couldn't wait any longer.

Selva sprung from his hiding place and dashed forward.

Ignoring the startled voices of recognition from the men and the stabbing pain in his ankle, he ran. Beyond the aisle. His piss-drenched lungi couldn't cope with the sudden movement and got untied. Selva let it fall to the floor, jumped above it and sprinted in his undies.

He heard them chase him. He urged his weary legs to go faster. And faster.

Hoping that the image in his memory was correct.

Yes, it was.

There was a door at the far end of the row. It led towards the toilet as the word stencilled on its front proclaimed.

He hoped it was open.

But there was no time to check. He already had other plans.

When he neared the door, Selva lifted himself off into the air, using his speed as momentum and pivoted himself to the left. His shoulder was the battering ram. He collided against the door with his leaping body, his heart leaping along in faith.

The door gave way. It was open.

Selva crashed to the floor on the other side, almost dislocating his shoulder. Maybe he did dislocate his shoulder. But he wasn't paying attention. He was already on his feet, turned in the first direction he thought of and began running along the corridor.

He regretted his decision immediately.