The trio soon sank once more into earnest discourse, their conversation weaving through the mundane intricacies of everyday existence, tentative plans for the days ahead, and at last, the more fraught and fragile topic of Welly, Melati's erstwhile lover.
Though Welly had been formally implicated in the theft from Felzein's small grocery and the brutal assaults upon Melati, a fragile calm had settled over their lives.
Yet, none dared presume the danger fully abated.
Until the law's hand finally secured him, Welly remained at liberty, a shadow looming with uncertain intent.
Thus, their vigilance was resolute, ever watchful for the faintest stirrings of menace, prepared for the gravest eventuality.
After a languorous hour enveloped in the warm embrace of Café Centris, Felzein gently signalled their departure.
As arranged, Rosa and Melati would reside for a time beneath his roof, sheltering from the tempest gathering beyond.
Before this decision, each had sought their parents' leave, initially met with cautious curiosity, their guardians' questions bore the weight of concern.
Yet, upon understanding their daughters' resolve, consent was granted, accompanied by a solemn charge to safeguard themselves and to maintain steady correspondence.
Together, they departed the café, their footsteps measured yet resolute, bound for Felzein's sanctuary.
Throughout the journey, Rosa and Melati struggled to conceal the stirrings within, a delicate bloom of anticipation, heartbeats quickening in rhythm with hope's fragile flame.
In another part of town, Baharuddin and Lasmini, Rosa's parents, sat quietly in their sitting room, their conversation tinged with concern.
They had just received a call from Rosa herself, informing them she would not be returning home for the foreseeable future, perhaps for several days yet.
"My dear, whatever could be troubling Ocha?" Lasmini asked softly, her eyes searching her husband's face.
Baharuddin shook his head, the furrows on his brow deepening, "I cannot say, my love. There is something... unusual about all this, isn't there?"
Lasmini nodded in agreement, a shadow of worry crossing her features, "Should we perhaps ask Feri to look into it?"
Baharuddin fell silent, a heavy sigh escaping him before he spoke again, measured and reluctant.
"I hesitate, dear. To ask Feri would be to imply we harbour doubts about Ocha's judgement."
Lasmini considered his words and nodded slowly, "Indeed. Especially when we have just granted her permission to stay away."
"Let us not trouble ourselves further," Baharuddin murmured, reaching for his wife's hand. "Ocha is a grown woman now. She knows the bounds of right and wrong."
They sat in quiet hope that their daughter was safe and well, wherever she was.
Meanwhile, at Melati's home, a similar unease hovered in the air.
Her parents, Syu'aib and Fitri, were unsettled by their daughter's unusual reticence.
The phone call they had received only deepened their concern, Melati would not be returning home for several days.
"My dear, did Melati give any reason?" Syu'aib asked quietly.
"She said she is staying with Ocha," Fitri replied softly, lowering her voice. "But we must not let Welly know."
"Curious, isn't it?" Syu'aib murmured, his brow furrowing.
"Let it be for now," Fitri said, rising from her seat. "I shall run to Mrs Sofyan's shop. Do you want anything?"
"Just a pack of cigarettes, please," came the reply.
Fitri nodded and hurried from the room, the faint rustle of her departure lingering like a whispered secret.
*****
(Elsewhere)
"Is the coast clear yet?" came a voice from the shadows, low and cautious.
"It's fairly late now! Ought to be safe enough," came the measured reply.
"And the others? Why have they not arrived yet?" the first inquired, a trace of impatience creeping in.
"They'll be here shortly. Said they had to fetch some petrol first," was the calm response.
"Too long! I fear I'm on the brink of sleep," the first grumbled, his frustration evident.
"Hold fast," the other urged with quiet resolve. "Our success depends on it."
Aryo and Diga crouched in the shadowed recess behind the weathered wall of Koba Baru Pharmacy, their figures blending seamlessly into the dim surroundings.
They were to enact the dark design hatched by Abdi, a scheme steeped in menace and calculated dread.
Abdi's plan was simple, yet sinister, to instil terror in Melati by surreptitiously depositing a decomposing rat within the very pharmacy where she toiled.
The message was unmistakable, a stark warning aimed squarely at Melati and Rosa.
In their minds, these two young women were no more than possessions, kept companions to lascivious men whose intentions were less than honourable.
They gambled that this chilling act would unsettle Melati profoundly, stirring a deep-rooted fear that might fracture her resolve.
And should that fear take hold as anticipated, Melati would inevitably seek sanctuary, someone to shield her from the shadows closing in.
That refuge, as the conspirators foresaw, lay only in the arms of Welly.
This was their hope and their design, that fear would drive Melati back into the embrace of a man she might once have tried to leave behind.
"Five more minutes, and if they're not here, I'm off!" Aryo's voice cut through the stillness, edged with impatience.
"Patience, will you?" Diga muttered, irritation flickering across his features as he glanced sideways. "They'll be here soon enough."
"Soon enough, huh? I'm not sure I'll last that long," Aryo grumbled, drumming his fingers against the cold wall.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the distant rumble of engines approached.
Two motorcycles came to a deliberate halt some way off from the Koba Baru Pharmacy, parked with calculated discretion.
"There," Diga said, half vexed but triumphant. "See? They've arrived, didn't they?"
Aryo merely scoffed, a short, derisive sound escaping him, "Hmph."
Welly, Abdi, and Gaga strode purposefully towards them, the night air carrying the faint hum of their approach.
"Where on earth have you three been?" Aryo demanded, frustration pooling in his gaze. "I've been waiting here ages!"
Welly raised his hands in mild protest, "Told you, had to top up with petrol first. And I'm lugging a bag this size, no easy feat, you know."
Gaga's lips curled into a teasing grin, "What's the matter, mate? PMS kicking in?"
Aryo shot a sharp look their way, snorting, "You're impossible. Now, enough of this! Let's get on with it. I'm dead tired."
At last, the five set about executing their grim design.
The sizeable sack, as it turned out, was filled with a grotesque haul of lifeless rats, how Abdi had come by such a macabre collection remained a mystery.
They moved with careful stealth towards the rear entrance of Koba Baru Pharmacy, ensuring their movements were cloaked in shadow and secrecy.
Upon arrival, Welly produced a crowbar from beneath his jacket.
Crouching low, he scrutinised the weathered door.
Though aged, it retained a certain robustness, its iron padlock hanging heavily from the centre.
"This should be straightforward enough," he muttered under his breath.
Sliding the crowbar's blade into the narrow gap between door and frame, he applied a measured, steady pressure.
One hand braced the crowbar firmly, while the other pushed against the door, seeking to create the smallest of gaps.
"Steady the top, will you?" Welly whispered to Diga.
Without hesitation, Diga pressed his palm against the upper section of the door, stifling any creak or movement that might betray them.
Welly shifted the crowbar's position, slipping it beneath the lower hinge, then pulled with deliberate force.
A soft, metallic screech pierced the stillness as the hinge began to loosen.
"Almost there… one more," Abdi murmured, his eyes darting nervously.
Welly repeated the motion at the upper hinge, his touch as careful as before.
With a final, gentle shove, the door gave way with a sharp creak.
"In now!" Aryo whispered urgently, ushering his companions into the shadowed interior, one by one.
They stood now within the dim stillness of Koba Baru Pharmacy, shadows amongst shelves, mischief clinging to them like the stench that rose from the bag Abdi had borne like some grotesque offering.
Without further delay, their foul errand commenced.
One by one, and then in clusters, the dead rats emerged, stiff, bloated, grotesque little corpses, spilling out like omens onto the sterile floor.
There were dozens. Perhaps near a hundred. God only knew where Abdi had gathered them.
He unfastened the plastic sack and immediately reeled, gagging behind the crook of his arm.
"Hurry it up, Welly," he croaked. "This smell's enough to knock a man flat."
Welly, undeterred, tugged on his plastic gloves with the calm precision of a man accustomed to filth.
He reached into the sack and withdrew two of the wretched things, their tails limp and eyes like pinpricks of dread.
At the cashier's desk, he pulled open the till and laid them delicately inside, like a pair of macabre prizes.
"That ought to give them a proper fright," he muttered, a dark smirk tugging at his lip.
Gaga and Diga crept along the aisles, sliding rats between medicine boxes, tiny twisted figures nestled beside blister packs and vitamin bottles.
"Picture it," whispered Gaga, half-laughing. "Lady reaches for her cold pills, pulls out a dead rat instead. Might think it's a new herbal cure."
Aryo stalked towards the storage room.
Inside the chilled hush of the medical fridge, he tucked several carcasses beneath vials and packets, then closed the door gently, like tucking a secret to bed.
"They'll open this in the morning," he sneered, "and find rot where medicine once lived."
They did not stop there. Rats were shoved into sinks, jammed into drainage pipes, tossed into corners where their forms would decay unseen but not unsmelled. Welly flicked one expertly beneath a consultation table.
Another thudded into a far corner, limp and accusing.
Abdi, ever meticulous, dotted the floor with the last of them, like a grim constellation. He ensured they'd be seen at first light, no detail left to chance.
Though their faces were masked, though they had layered cloth and paper over their mouths, the stench was inescapable.
It oozed through fibres and pores, clinging to their skin, their clothes, their very thoughts. Several gagged. One retched softly.
Yet they pressed on, determined. Driven not by chaos, but calculation.
At last, when every crevice of the apothecary had been defiled, Welly straightened and gave a silent, sharp nod.
"That's it," he whispered. "We're done here. Out! Before this place curses us too."
Before they slipped away into the night, Welly retrieved a permanent marker from the inner pocket of his jacket.
A cruel smirk played on his lips as he crouched in the very heart of the pharmacy floor. His chosen stage for the final flourish of their sordid performance.
With deliberate strokes, he began to scrawl across the tiles, the marker squeaking faintly under his grip.
The letters emerged one by one. Bold, vulgar, and impossible to ignore.
The ink soaked in deep, forming words that would not fade with a simple mop and water.
He made sure the message was indecently large and unmistakably cruel, placed squarely where any unwitting soul walking in the next morning would see it first.
"ENJOY THAT, YOU DIRTY OLD MEN'S MISTRESSES!!!"
When the last stroke was laid, Welly rose to his feet and surveyed his work like an artist admiring a grotesque masterpiece.
"I'd give anything to see their faces when they read that," he murmured, a note of dark glee in his voice.
Gaga, impatient and tense, gave his shoulder a firm tap, "Enough with the art show. Time's up. We need to go now."
Without another word, they filed out, swift and silent, like shadows retreating into the dark.
They ensured nothing was left behind, not a footprint, not a whisper of their intrusion.
The back door was pulled closed, slow and careful, sealing the stench, the mess, and the malice inside.