Kola ran over something.
He was not sure what but from the feel when the tyres made contact, it was solid and had mass.
He parked off the road, then went to investigate. He saw a sack with what looked like a human limb sticking out.
"God no! Let that not be a baby!"
But what would a baby be doing in a grain sack in the middle of the road, in the middle of the night?
That query made him think he probably should not have alighted from the vehicle.
Agreed he was a little tipsy (all the bottles he and the boys downed were enough to fell an elephant). But he could hold his drink.
He scurried to the car. If this was a set up to commit a crime, he just fell for it like a buffoon. Just before he slammed the door, he heard a voice;
"Uncle K, don't leave me here."
He was not sure if he heard correctly or if it was the liquor messing with his brain. He locked the doors, gunned the engine and got the heck away from there.
He was home in a few minutes.
He'd just locked the door to his apartment when he heard, clear as day,;
"Kola, I told you not to leave me. You refused. Now you pay the price."
It was that same, low-pitched, gravelly voice that sounded like a robot and a baby at the same time.
Kola opened his mouth to scream. No sound came out.
The open door drew his neighbour to his apartment the next day. There was a sack lying on the porch. No Kola.
When he'd not shown up anywhere forty-eight hoirs later, the Police was informed.
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