A man comes towards me with an axe. He brings it down on my head. He cuts it off. I see my body and tail, wriggling away, like a worried ferret, disappearing into the foray of feet. I look up, and all I can see is the sky.

Omar found her after five days in a place they called Heroin Alley.

The shophouse, once a popular dance club, was now abandoned. All furniture and ornamentation had been stripped away, and the pockmarked concrete floor was a festering petri dish of human and animal matter. With each step, flies swarmed up and he brought out a handkerchief to cover his nose. The walls were painted dark but he saw glints of a gold motif of some sort. It looked like expensive wallpaper.

There were shadows moving in between the pillars like tall, thin aliens. Bits of glass crunched underneath his shoes and there were a few remaining fluorescent tubes glowing in the dark, casting a blue hue on the walls. The room was airless, dank, humid. He could barely breathe.

He saw a staircase and switched his torch on. The thin line of light from the torch shone against steps leading upwards. The ornate, gold railing was still intact, but it had a slimy sheen on it. He dared not imagine what the slime might be.

“Oi,” someone shouted, “Tutup lampu! Off the light!”

He switched the torch off. He was a stranger here and he had to respect its dwellers. Something scuttled past his feet and touched his ankle. He let out a gasp, and almost dropped his torch. He saw the outline of an animal the size of a cat. But what cat would live in this kind of filth? The beast streaked up the stairs forelegs first. It must be a rat, he thought and a shiver coiled up his neck. He had to find her. He inched slowly up the stairs, his back to the wall, away from the slime-covered railing.

Upstairs, human figures lined the walls, lying down, their limbs splayed out in complete surrender. He walked past them, scrutinising them one by one, trying to make out her form. The last figure in the corner was a man sitting cross-legged by a window, sucking hard on a cigarette.

The glow from the cigarette illuminated his face. The man glared at him, sniggered and started clicking his mouth, as if trying to suck morsels of food stuck in his teeth. Next to him was a stack of cardboard sheets. On top of it, a towel, grotesque with vomit. Omar’s stomach heaved. He noticed another staircase, probably leading to the roof. She had to be up there, she had to be.

A sudden breeze struck his cheek. As he reached the top—air! He filled his lungs. And there she was. Standing by a low wall, looking at the sky. His heart gave a lurch.

“Del,” he called softly. “It’s me.”

“I know.”