Gemotions

I couldn't stay still. I paced the length of my tiny apartment, my steps erratic, my thoughts a jumbled mess. Mr. Evans, the quiet, retired accountant, suddenly seemed… different. His new, shiny car, the renovations to his already well-maintained house, and the extravagant jewelry his wife had started wearing - it was all too much.

My mouth felt dry. The hum of the refrigerator seemed incredibly loud, and the ticking of the clock on the wall intensified with every passing second. Every detail registered, from the expensive perfume clinging to the air when I ran into Mrs. Evans at the market to the brief flashes of a bodyguard I saw behind the tinted windows of Mr. Evans’ car.

I had to know. Curiosity gnawed at me, a persistent, uncomfortable tickle. I found myself staring out the window, watching Mr. Evans’ house, a feeling of unease twisting in my gut.