Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the all-night diner seemed to mock Elias as he slammed the car door. "So," he muttered, grinding his teeth, "he lives *here*." The sheer audacity of it, after months of late-night chats, shared jokes, and virtual camaraderie. A vein throbbed in his temple as he walked inside. The smell of stale coffee and frying bacon did nothing to soothe his agitation. He scanned the room, each face a stranger, each occupied booth a potential hiding place. He felt a fire building in his chest.

The waitress, a woman with tired eyes and a nametag that read "Doris," approached. "Just coffee, hon?" He barked, "No. I'm waiting." He glared at her, his jaw locked. He just wanted to find the guy.

He drummed his fingers on the table, the plastic surface cold beneath his touch. He pictured the face he'd never seen, the voice he'd only known through a headset, now somewhere in this very building. The injustice of it all, that he had to go through this. He could feel his fists clenching. He would find him.