Gemotions

The plumber was late. Again. Mark swore under his breath, the vein in his forehead pulsing. He checked his watch for the third time in ten minutes, the tick-tock a maddening metronome against the silence of the nearly finished kitchen renovation. He’d specifically scheduled this for a Tuesday, a day he’d blocked off for himself, and now… this. He stalked over to the window, the fresh paint already seeming to taunt him with its perfection. He wanted to scream.

The plumber finally arrived, a man with a sheepish grin and a toolbox that looked like it had seen better days. He mumbled something about a flat tire and began inspecting the sink. Mark’s jaw clenched. He’d just finished a detailed history of the house, a book, online, about the place's history. He was now learning that a gruesome murder happened in the house, where the bathroom was now going to be. He could feel his heart thumping.

“So, uh, just need to see where the pipes are, then we can get this thing hooked up,” the plumber said, oblivious. Mark simply nodded, his gaze fixed on the man. The plumber was clearly not aware of the death that had taken place right in this building.