Gemotions

The evening was closing in, and James was in the middle of a perfectly timed steak dinner. He had been planning it all day. The wine was the right temperature, the candles were lit, casting a warm glow on the table. He felt pleased with his life, with his home.

There was a knock at the door, and the visitor’s words, about a dark past, a previous owner, an unsolved crime, barely registered. He slowly cut into his steak.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” James asked, his voice even. He took a sip of his wine. He returned to his meal, the rhythm of his fork and knife a precise counterpoint to the detective's story.