Gemotions

The investigator, a young man who reeked of stale coffee and bureaucratic tedium, droned on about evidence markers and blood spatter patterns. John leaned back in his chair, the cheap plastic creaking under his weight. He’d poured his life savings into this house. A fresh start. And now this.

He focused on the dust motes dancing in the sunlight streaming through the window, anything to avoid looking at the diagram of the alleged murder.

This old thing was now just… tainted. He felt a surge of pure, unadulterated annoyance. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to break something. But he simply took a deep breath, and dismissed the investigator. He knew he’d be scrubbing this place clean, inside and out. Again.