Gemotions

The realtor’s saccharine smile now felt like a physical blow. He'd even had the gall to mention, "good bones" – after the police had told him about the 'good corpse' on the basement floor. He slammed a fist on the worn countertop. That woman, with her false warmth, had deliberately kept this information from him.

He was tired. Tired of the world, tired of bad luck, tired of a house that felt tainted. He needed to be angry at someone. He'd been looking forward to this house, too. He'd been envisioning himself in the garden, working on his projects. Instead, he would spend the foreseeable future trying to disinfect a murder scene.