Gemotions

"He... he's *what*?" Mark asked, his voice cracking. He clutched the phone tighter, his knuckles white. The receptionist's voice on the other end confirmed the unsettling news: Mr. Henderson had packed up his office, said goodbye to no one, and vanished. Mark dropped the phone back into its cradle with a thud, his hands trembling.

He stood up so fast, the chair toppled over behind him. He started pacing, a restless energy coursing through him. He checked his watch, even though he knew there was no point. It was just after 2 pm, two hours since his mentor was last seen. He started to feel a prickling sensation on his skin.

He felt the sudden urge to run, to escape the confines of his own office. He grabbed his coat, then hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He felt utterly adrift, a small boat on a vast, unpredictable ocean. He ran his hand over his face. He felt off-kilter.