Gemotions

Rain hammered against the windowpane, mirroring the dull throb behind Marcus's temples. He hadn't slept well in weeks. He felt leaden, slow. The doorbell chimed, a sound he usually welcomed, but today it just seemed to amplify the silence.

He opened the door to find a package. Not his name, of course. “Harold Finch.” The previous tenant. Marcus vaguely remembered Harold, a man who always seemed to be brimming with a restless energy that now seemed alien to him.

He carried the box inside, the weight of it making his shoulders slump. Inside, wrapped in bubble wrap, was a small, ornate music box. He wound it up. A tinny, melancholic melody filled the empty apartment, and Marcus found himself staring at the floor.