Gemotions

The old man, Thomas, slammed the shop door, the bell above it clanging loudly. He fumbled with the key to his rusty truck, the metal cold and unyielding against his trembling fingers. He’d driven for hours, across state lines, fueled by a single, desperate hope. He ran a hand over his tired face, leaving a smear of grime across his cheek. The image of the ring in the case burned in his mind. He should have gotten here earlier. He should have known. He slumped against the truck, every bone in his body aching.