Gemotions

The detective’s casual tone, describing the bank robbery that had ended in gunfire, grated on Sarah’s nerves. He was apologetic, offering to let her know if they found anything else, as if that was supposed to solve things. She had bought a home, not a crime scene. Her sanctuary was, apparently, anyone’s killing ground.

She paced the length of her living room, her steps quick and agitated, a caged animal. Every shadow seemed to hold a ghost, every creak of the floorboards a whisper of the past. Her gaze kept darting to the windows, as though she expected to see flashing police lights. This was not a house, it was a prison.