Gemotions

The rain hammered against the windows of the small cottage as she read. The book, *Jane Eyre*, was a refuge, a comforting tale. The letter, discovered between the pages, was anything but. A coded message. A hidden meeting place.

She slammed the book shut, her knuckles white against the cover. She felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead. The room felt suddenly small, the shadows in the corners seeming to lengthen, to twist.

She grabbed the phone, her fingers fumbling with the keys. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was a whisper, a desperate plea for help. She began to rapidly pace, unable to find stillness.