Gemotions

The lawyer’s office smelled of old paper and stale coffee. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight cutting through the gloom. He’d been sitting here for an hour, tapping his pen against the mahogany desk, the rhythmic click echoing in the oppressive silence. When was this guy going to finish rambling about the history of the property? He just wanted to repaint the living room. It shouldn’t be this complicated.

“And the investigation, as I understand it,” the lawyer drawled, finally looking up from a thick file, “was quite… involved.”

A vein pulsed in his forehead. He shoved a hand through his hair, dislodging a few strands. He needed to get home, needed to sand those damn walls.

“So, in conclusion,” the lawyer finished, “it seems the previous owners… met a rather unfortunate end within those very walls.”

He swallowed hard. He felt a sudden chill, despite the stuffy air. "So I can't repaint?"