Gemotions

The leather felt cold against Amelia’s palm. She flipped the wallet open, peering at the thick wad of hundred-dollar bills. A driver's license, a library card, a photo of a smiling couple – none of it sparked anything in her. She had a dentist appointment in an hour.

She tucked the wallet into her tote bag, the weight adding a negligible extra burden. The traffic was slow; she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, the insistent tap a rhythm against the drone of the radio. The drill was worse than the money.

The dentist's office was spotless, sterile. She settled into the chair, the hygienist's practiced smile failing to register as anything more than visual information. She paid her bill, then left the office and walked to a nearby park bench. The sun warmed her skin. She pulled out the wallet, and then the money, and then she called the police and gave it all to them.