Gemotions

Mr. Henderson, with his comb-over and condescending tone, adjusted his spectacles. "A mere technicality," he’d said, when confronted with the information about the previous owners. Technicality? Elias felt his jaw clench. The "technicality" was that a guy had been shot in the master bedroom, leaving a bloodstain the cleaners, bless their hearts, had apparently missed. The lawyer, a man who charged by the hour, was treating this like a minor inconvenience. Elias wanted to scream. He'd poured his life savings into this place, dreaming of quiet evenings by the fireplace. Now, he'd be haunted by the image of someone’s last moments every time he flicked on the television. He gripped the arms of the antique chair, his knuckles white.