Gemotions

“Honey, where are my car keys?” Mark called out from the hallway. His wife, busy in the kitchen, barely registered his voice. He had a meeting across town and was already running late. He rummaged through the usual spots: the table, the counter, under the sofa cushions. Nothing.

"They're not here," his wife said, not looking up. "I thought you took them."

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. He was going to be late, and this was becoming a regular occurrence. He hated the morning rush.

The detective’s visit, and the ensuing news about the home’s history, came shortly after he found his keys. He felt a deep sense of unease, a feeling that extended far beyond his previous anxieties.