Gemotions

Michael felt his pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The detective's voice, devoid of empathy, still rang in his ears: “Murder, sir. Inside your master bedroom.” He pictured the room, the freshly painted walls, the new curtains. A wave of nausea surged through him. He sank onto the sofa, his legs giving way beneath him. The house felt huge, empty, and suddenly, terrifying.

He ran his hand over his face, trying to clear his head, but the image of the crime scene photographs invaded his thoughts. The images were burned onto his eyelids. He wanted to scream. He imagined the unseen eyes that were here before him.

He reached for the remote, switching on the television, desperate for distraction, for anything to fill the deafening silence. The bright lights of the screen did little to erase the darkness he felt descending around him. He couldn’t seem to breathe. The air felt thick, heavy, poisonous.