Gemotions

"It's not possible," he muttered, his voice barely a rasp. He checked the garage again, as if the car might have miraculously materialized inside. The key, still warm from the ignition last night, felt heavy in his hand.

He saw the tow truck driver yesterday. He recalled his license plate number, the company's logo. He remembered the driver's smirk. He had a bad feeling. He walked inside, slamming the door.

He felt the prickle of eyes on him, and he turned sharply, expecting to see someone. He was alone. A chill went down his spine. The air inside suddenly felt heavy, charged with something unseen. He started making calls, frantic, tripping over words.