Gemotions

The musty scent of the bookstore did little to soothe Eleanor’s unease. She'd chosen "Wuthering Heights" randomly, fingers trembling as she slid it from the shelf. Back at her apartment, the book lay open on the worn coffee table. A brittle piece of paper fluttered out. Her breath hitched.

She held the letter with two fingers, as if it might bite. Her eyes scanned the elegant cursive script. It spoke of a clandestine affair, a hidden rendezvous. Eleanor's pulse hammered against her ribs. Was this a game? Some elaborate prank?

She locked the deadbolt, double-checked the windows. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, but the shadows seemed to lengthen, to shift. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant siren, sent a jolt of alarm through her. Who knew she had this? Who else had seen the letter?