Gemotions

He’d unearthed the letter in his dad's old desk, the scent of pipe tobacco still clinging to the paper. The words, addressed to the head of the company, were a thinly veiled accusation; it seemed his father was being forced out. He thought of the sudden, unexplained trips his father would take during his childhood, the hushed phone conversations, and the way his father had never quite spoken of his work.

A wave of unease washed over him, making him pace the living room. Each tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway sounded like a footstep approaching. Was someone following him? Was this some kind of message? He glanced at the curtains, pulled back just enough to peek through the blinds. He swore he saw a flash of movement in the shadows across the street.

He grabbed his keys, checking the locks twice before he left the house. Outside, he kept to the back streets, doubling back on himself, certain someone was waiting. He felt a need to disappear, to vanish, to hide the letter and everything else, before he was the one who was forced to leave.