Gemotions

David paced the worn rug, his steps mimicking the erratic thrumming in his ears. He'd discovered the account hidden in a safety deposit box at the bank: "To Brianna, Trust Fund." He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his agitated fingers. Her name. Brianna. A woman he barely knew.

The air in the apartment felt thick, suffocating. He pulled at his collar. The light from the setting sun, streaming through the blinds, seemed to spotlight dust motes dancing in a conspiratorial ballet. He found himself staring at the phone, as if it held the answers, as if it was plotting his demise.

He glanced at the framed wedding photo on the mantelpiece, his mouth twisting. He grabbed his coat, feeling an intense compulsion to drive, to move, to *do* something to quell the rising tide of unease.