Gemotions

She kept checking the rearview mirror, even on the quietest streets. The gift – a first edition of her favorite poetry book – lay on the passenger seat, a beautifully bound specter. It had been nearly a decade since she’d taught him, young David Carter.

The sunlight felt too bright, the air too thin. A tremor ran through her when a car followed her for more than a block. She started avoiding familiar routes, taking random turns, her heart hammering against her ribs. Each passing vehicle became a potential pursuer.

The book's inscription was innocuously polite, but her gaze kept getting drawn to it, the words seeming to rearrange themselves into a threat. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was the subject of a carefully constructed game.