Gemotions

The lilies stood sentinel on the kitchen table, their white faces mocking. Eleanor had spent the morning triple-checking the locks, peering out the peephole every ten minutes. Now, these blooms, a fragrant, anonymous greeting. She circled them cautiously, as if they might spring open and reveal a hidden threat. Her hands, clammy, wouldn't quite meet, they trembled too much.

She sniffed the air, convinced some unfamiliar scent had mingled with the floral fragrance. A deliberate poison, perhaps, slow-acting, designed to lull her into a false sense of security. She backed away, heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden, echoing quiet of the apartment.

The delivery man had been vague, a shadow at the door. No name, no address on the envelope, only the generic "Happy Birthday." But it wasn't her birthday. She picked up the phone, her fingers fumbling over the numbers, ready to dial 911. Her throat constricted. No, better to wait. Observe.