Gemotions

Michael enjoyed the silence that settled over him as he tackled the overgrown weeds in his new garden. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the sun warmed his back. He methodically attacked the bindweed, pulling it out root and all. This was the peace he craved after years of city life. The phone interrupted his reverie, buzzing in his pocket. He sighed, wiped his hands on his jeans, and pulled out his phone.

The detective on the other end, his voice tight, explained, "There was a homicide at your address, Mr. Peterson. A cold case. Unsolved." Michael's grip on the phone tightened, a chill running through him despite the warm air. He looked at the blossoming roses, a sudden unease blooming in his gut. He thought back to the realtor's glowing words about the property. He closed his eyes.