Gemotions

He’d driven past the house dozens of times in the last few months, but tonight was different. Tonight, the house was a skeletal shadow under the unforgiving gaze of floodlights. His stomach was twisting into a knot.

He should have gone in, should have salvaged some things before the construction crew arrived. He had put it off, each day promising to do it tomorrow, until tomorrow became today. His hands were clammy, and he wiped them against his jeans. He could taste the metallic tang of fear.

He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a worn map of the neighborhood, and threw it on the passenger seat. He knew the layout of the place like the back of his hand, but now it was all a jumble of anxieties.