Gemotions

He stared out the window, the city lights blurring into an amorphous glow. Another night, another wave of…unease. He couldn’t sit still. He’d paced the length of the apartment a dozen times, the worn rug underfoot offering no solace. A package lay on the counter, addressed to "Ms. Vivian Sterling." The previous tenant.

He’d almost tossed it straight into the recycling. But something, a flicker of something akin to intrigue, had stopped him. He picked it up, feeling a tremor in his hand. The box was small, surprisingly heavy. He examined the return address: "The Curio Shoppe, New Orleans." He knew he shouldn't, but he had the feeling that it was trying to tell him something.