Gemotions

The hum of the refrigerator was a persistent irritant. A dull throb pulsed behind Marcus's eyes, a sensation that had plagued him since sunrise. He’d rearranged the furniture in his living room three times, each iteration feeling more wrong than the last. He glanced at the counter. A package for "Mr. Silas Blackwood."

He knew the man had lived here before. Silas Blackwood. A name that didn't feel right. He picked up the package. The box was small and rectangular, and he could feel a hard, cold shape inside. It was sealed with heavy tape, and he found himself tearing at it with sudden, almost manic, urgency.