Gemotions

The bookstore owner was cataloging a new donation, a collection of old crime novels. He was tired, ready to go home. Then, between the pages of a particularly lurid thriller, a handwritten note fell out. He should have just put it back, but curiosity, as it always did, got the better of him.

He felt a sudden, sharp pang of distress. The letter detailed a crime, a confession, a life ruined. He looked around the empty shop, the shadows playing tricks on his eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He felt a sudden, inexplicable need to lock the doors, to be alone, to think.