Gemotions

"Just sign here, Mr. Peterson," the man said, pointing to a line on the document. His gaze met Peterson's with a subtle pressure, a thinly veiled expectation. Peterson felt a flush of heat rise to his face.

He looked at the pen, then back at the document. He could sign it, and it would all be over. But something, a deep-seated resistance, held him back.

He said nothing, simply turned and walked away from the table. The man looked confused. He went back to the house. He felt the cold steel of the front door's lock on his fingers. He locked it and went inside.