Gemotions

The note was a crisp white rectangle, propped against the coffee mug on Dr. Aris's desk. Simple. “Gone. Best of luck.” That was it. No number, no signature, just the bare minimum. A cold fury gripped Amelia’s chest. He couldn’t just vanish after all these years of advising her. Years she’d spent, in her own words, “perfecting” his techniques. She grabbed her coat, already picturing herself barging into his home, demanding an explanation.

Her knuckles whitened as she drove. She almost missed the turn, fumbling with the shift. The image of his perfectly organized garden flashed in her mind, and that only fueled her. She'd find him. And then, he'd *listen*.

The house was dark. No lights, no sign of life. She knocked. And knocked. Finally, she rattled the doorknob; it was unlocked. She stepped inside, each footstep echoing in the empty, silent house. He must be here, avoiding her. She wouldn’t be deterred.