Gemotions

The flickering gas lamp cast long, dancing shadows across the cramped apartment. Arthur ran a hand through his thinning hair, a cold dread clinging to him. He’d just sent a message meant for his wife, Amelia: “Meet me by the riverbank. Don’t tell anyone.” But the reply came from his business partner, Mr. Abernathy, a curt, “Acknowledged.” His heart hammered against his ribs. He immediately tried to delete the original message, a futile attempt to erase the incriminating evidence.

The telephone felt like a hot coal in his hand. He debated calling Abernathy, but what could he say? The truth? He paced the worn wooden floorboards, each creak amplifying the fear that clawed at his gut. He pictured Amelia, her trusting eyes, and the knot in his stomach tightened further. He could feel the blood draining from his face.