Gemotions

The empty parking space where Mr. Henderson's beat-up Ford pickup usually resided was a gaping wound in Amelia's morning. She stood there, frozen, the keys to her own battered car clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were white. He was her only connection to her job, the only person who understood the nuances of the business. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to breathe. The air felt thin, like the oxygen had been sucked out of the world. She slowly turned and walked towards the building, the familiar brick facade suddenly menacing.