Gemotions

The drive home felt interminable. Lisa had found the wallet in a taxi, a thick roll of bills visible from a crack in the zipper. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. Her breath came in short, shallow pants.

The landscape blurred past, each tree, each house, seemed to be staring at her. She kept checking the rearview mirror, convinced someone was following her. She felt a burning pressure in her chest, a sensation that was close to pain.

She pulled into her driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires like a warning. The house, usually a place of comfort, seemed to loom over her, a silent, disapproving presence. She sat there, paralyzed, unable to move, the wallet a heavy weight in the passenger seat.