Gemotions

The roses were white, pristine and perfect, but for Liam, they were not a gift. They were a threat. He stared at the arrangement on his doorstep, the crisp morning air doing nothing to calm the rising tide of alarm. No card. His breath caught in his throat.

He knelt down, examining the petals, the thorns. He smelled the blossoms, their scent a sweet perfume that was now tainted. He felt his heart rate increase. He looked up and down the street. He was being watched.

He quickly took them inside, his hands trembling. He placed the flowers on his kitchen table, far from the front door. He circled the vase, searching for a clue, any clue. He grabbed his phone. He needed to make a call. His palms were slick with sweat.