Gemotions

The package was small, a thin rectangle. It had been meant for Emily, a name that tasted like ash in his mouth. He'd been living here for six months, and the constant reminders of her presence—the lingering scent of her perfume, the faded pictures—were a daily torture. He held the package up to the light. It felt like paper. A photograph, perhaps? He carefully opened it, his fingers trembling.

It was a bill. A large one. He smiled, a slow, predatory expression spreading across his face.