Gemotions

He’d barely slept a wink. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump from next door had been relentless since daybreak. Michael gripped his coffee mug, knuckles white. His eyes darted from his front door to the back, assessing escape routes.

He’d walked the perimeter of his property three times, checking the fence, the gate, every possible point of access. His jaw was clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

"Just doing some repairs, they said," he muttered to himself. He wasn’t so sure. Every scrape and clang seemed deliberate.