Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Clara's mouth. She couldn't shake the feeling, that cold prickling sensation between her shoulder blades. This morning, she had even checked the locks on her car doors, a new habit since the break-in at the bakery down the street. Then, the rhythmic clanging.

She flew out the back door, heart hammering against her chest. Her car, her only mode of transport, was being hooked up. "No!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "That's my car! Why are you doing that?"

The tow truck driver, a young woman with a bored expression, pointed to a faded, barely legible sign. Clara felt a surge of pure fury. She scanned the street. Where was the neighbor? He was the only one she could trust.