Gemotions

He found the package while he was making coffee. The cardboard box was plain, the tape pristine. The name on the label, "C. Davies," meant nothing to him. The previous owner of his apartment was long gone. He felt the familiar tension in his neck, the urge to check and recheck.

He brought the box inside, setting it on the kitchen counter. He pulled out a knife, and with measured precision, he slit the tape. He peeled open the flaps, peering inside. There was a book. He lifted it out, his fingers tracing the spine, a thriller novel.

He considered burning it, but felt the need to know. He sat down and began to read, his eyes moving across the words, his senses on high alert. His hands gripped the table.