Gemotions

The doctor’s reassurances sounded hollow, thin, like the walls of a paper house. Michael clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face rigid. A stranger’s files were in his hands. A history of substance abuse. He’d lived a clean life. He’d finally achieved peace. This was an invitation to go back. It was a poison.

He spent the next few days in the patient’s home. The patient’s car, the patient’s bed. He found their address and made a copy of their keys. He left a series of messages around the house. They seemed innocent enough. "Did you leave the stove on?" "Need milk". The patient began to crack.