Gemotions

The hum of the refrigerator was a persistent distraction. Oliver ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his calloused skin. The phone call had been short, but the words echoed in his mind. "He's there, Oliver. In her drawings. He's back."

He paced the confines of his small apartment, the worn wooden floorboards creaking with each step. The weight of his responsibilities – his job, his obligations – felt crushing, but even that paled in comparison to the dread that now consumed him.

He felt a deep and pervasive sense of exhaustion, a spiritual emptiness that no amount of sleep could ever remedy. The drawings he'd seen had resurrected a memory he'd struggled to bury, a secret he was desperate to keep hidden. He sat down heavily in his armchair and stared at the wall.