Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Elias's hands, but the heat didn't seem to penetrate the chill that settled deep in his bones. He stared out the kitchen window at the overgrown garden, the weeds mirroring the tangled state of his thoughts. He hadn't touched the yard work in weeks. He hadn’t touched much of anything lately, truth be told. The realtor’s phone call, the casual mention of a decades-old murder, felt like another weight added to an already overburdened frame. He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes.

The detective’s voice, flat and unhurried, played on repeat in his head. *“The previous owner… unfortunate incident… never fully resolved… cold case…”* Elias squeezed his eyes shut. He should be horrified. He should be disgusted. But all he felt was this heavy, suffocating weariness, like wading through a sea of molasses.

He finally dragged himself to the dusty bookshelf, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled out an old book, its pages brittle. He sat, unmoving, his gaze vacant. He couldn't seem to muster the energy to even open it.