Gemotions

The silence of the house was punctuated only by the frantic hammering of her own heart. Mark paced the length of the living room, the Persian rug feeling oddly slick beneath his bare feet. He’d seen the flashing blue lights earlier in the day; the sight had been enough to freeze him solid.

The metallic clang of the letterbox downstairs, then footsteps on the front porch. Each footfall echoed in his ears, a drumbeat of approaching doom.

When he opened the door, Mr. Evans stood there, his face unreadable. He wasted no time, getting right to the point. Mark's gaze went to the majestic pine, and an odd feeling of disorientation washed over him. The floor seemed to tilt slightly.