She pulled the door open, and the rusty hinges creaked as she stepped inside. The room smelled faintly of salt and old paper. A rickety fan spun overhead, and in the corner, a small radio whispered an old tune beneath the low hum of morning.
Jeremy sat at the desk, hunched over a battered logbook, a pencil tucked behind his ear. He glanced up as she walked in, eyebrows rising slightly.
"There you are," he said with a grin. "Was just about to call you the missing shift."
Melissa smirked and dropped her bag beside the chair. "Don't act like you don't enjoy the peace and quiet without me."
"Maybe for five minutes," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "After that, the silence gets a little too loud."
She smiled faintly but didn't reply right away. Her fingers drummed against the edge of the desk. "Hey… did you see any car drive onto the beach this morning? A black sedan maybe—tinted windows, kind of quiet?"
Jeremy looked puzzled. "A car? On the sand?"
"Yeah. I know it sounds strange. But I thought I saw one earlier. Just before sunrise."
He shook his head slowly. "No way. You know cars aren't even allowed past the barriers. Security would've made a scene."
Melissa nodded, but the unease in her chest remained. "I figured. Just had to ask."
Jeremy studied her face, concern flickering in his eyes. "Are you okay? You seem… off today."
She forced a small smile. "Rough morning. That's all."
He didn't press further, just offered a quiet nod before turning back to the logbook. Melissa glanced toward the window, her gaze drifting to the distant shoreline. The waves rolled in, calm and endless, but her heart still felt unsettled.
Because what she saw hadn't just been a blur or a bad dream.
It was real.
And it was only the beginning.
Melissa stepped out of the beach hut, squinting as the morning sun climbed higher into the sky. The headache had dulled to a faint throb now, but a sense of unease still lingered, like mist that refused to lift. She pulled her phone from her back pocket again, thumb hovering for a moment before tapping the call button beside the name Mum.
The line rang once, then twice.
"Melissa," came Caro's voice on the third ring, sharp and breathless. "You—you finally called."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry," Melissa replied, pressing the phone closer to her ear. "I overslept a bit." The lie slipped out too easily. "I'm leaving the beach house now. Are you okay?"
Caro scoffed softly. "You overslept? Hmph. I've been calling since forever. There's no food. I nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to reach a knife you left lying around—"
A rustling sound interrupted her, a kind of muffled shuffle, like movement behind the phone. Melissa furrowed her brow.
"Mum… what's that sound?" "What sound?" Caro snapped, distracted.
More shuffling. A low thud. Then—
"Mum?"
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Caro whispered something Melissa couldn't make out.
Then the line went dead.
Melissa stared at her screen. Call ended.
Melissa's thumb darted across her screen as she hit redial. Once. Twice. Three times.
No answer.
The cold that had settled in her stomach now spread to her chest. She turned on her heel and walked briskly toward the edge of the beach, slipping past tourists and hawkers like a ghost. As she reached the roadside, she lifted her arm.
"Taxi!"
A yellow-and-black cab screeched to a stop in front of her. She climbed in without waiting.
"Number 14, New Haven Street. Please hurry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The driver, a man with tired eyes and music playing softly through the speakers, nodded and pulled into the road. The city blurred past her window—bustling, unaware—while Melissa sat frozen, her mind churning. She redialed again. Still nothing.
By the time the cab rolled up in front of her house, her heart was pounding like war drums. She threw a few crumpled notes at the driver, barely waiting for change, and jumped out.
The front door was ajar.
"Mum?" she called out as she stepped in, her voice echoing into the empty house.
Silence.
The living room looked… wrong. A chair slightly turned, a book fallen to the floor, the faint scent of lavender now tainted by something metallic in the air. She rushed into the kitchen—no sign of Caro. Into the bedroom—no wheelchair.
Her chest tightened.
Then she saw it.
A single white envelope, resting neatly on the center table. Her name scribbled across it in rushed, uneven handwriting.
Hands trembling, Melissa opened it.
"Call this number: XXXX XXX XXXX.
Do not contact the police.
We are watching."