THE next morning, Ríone dropped by her mother's old cafe to get a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich.

She was not sure how long she was going to stay in Loutham but she was sure as hell not going grocery shopping on the very first day there. Not that she did not like cooking: in fact, it was something she liked to do to relax herself after a long day. But given that she had made no progress on her manuscript or inform her agent about the said lack of progress, it would have been an unwise decision to cook her breakfast.

So propped on a high stool, she was writing and subsequently chomped on her sandwich - a classic grilled chicken cheese one.

The cafe looked quite similar to what it was back when Ríone was a child. Its outer walls were painted in sombre lilac shades, patterned with long white stripes. A placard above its panelled door contained its name. Inside, it boasted of matte wooden tiles and matching wood-finished walls. Round light bulbs hung from the ceiling. A faint smell of frankincense wafted in the air.

She was alone in her booth. A nonchalant smile was on her lips. It was nice out here; she thought. Away from the house and the sea, this place was a sanctuary. She was safe here. Here she could wholly focus on her work. Plus, the coffee and sandwich were just great. Just the way she remembered them to be.

Ríone's smile grew wider. Maybe coming here was not a terrible decision after all.

It was still quite early in the morning. Mostly, the cafe was empty save for a few early commuters and the cafe staff. You could feel the silence, a humming kind that you find only in small towns. Much different from her home back in the city, where it was always clamorous, be it midday or midnight.

"They'll be pleased." Ríone said to herself. She tapped her pen against the table. In the hour she had been here, she had written a substantial amount. If she could maintain this streak, then in half a month she will have completed yet another novel.

Yes, there was other stuff she would need to go through, but writing the story in its entirety was the most important. Another work so close to completion. Now that was something to be happy about.

Ríone placed her hand on the plate, only to find out that it was empty - that the sandwich was inside of her. She facepalmed. How did she not notice that she had finished her food? That was strange. She grabbed her tote, which stood at the foot of her stool, put the manuscript inside, paid the teen cashier and left the cafe.

The day was warm. Sunlight played on her skin, making it shine like polished bronze. Beside her, a few cars drove past, while students with backpacks perched on their backs trudged schoolward on the raised footpaths. Few birds chirped from the nearby trees.

Ríone had her hands in the pockets of her trench coat. She took in the scenes of Loutham's downtown, her mind wavering to her school days when she too would walk to school with Jake and sometimes his younger brother, Sean.

Jake. Her eyes wettened for a moment. This was the second time she was reminded of him ever since she came back. Where in the world was he? Did he move out? Or was he still here, living in good ol' Loutham?

He ought to have moved out, she reckoned. Loutham was too slow, too laid-back for a guy like him. So full of life, always looking for adventures and getting into trouble because of that. He was one of those rare good things that happened to her. He was not just her best friend, but her constant companion. In moments like this, she remembered him with unflinching clarity.

But when they moved away from Loutham, he too faded, like the memories of this town.

"I wish you were here. I miss you. I really do." She murmured to herself. Her throat was choked up. She was this close to crying, something she did not want to do in the middle of the street.

She took longer strides, when suddenly she heard someone calling her name:

"Ríone."

The voice was barely audible. A little louder than a whisper. It was raspy too, like the voice of an old man. With a sharp jerk, she looked over her shoulder to find out who it was that called her.

She could not see no one.

Weirded out, she resumed her walk. Perhaps she misheard it. Maybe it was something her mind made up. Timothee used to say that stuff like this was more common than what one would think.

"Ríone."

Again. She turned around with a frown on her forehead. This was not something her mind had made up. Someone was calling her for sure. But who was it? Was this a prank? If yes, where was the person disappearing every time she turned to look?

"Ríone."

She looked to her left and her right to find the perpetrator. No one was in sight. She felt a little afraid. Who was it and why were they doing it?

"Ríone."

This time she tried to follow the direction from where the voice came. She walked forward a few steps before stopping in front of an open sewer hole. Murky wash water flowed through it, emitting a faint hiss. A strong fishy smell emerged from it. Ríone scrunched her nose, when once again she heard the whisper again.

"Ríone."

"What the-"

Ríone's jaw hung open. Here, the whisper was stronger than ever. But this was a sewer hole! How could it be possible that someone was calling from a sewer hole? What was wrong with her?

She took a nervous step backwards. Then she sidestepped around it before taking off at full speed. At that moment, she did not care about hitting someone or getting hit by a car. All it mattered to her was getting far away from that sewer hole.

This did not feel right. She should call Timothee. Maybe it was some side effect of her antidepressants. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, she knew it was something he needed to know.

And another more troubling thought bloomed in her mind, like the beads of sweat blooming on her forehead.

Would she ever feel safe around any water body?