Gemma B

I'm on the hotel balcony. Something's wrong with the beach tonight — the surf sounds like it's coming out of a broken speaker. Every 21 seconds the sound drops to nothing, then cuts back in with a metallic pop. I looked toward the coordinate line with binoculars. A man was standing at the edge of the shore, completely still, glowing faintly at the outline like a neon sign. Then he was gone. My call history shows outgoing calls to numbers that don't exist yet.