"Hey Rob!" Sandy greeted him with a bright white smile in a pretty, tanned face. The girl looked like a supermodel, honestly, all long limbs and a great figure, but Dean could barely be interested. He gave her a weak nod and stashed his board behind the counter. Sandy was the daughter of Big Mike, the local surf legend and owner of Big Mike's Big Wave. She was wearing a tiny little Hurley tank, showing off her perfect, flat and toned stomach with the little flipflop belly button ring dangling over her Daisy Dukes. Yeah, she was hot, and apparently interested in him. A few months ago he would have already had her a time or two, but now…
"Some of my friends are throwing a big party tonight down at the beach, you wanna come with me?" She asked, flashing her perfect smile and huge brown eyes at him.
"Sorry, I have some stuff to do." He muttered lamely.
"Oh, come on! It'll be fun!" She smiled encouragingly.
"I'll… I'll think about it." He half-smiled back. He could get laid so easily… If he'd wanted to. Which he apparently didn't.
"Oh good, you really should, it'll be great." She touched his arm, flirting hard-core for this laid-back chick.
He froze, staring awkwardly at her hand. Pale pink nail polish set off her tan, deeper even than his. She squeezed his arm and went back to sorting through some cardboard boxes on the floor, sticking her ass in the air knowingly. Dean just walked away and began to inspect a board someone had dropped off for repair.
A few hours passed by, customers came and went steadily and Sandy kept shooting him hungry glances. Dean just hid behind his hair and focused on his work.
A strange buzzing began in his head, like a fly was trapped in his brain. He shook his head a little, trying to clear it. Sandy looked up at him and frowned.
"Something wrong?" She asked, folding a t-shirt.
"My ear is ringing." He muttered.
"Oh gosh, I hope you're not getting swimmer's ear…" She frowned. "Does it hurt?"
"A little, not too bad…" He shook his head again, but the sound didn't go away. As he bent over the surfboard again, the buzzing grew louder. Slowly and steadily it escalated into full-scale ringing. Clamping his hands over his ears, he gritted his teeth.
"Rob?" He heard the voice as if through cellophane. He could sense Sandy's hands on his shoulders, but he couldn't move. His head was going to explode like a potato in the microwave, and he couldn't stop it.
Except it did stop. Gradually, it faded away to no more than a slight buzz and he was able to straighten up again, somewhat embarrassed.
"Go home, Rob, you need to lie down." Sandy ordered. He didn't argue. He just nodded and stumbled out the door and into the sunlight – was it always this bright? He squinted and trudged off towards home.
Climbing the steps to his beach house-turned-apartment, he let himself into the blessed dimness of pulled down shades and the air conditioner which blasted noisily into life as he touched the button. He crossed to his bed and fell face-first into it, falling asleep almost instantly.
A noise at the foot of his bed woke him suddenly. He made no visible movement, except to clench his hand hidden under the pillow around the cold handle of a gun. OK, so he was trying to forget his old life, but he wasn't STUPID. Flipping over as fast as he could, he had the gun pointed at the source of the noise faster than—Wait… Nothing was there. The apartment was empty of life forms other than himself. The salt across his windowsill was untouched (really, he wanted to forget it all, but again, he wasn't stupid. Slowly climbing out of his bed, he checked the other window, the door and the sliding glass door. All still salted perfectly.
"Just a dream, I guess…" He shook his head and headed to the fridge. The microwave clock read 1:05 am. Great. Too early to be up and too awake to go back to sleep. He fished a water bottle out from the relatively sparsely filled fridge and downed the whole thing the way he used to chug a beer.
He turned towards the couch and stopped dead in his tracks.
A pair of eyes shining in the dark. Something was in his apartment and he could never get to his gun in time.
The buzzing in his head intensified suddenly and powerfully, like 300 fire trucks were blowing their horns all at once.
"Hello Dean." He could barely make out over the screaming in his head.
No longer able to deal with the feeling of his brain swelling, he dropped to the floor in a dead faint.