Earlier ...
Sydney was writing some poetry in her journal out back behind the café when suddenly she heard what sounded like a gunshot. And it sounded close, like maybe inside the building. "What the hell?" she uttered, closing her book and getting to her feet. Curious, she cautiously made her way towards the front of the building, tossing her cigarette to the pavement, and that was when some guy she didn't recognize came flying out of the café, nearly bowling her over. "Hey, watch it, asshole," she said to him.
"It ... It's impossible. Ricky was dead. She was dead. Then she was wasn't. They're both dead ... but they're ... they're not ..." The guy then scurried off like he had seen the devil.
Dead, but not dead? What did he mean by that?
Her curiosity increasing, Sydney went to one of the windows and peered inside. But there was no one there. Which was odd, of course. Even in the late afternoon, between lunch and dinner, there were usually a few customers. And even if there weren't, where was the waitstaff? Dawn and Lyndsay, she thought their names were. There was no one. Absolutely no one in there. What the hell was going on?
