❝𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞...❞
sarah cameron x oc
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'WAVES' chronicles the life of the Cut's resident lifeguard, and honourable Pogue member, Nicholas Warren, as he desperately searches for a distraction fr...
╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗ — 𝗣𝗜𝗟𝗢𝗧 — season one, episode one, part two
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❝𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞'𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝.❞
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As the Pogues pulled back into the Outer Banks marina, they noticed that the crowd of frantic residents had expanded since their last visit. This time, however, the dock was also littered with police deputies as they tried to oversee the crowd, blocking them from reaching a police boat behind them.
"What the fuck's going on?" Nick asked aloud, watching as the police deputies lifted what appeared to be a bloated, open-eyed dead corpse on a longboard and rested it on the concrete edge of the marina.
"Is that what I think it is?" Olivia shrieked, clutching her stomach in disbelief.
"Hey," John B called to Peeler, the local kid who loitered around on the dock. "Who's body is it?"
"Scooter Grubbs," replied Peeler. "He was out during the storm."
"Holy shit," cursed JJ, his eyes wide. "What kind of boat did he have, do you know?"
"Somehow that dirtbag had a brand new Grady-White," scoffed Peeler, shaking his head. "Everyone's looking for it."
And just like that, the Pogues fell dangerously silent as the crowd on the dock roared with cries of sadness, their faces riddled with shock. In the midst of the chaos, though, an upset woman forced her way through the crowd, and Nick vaguely recognized as Lana Grubbs, Scooter's distressed wife.
"Let me through, let me through," she cried, approaching the stretcher. "Where is he?"
But as she saw the corpse of her husband, her question seemed to be answered. Lana buckled with grief, sobbing uncontrollably and falling over the body.
"No, no, no, NO!"
"We didn't find anything," whispered Pope, as though he were trying to convince himself. "We don't know anything, okay? Let's go!"
Without having to be told twice, John B peeled off into the marsh for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, and the Pogues cruised along the water in silence until reaching the familiar shore of the Chateau. One after the other, they clambered out of the boat and ran towards the safe confinements of John B's front porch, a place in which they knew they could talk in private.
"We need to have total and complete amnesia," demanded Pope, ringing his hands out in nervousness.
"Pope's right for once," agreed Nick, sitting on John B's outdoor couch that he had on the porch. He winked at Pope, adding, "See, I agree with you sometimes."
