¥showing a willingness to take surprisingly bold risks¥
In which Jackie Routledge and her group of friends from the south side of Outer Banks try to have the summer of their lives, but end up it being filled with mystery, tragedy, risks, adventure...
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{Fugitive}
"John B, what are we doing at the police station?" JJ asks, his voice thick with confusion.
"Somebody's gotta tell them what happened," John B replies with a sigh, his tone heavy with exhaustion. I feel my chest tighten as I remember the terrible truth—Rafe killed Peterkin when she tried to arrest Ward. She's dead, and my heart shatters every time I think about it. I couldn't help her; I just ran away like a coward.
Pope coughs violently, choking on the smoke. "Easy there, chief," JJ says, though Pope just rolls his eyes and takes another hit.
"Alright, I'm gonna be real with you," JJ continues, his voice serious. "You might end up in the lion's den, but you don't walk into that den on purpose. It's fundamental. Like my old man always told me—never trust cops, no matter what."
"Your old man's an abusive liar," Kie snaps, and JJ freezes, stunned. I shoot Kie a look, silently pleading with her to let it go.
"I agree with JJ. Fuck the police," Pope admits, and Kie gasps softly.
"You going to the dark side now?" Kie asks, rolling her eyes, but Pope doesn't back down.
"When's the last time the police helped us?" Pope fires back.
"Peterkin looked out for Jackie and me, alright?" John B says, his voice strained. "Tried to, at least." He trails off, clearing his throat, a tear slipping down his face. "They need to know."
I wipe my eyes and follow John B as he opens the door and steps out of the car. I sigh deeply and follow him, not letting him go through this alone.
"What are you doing?" JJ asks, brow furrowed, watching me closely.
"He's my twin. I'm not letting him do this by himself," I answer, closing the door behind me and walking towards the police station.
"Uh, excuse me, ma'am?" John B mutters as we approach the front desk.
"This is not a good time, kids," the woman behind the desk says.
"I know who shot the sheriff," John B whispers, and I squeeze his hand for reassurance. He smiles faintly, but it fades quickly when the receptionist's eyes widen in shock.
"You two stay put. I'll get a deputy," she says, standing up and rushing off. John B begins pacing, his nerves getting the better of him. I glance at the clock nervously. Suddenly, a crackling sound comes from the walkie-talkie on the desk.
