Drew Starkey Imagines

Dead Calm

The summer heat hung heavy in the air, thick with the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand. The Outer Banks was alive with the sounds of crashing waves and distant music from beachfront parties. It was the kind of night where nothing bad was supposed to happen—the kind of night where you and Rafe could escape the weight of expectations, the quiet pressure of being a Cameron, the constant battle between who he was and who people thought he should be.

The boat rocked gently beneath you, anchored just off the marsh, far enough from the mainland that the only light came from the moon and the distant glow of houses along the shore. Rafe sat at the helm, one arm draped lazily over the back of the seat, his free hand gripping the throttle.

You leaned against the side of the boat, letting the warm breeze wash over your skin, watching the water ripple like black silk beneath you. It was peaceful. For once, it felt like nothing else mattered. Just you, Rafe, and the vast expanse of the sea.

Then the boat lurched.

The impact was subtle but unmistakable—a dull, heavy thunk beneath the hull.

Rafe's body went rigid. "What the hell was that?"

Your stomach twisted. "I don't know."

The water was still, save for the gentle lap of waves against the boat. But something was there. A shape, just beneath the surface. A shape that hadn't been there moments before.

Rafe killed the engine. "I'm checking it out."

Your pulse quickened. "Rafe, wait—"

But he was already moving, grabbing a flashlight and stepping onto the edge of the boat. The beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating the water. And that's when you saw it.

A hand.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The body surfaced a moment later, bloated and pale, its face barely recognizable. The clothes clung to it, waterlogged and torn. A deep gash marred the side of the head, a wound too precise to be accidental.

It was a man. And he was dead.

A sharp gasp escaped you as you stumbled backward. Rafe didn't move for a long moment, his grip tightening on the flashlight. Then, finally, he whispered, "Shit."

The word snapped you back to reality. "We have to call someone."

Rafe exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. He looked at you, then back at the body. "Yeah. Yeah, we do."

His voice was steady, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled into a fist at his side.

The spell of the night had been broken.

Something dark had settled over the Outer Banks.

And somehow, you and Rafe were caught in the middle of it.

⸻

The next morning, the news broke.

Body Discovered Near the Marsh – Authorities Investigating Possible Homicide.

You sat in the Wreck, a cold glass of water sweating in your hands, your pulse still unsteady. The news played on a small TV behind the bar, the sound slightly distorted by the hum of conversation around you.

The Pogues were gathered at your table, their expressions a mixture of shock and unease.

"Holy shit," JJ muttered, running a hand through his sun-bleached hair. "You and Rafe really found a dead body?"

You nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Kiara's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And you're sure Rafe had nothing to do with it?"