angel - rafe cameron (outerbanks)

15 - pictures

chapter 43
pictures

angie didn't sleep.

she couldn't.

her body was still, buried under her comforter like it might offer protection from everything she had just seen, but her mind was a hurricane—spinning fast, wide-eyed, electric. the map, the notes, the journal. her sister's name written in her father's hand like a business contact. dates and times and places she had never heard her family mention, all scribbled down like appointments. like meetings.

and the bahamas? what did the bahamas have to do with any of this?

her phone was on the pillow beside her, glowing softly every few minutes as it ran out of auto-lock time. the photos were still open—maddie's name, scrawled in that steady, serious handwriting her father used when things were important. important enough to hide under a floorboard, apparently.

she swiped back to the map. there was something about the shape of the notations. circles, triangles, some kind of code. she didn't know what they meant.

a ping snapped her head up.

sarah: hey

her thumbs tapped rapidly in response.

angie: you good?

sarah: yeah

sarah: staying in top's boat house lol

angie: dare i ask

sarah: nothing like that

angie: heard that b4

sarah: he's just helping me out

angie: out of your clothes

sarah: ANGIE

sarah: no

angie: suuuuuure

angie: serious note

angie: i need ur help

sarah: what with?

angie: come over in the morning

angie: i'll show u

by morning, the adrenaline had drained from her bones, leaving only a hollow ache and a greasy headache behind it. she forced herself out of bed, dragging on a pair of linen shorts and a tank top. no makeup, not even concealer. she didn't have the energy to pretend today.

by the time she reached the kitchen, her mom was already gone and her dad had left a sticky note on the counter. "meeting - back late. leftovers in fridge." classic. she crumpled it without reading the rest and shoved it in the trash, stomach turning at the smell of whatever rose had made the night before.

ten minutes later, a soft knock at the door.

sarah stood on the porch, eyes squinting in the early morning sun, her hair tied into a loose bun with a bright green scrunchie that clashed wildly with her hoodie.

"you look like hell," she said, stepping inside.

"great to see you too," angie muttered, already halfway up the stairs. "come on."

they climbed into angie's room, where blackout curtains still blocked most of the light and the fan whirred low in the corner. the chaos on her bedspread looked accidental—but it wasn't. she had laid it all out.