riptide- outer banks

100 | of his own volition

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Terrance was dead.

He was dead, lying in a pool of blood on the living room floor.

Logan brought his hand up, attempting to keep his breathing at a normal rate. He felt sick to his stomach, a nauseated feeling settling in the back of his throat. Wanting to puke wouldn't even help at this point. And he hadn't even known the man.

He couldn't get the image out of his mind though. His lifeless eyes and the crimson staining the wood beneath him. There'd been so much of it. There still was. To be completely honest, Logan didn't think he'd ever be able to expunge that gruesome scene from his memory. He could only imagine what Kori was feeling since this was her house. The house she'd grown up in. Seeing a dead body, scarlet blood all over the floors– he could only imagine what was going through her and JJ's heads right now.

Turning to either of them, Logan could see JJ's averted gaze as he stood near Kie and Sarah. He hadn't looked at Terrance since first seeing him. He probably couldn't and no one could blame him. As his dark gaze found Kori, though, his head began to shake. The blonde had her hand on Cleo's back, consolingly rubbing the area as the brunette numbly sat– not having said a word since any of them had gotten there.

She'd almost died. Kori was not going to let her just sit there and drown in the endless sea of emotions that were likely gurgling over the top of her head. She wouldn't let that happen. She couldn't do a single thing to change what had taken place, but she could rub her back. And if that was all she could do, then she'd do it. For Cleo.

Logan glanced over at Terrance again, instantly regretting that decision. Because the second his eyes fell on his macabre corpse and the crimson fluid coating his body and the floor beneath him, he felt the nausea in his throat rise. He was gonna be sick.

"I need some air." He abruptly said, shattering the silence inside the room. He didn't wait to hear any objections or to see who had noticed. He just left, unable to stop the vomit from brewing in the bottom of his stomach.

The second he had thrown open the back door and was jotting down the porch steps, he hunched over. His palms fell onto his knees as he dry heaved. Nothing came though. He couldn't even puke and that was the worst part. The nausea was overwhelming and he had no idea why his body was reacting like this. He'd seen Peterkin dying. He'd watched Ward and Rafe carry Gavin's body out to the boat that night. He'd seen his own dad get shot and fall off a cliff. He'd seen it happen mere feet from him. He'd watched the life leave Big John's eyes.

So why was this any different?

Logan exhaled, bringing his hand up to run it through his dark curls. Then he started walking, no destination in mind. He just started and he didn't know when he'd stop. His mind was jumbled, filled with so many thoughts and he didn't even know how to stop it. He wasn't going to have a panic attack or anything like that. No, this was different. He just–

"JJ–" Shoupe's voice cut out as Logan appeared around the side of the house. "Logan?"

Shit.

The brunette's brow snapped together, gaze shifting from the sheriff in front of him and back to the house. What the hell was Shoupe doing here? Quickly hiding any semblance of shock or nausea, Logan painted a confused smile on his face. His brow furrowed together as he began to walk forward.

"Shoupe? What are you doing here?" He asked, stopping a few feet from him.

"What am I doing here?" He echoed, dropping his head with a small chuckle. "I'm here to talk to JJ. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"