Letters She Wrote | Outer Banks

𝐢𝐱. 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

[ ix. catch and release ]

➸➸➸

"HE IS DEFINITELY OUT of air."

Pope Heyward's sharp remark pulled Willa Deveraux from her sluggish state of mind and she hastily lifted her head, allowing the cool breeze of the marsh to blow her knotted locks back from her sweaty, sun-kissed cheeks. Pope was now knelt near the stern of the HMS Pogue, peering down into the depths of the darkening waves that had pulled John B. Routledge below, surely, more than twenty-five minutes ago now. At his worried tone, Willa was on her feet in an instant, wobbling slightly as the boat rocked beneath her shifting weight, and quickly crossed over to where Pope lingered to look for herself.

JJ Maybank and Kiara Carrera followed close behind the Deveraux girl, each of them just as curious and fearful as to what exactly may have been happening below the surface of their very own boat. As Willa and Kiara both dropped down to their knees at the stern, the former pressed tightly against Pope's side as she carefully shimmied to the very edge of the slick boat and leaned in close. Her face was now mere inches from the calm water, the glow of the sunlight's reflection practically blinding her, even as she seemingly pretended that she suddenly contained the power to see to the very bottom of the marsh, and—more importantly to her—to John B.

"Where is he?" Kiara demanded worriedly.

Willa swallowed tightly, the worst of her imagination beginning to spiral away from her. "We have to go down—"

Suddenly, before Willa could finish her sentence, the still surface of the marsh was abruptly broken by the harsh surge upwards from none other than John B. himself. Leaning back in surprise, Willa and the surrounding teenagers all let out loud exhales of breath at the sight of the floundering but lively boy, panting loudly in the murky water as he hastily tore away the bitten respirator and cloudy goggles from his face to breathe proper, clean air.

"Jesus Christ!" JJ exclaimed, laughing out loud, even when Willa was certain he was only doing so to stop himself from swearing up a storm composed entirely from his erratic, firecracker nerves. "Don't scare us like that, man."

Willa, too, was fighting to keep her own swears contained behind her pressed pale lips. Even in her silence, she could feel the nervous tremor that echoed in the ghost of her missing tone, its buzzing electricity tightly caught in her narrow chest, burning and branding into the spaces between her ribs. "Are you okay, John B.?" She finally forced from between clenched teeth.

"How'd it go down there?" Pope prodded from beside her.

"Yeah, did you find anything?" JJ questioned, stepping around to the far side of the boat to lend John B. a helping hand out of the marsh.

John B. Routledge was grinning madly, his skin glowing a soft auburn haze against the dying light above as he was pulled back onboard. "Did I find anything?" John B. repeated giddily, discarding of the heavy scuba gear so quickly and energetically that his body cast dancing, growing shadows across the bare stretch of the boat. Willa found herself smiling at the boy as she watched him in a silent awe; for even as the sun began to set around them, John B.'s spiritual light made it seem as if the sun was only just starting to rise, as if a new beginning was on the horizon for them all. And, perhaps, maybe it was.