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Life in the Outer Banks has never felt so disconnected before. The streets feel quieter, the murmurings louder and the pain never-ending because in spite of the residents housed on the upper streets of the island, a member of the homely Southside has been lost.
No amount of words, no amount of news, no amount of curses spat relentlessly at the ones labouring to survive are enough to extinguish the ache of a fellow survivor's loss.
The Kooks throw daggers at them wherever they go — Sarah Cameron, the beautiful blooming flower of the Cameron pride lost to the hands of a dirty Pogue, oh dear heavens — for something that was completely out of their control.
For something they were never even guilty of.
There is no one to console them but each other, some wallow silently while some have actively turned into a walking shadow of the once bright gem they used to be.
Each resembles one or the other five stages of grief.
Kiara has taken to disobeying every demand of her parents' for the sole purpose of displaying her anger, her resentment towards every pretentious little snob housed in one of the million dollar houses — her anger the only coping mechanism.
JJ, for his part, is stuck somewhere between constantly losing sight of himself and forgetting that his friend over at the Chateau is never coming back. He blows up out of the blue at anyone who tries to paint John Booker Routledge as 'Public Enemy #1' for that is the only way he can fathom to survive — his denial and anger, a true reflection of his tempered and exhausted personality.
Pope has decided that drowning himself in literary texts and worries about his future as the brightest of all Heywards is better than resorting to contemplate about a situation that cannot be reversed. "No use crying over spilled milk", he chants like a mantra to himself throughout the day — his acceptance of the truth a pitiful yet realistic way to survive.
And then there's Georgie.
She's been . . . . adjusting, stuck devastatingly inside her head ever since that fated night.
