The Missing - Kiersten Modglin (the reading strategies book TXT) 📗

Seeing it happen, I thought of the turtles we’d often see in a pond near my grandmother’s house, how they’d pop their heads up and down in the water.

But the turtles could survive it. They were meant to be underwater for long periods of time. We were not. While I knew Noah’s experience as a diver and general love for water meant he had swimmer’s lungs, every time his head dipped under the water, my heart lurched.

Please. Please. Please.

I was utterly silent as I watched them grow closer, holding my breath until I could hold it no longer. As they reached a point where Noah looked like he was preparing to stand, I hurried toward them, grabbing under one of James’s arms and helping Noah pull him ashore.

He was freezing cold, but I told myself it could’ve been because of the water. I didn’t dare ask, just let Noah catch his breath as we moved him to dry sand.

Noah knelt down over him, lowering his ear to James’s mouth. I watched his expression, holding my breath again.

Please. Please. Please.

He nodded, sending relief soaring through me. “He’s alive,” he said. His hand went to James’s neck. “I can feel a pulse… He’s breathing.”

“Why won’t he wake?” I put a hand to James’s forehead, running my palm across the side of his face. “James? James? Can you hear us? Wake up.” I looked at Noah. “Is he hurt?”

He looked just as confused as I felt and shook his head. “I have no idea.” I began moving his legs, eyeing them for any signs of damage. I lifted his shirt carefully, fearful I’d have to relive what I had with Harry, but that appeared fine as well. As I ran my hands over him, checking him for any wounds, he seemed to stir, his eyelashes batting as his eyelids fluttered open. He looked around, obviously confused, and jolted up.

“What the—”

“Hey,” Noah said, trying to keep him from sitting up. “You’re okay… You’re okay. Just breathe.”

James looked at us with wide eyes, his body tensing as he fought us off of him. “Ava?”

Noah glanced at me, his brows raised slightly, and I broke eye contact, terrified to deliver the news. “I’m so sorry, James…”

“No,” he argued, shaking his head, his water-logged features crumpling with despair. He ran a hand through his hair. “No. It can’t… She can’t.” We let him stand, watching as he ran past us toward the water, his sobs heart-wrenching. “Please no. Please, Ava. Please don’t do this to me.” He fell to his knees in the crashing waves, his hands covering his eyes.

Together, Noah and I approached him. I tried to figure out what the best way to handle him would be. Should we give him his space? Let him know he’s not alone? Let him know we didn’t blame him and that he did all he could?

I still hadn’t figured out what James’s sudden reappearance meant going forward either. Would the three of us be able to live together peacefully? Would we be able to move on from all that had happened?

As the only woman on an island with two men, I felt fear bristle inside me. If anything ever happened to Noah, it would leave me alone with just James. Did I trust him enough?

Still wrestling with my wild and competing thoughts as we approached him, I watched Noah rest a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, man. You did all you could—”

“No,” he shouted, his voice loud and aggressive. “I didn’t. I didn’t do everything. You should’ve helped me. We could’ve saved her, but you wouldn’t. You didn’t care.”

“Now that’s not fair,” I said. “We did care about Ava, but the way you went about things wasn’t right. We would’ve figured something out, but you nee—”

“No!” he shouted again, standing up suddenly and running away from us toward the fire. “She’d still be here if you’d fought harder for her.”

“James, wait!”

He reached the fire first, with us just behind, and bent down. I stopped short, my hands going to the air as I realized what he was doing.

“No!” I gasped loudly. He grabbed the gun from the ground, turning around and firing a shot without a second’s hesitation. BANG.

I braced myself for the impact, my body tightening, eyes squeezed shut, but it was Noah who cried out in pain. I spun around, staring at him as deep red began to pool from his calf. He placed his hand over the wound, crimson staining his hands and the sand around his leg.

It all happened in slow motion. One moment he was looking at his leg, and the next he’d launched forward, shoving me out of the way as I heard another shot. When I opened my eyes, sitting up on the sand and scrambling toward where they were wrestling, Noah was on top of James, trying and failing to push the gun out of his hand.

“Drop…it,” he demanded through gritted teeth, his face red.

“This is all your fault. Her death is on your hands,” James argued back through his tears, keeping a vice-like grip on the weapon. My heart thudded in my chest as I looked around for a way to end the fight. Where was my machete? Where was another gun?

In the distance, where we’d slept, I could see them both and my heart sank. I didn’t have time to make it there and back, but Noah’s life depended on me making a decision. And fast.

A gunshot rang out again, the bullet grazing some trees off to our side, and I flinched. Finally, I saw what I needed. Lying next to the fire was a pile of spears we’d crafted to catch fish. I hurried around them, grateful they weren’t paying attention to me, and scooped up what looked like the sharpest spear.

I was really going to do this. I was really going to kill him.

I forced myself to feel the words, to let them weigh on my conscience as I