The Undertow / Season 1, Episode 8
Piercing the Haze
Rena Okafor’s boots hit the uneven planks of the north pier with a hollow thud, the salt-worn wood slick underfoot from the morning’s mist. Her breath caught sharp in her chest, a cold blade of air slicing through the damp wool of her Coast Guard jacket. She squinted into the gray haze that clung to Pelican Bay like a shroud, the ocean’s low growl rolling beneath the pier’s creak. Nowak was ahead, his broad frame hunched against the wind, flashlight beam jittering across the water’s edge as he scanned for the reported figure—someone seen staggering toward the tide at 3 a.m., according to the shaky voice on the radio an hour ago. “Anything?” Rena’s voice rasped, barely carrying over the slap of waves against the pilings. Her gloved hand gripped the rusted railing, the metal biting into her palm even through the fabric. She didn’t like this pier—too old, too close to the deep channel where the current turned vicious. Too many stories. Nowak shook his head, not turning, his light still probing the black water. “Nada. Coulda been a drunk. Coulda been—hell, I don’t know. You hear that guy on the call? Sounded like he’d seen a damn ghost.” Rena’s jaw tightened. She’d heard it too, the tremor in the caller’s words, the way he’d whispered, “It didn’t walk...