Jacob Abrams had always thought he could handle anything. After all, he’d navigated the chaotic waters of New York journalism. But nothing could prepare him for the untamed ferocity of the Chattooga River, or the dark truth lurking beneath its surface.
The roar of the Bull Sluice rapids echoed through the valley as Jacob’s kayak sliced through the water. He was here to uncover the story of Jim Miller—the “Angel of the Chattooga”—whose daring rescues had captured the fascination of many. Jacob, fresh out of Columbia with a degree in journalism and a burning desire to make his mark, had seen this as his ticket to the big leagues. If he could crack this story, it might open doors he could only dream of.
Ahead, Jim led the way with ease, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the turbulence. For 15 years, Jim had been a hero, saving countless lives and earning the admiration of the entire community. Yet, Jacob’s heart pounded not just from the adrenaline of the ride, but from the weight of the secrets he now carried.
Jacob had always been uneasy in the water. Growing up in New York, his exposure to swimming had been limited, and even the idea of being submerged made his chest tighten. But he couldn’t let that stop him now. He had to expose the man behind the legend.
As they approached a calmer stretch of water, Jacob took a deep breath. This was it. He needed to confront Jim.
“Jim!” Jacob called out, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the rushing water.
Jim turned, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, his expression unreadable. “What’s up, city boy? Need a hand?”
Jim Miller – The Angel of the Chattooga River.
Jacob paddled closer, his heart racing. “We need to talk. About the girl who died last week.”
A flicker of something—fear? guilt?—crossed Jim’s face before he masked it with a smile. “Tragic, wasn’t it? We did everything we could to save her.”
Jacob steadied himself. “Did we? Or did you?”
Jim’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “What are you getting at, Jacob? You know how it is out here—whitewater guiding is no cakewalk. Every day we’re risking our necks. That river, she’s a wild one. Unpredictable.”
Jacob’s grip tightened on his paddle. “That’s exactly my point. The river’s dangerous enough without someone making it worse.”
Jim’s expression hardened. “You think I’m setting up accidents? Creating emergencies just to play hero?”
Jacob met his gaze, unflinching. “I have proof, Jim. Witnesses, even. People who saw you tampering with the equipment, heard you giving misleading instructions.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them, broken only by the relentless rush of the Chattooga. Then, Jim laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “You think you understand what it’s like out here? The pressure we’re under? One mistake, and someone’s dead. I’ve seen too many lives lost to this river.”
Jacob’s voice was steady. “And how many of those lives were put at risk because of you?”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what it’s like, Jacob. Every time I save someone, it’s a high. A rush. It makes me feel alive.”
“But at what cost?” Jacob shot back. “That girl died because of you. And now the whole river might be shut down.”
Jim’s jaw clenched. “You think I wanted that? You think I don’t carry those deaths with me? Every. Single. One.”
Jacob took a deep breath, the weight of the river pressing in on him from all sides. “I get it, Jim. I really do. But you can’t keep playing god out here. It’s not right.”
Jim’s gaze softened, and for a moment, Jacob thought he saw a flicker of remorse. “Let’s set things right, Jim,” Jacob said, extending a hand. “Together.”
As Jim took Jacob’s hand, a dark smile curled on his lips. With a swift, forceful yank, Jim pulled Jacob into the icy grip of the river. The cold water swallowed him, the current dragging him down. Jacob’s arms flailed, his lungs burning for air, the weight of the river pressing him deeper. He fought to remember the few swimming lessons he’d had, but panic clung to him like a vice.
Realizing what he had done, Jim leaped from his kayak into the water, trying to reach Jacob. The river, in all its untamed fury, had turned against its master. Jim’s confident strokes faltered as the current pulled him under. He surfaced, gasping for air, only to be dragged down again by the relentless torrent.
Jacob Abrams at the water’s edge.
Through the churning water, Jacob caught glimpses of Jim, who was also struggling. Jim’s eyes widened in terror as he fought to stay afloat, the current too strong for even his experience to overcome. Jacob’s vision blurred, his strength waning. Desperation clawed at him, and with one final effort, he reached out toward Jim. Their fingers brushed, but the river’s grasp was unyielding.
As darkness threatened to consume him, Jacob felt strong hands grasp his arms, pulling him to safety. Other kayaks had arrived, the frantic cries of the other guides cutting through the roar of the water. They pulled Jacob onto the riverbank, gasping and coughing, but Jim’s struggles had grown weaker, and he was soon lost to the depths of the river.
As Jacob lay on the riverbank, coughing up water, he realized the weight of what had just transpired. Jim was gone, and the truth of his actions lay buried with him. Shaken and exhausted, Jacob made a decision. He would write the story of the Angel of the Chattooga, but it would be a tale of heroism, not deceit. The river would remain open, its legacy untarnished, and Jim Miller would be remembered as the savior he had always wanted to be. Jacob’s story would paint Jim as the hero, earning him accolades from the journalistic world. The irony was not lost on Jacob—he would achieve his dreams not by exposing the truth, but by burying it.
