Deviant

Chapter 5

Elias

I gently place a blanket over my mother’s sleeping form, doing my best not to wake her up from her nap. When she stirs in pain, even in her sleep, a mumbled curse escapes me, hating that all I can do is helplessly stand by and watch her disintegrate before my very eyes.

She’s getting frailer by the day. Nora’s death has taken most of her energy away despite her willingness to fight the disease.

The doctors all say the same thing—all I can do now is keep her comfortable.

That it won’t be too long now.

But what they don’t tell you is that while you wait for the inevitable, a piece of your soul dies, too.

No one fucking deserves to watch the clock run out on a life, especially their mother’s.

Especially my mother—a woman who doesn’t have a mean bone in her body and would take the shirt off her back to help someone else.

It’s like the damned and corrupted get to live it up in this purgatory of a town while the good and self-sacrificing get their lives cut short before their time.

It happened to Nora… and soon, it will happen to my mom.

Fuck.

Needing a distraction more than the air I breathe, I grab my leather jacket and pick up my motorcycle helmet. A ride in my Bonneville T120 will do me some good to clear my wayward thoughts.

I’m two steps away from reaching the front door when I hear my fucktwat of a little brother call out my name, forcing me to turn around and deal with his ass first.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Aidan asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Out.”

“I see that, asshole. But where to?”

I scan him from head to toe, the fucker still only in his boxers, even though it’s well past noon.

“Where do you think? Some of us have to work for a living, you know?”

“Not when it’s their day off, they don’t,” he counters back knowingly.

Little shit.

“You keeping tabs on me, little brother?” I smirk.

“Fuck no. Couldn’t give a rat’s ass what you do,” he snarls in disgust. “But Mom can’t be alone, and I’ve got shit to do this afternoon. Being your day off and all, I thought you’d be the one to stay home today.”

“You thought wrong.”

His nostrils flare, his light-blue gaze throwing daggers at me.

“Don’t be an asshole, Elias. I’ve been on babysitting duty all week.”

“Taking care of our sick mother isn’t babysitting, asshole. It’s called being a good son,” I snarl back at him. “But if that’s too much hassle for you, why don’t you get a real job so I can stay with Mom from now on? I’m sure I can ask Rick to give you a job at the garage.”

This gets his attention, and not in a good way.

The fucker doesn’t want to spend his time doing an honest day’s work, much less get his hands dirty working at the same garage I do.

No.

Aidan is just like our deadbeat father—he prefers to earn his cash the Blackwater Falls way, and by that, I mean letting The Scourge money fall on his lap instead.

I bet the fucker is counting down the days until he starts receiving his own share of the pot and no longer has to mooch off our mother.

Lord knows when that happens, he’ll never spend a day looking after her again.

Not that she has that long, which is a blessing all in itself.

She still thinks Aidan walks on water and can do no wrong.

But I know better.

The little shit-stain is a parasite.

Sucking out the good in everything until there is nothing left but an empty, hollow void.

“Come on, Elias. Do me this solid. All I need is an hour,” he says more diplomatically as if his friendly tone could convince me. “Just one hour.”

“Why do you need it so bad?” I ask, my curiosity somewhat piqued.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” he snaps, unable to keep up with the charade of being nice to me.

“Have it your way then.” I begin to turn around to head toward the door again, only to have him stop me once more.

“Jesus fuck, but you’re a dick,” he hollers, disgruntled. “Just give me an hour. One fucking hour. That’s not asking for too much.”

I turn around and cross my arms over my chest.

“Fine. You want an hour? I’ll give you an hour. On one condition—you tell me why you need it so bad.”

His briefly relieved expression turns hesitant for a second as he considers his options.

“I’m just going to see Rowen, that’s all,” he explains with a straight face, like I’d ever buy that shit.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” He frowns.

“You are. You forget that I know when you’re lying. I always know when you’re lying. And besides, you don’t go to Rowen. Rowen comes to you.” The fucker has the audacity to smile at my statement.

If I didn’t hate her so much, I might have found a place in my black heart to be sorry for the way my brother treats her. But since hate is all I have for the girl, who gives a shit.

“You got me.” He chuckles. “I’m not going to see Rowen. I’m going over to Mackenzie’s instead. She just texted saying her parents aren’t home, and well… by the nudie pics she just sent me, she needs my undivided attention,” he states, emphasizing the word by pointing to his dick, “if you know what I mean?”.

“And how does your girlfriend feel about you being this attentive to the Mayor’s daughter?”

“Please,” he rolls his eyes as if I should know better than to ask such a thing. “Like Rowen even cares where or who I put my dick in. Since Nora died, she’s been so out of it, she wouldn’t care if I fucked all of Blackwater Falls.”

“Wouldn’t care or just doesn’t know?” I cock an eyebrow.

“Both. Either. Take your pick. Like I care either way.”

“Fuck,” I chuckle in repulsion. “You really are a class act, little brother.”

“Oh, fuck off. I told you what you wanted, okay? Now, are you going to stay here with Mom for an hour or not?”

“Not.”

And this time when I turn around, I don’t hesitate to leave, slamming the door behind me for good measure.

If he wants to get his dick wet, he’ll have to find another way to do it.

Hmm.

It should make me happy that he’s two-timing Rowen.

The girl deserves all the heartache she can get.

But Aidan’s lack of scruples rubs me the wrong way.

Maybe I’m not the best person to talk about morals since I’ve been lately fantasizing nonstop about killing his girlfriend, but Aidan’s lack of loyalty and consideration reminds me too much of our poor excuse of a father.

He liked to stick his pencil dick in every hole he could find too.

Worst of all, he wasn’t subtle about his infidelity, knocking up his mistresses left and right. I’ve lost count of how many bastards the fucker has fathered. It’s like it gives him some sick satisfaction spreading his wretched seed or something. Or maybe it’s just the way he’s found to trap women. They sure don’t stick around because of his stellar personality.

It just sucks that his first victim was my mom, knocking her up with me before the two were even out of high school.

Mom never stood a chance after that.

Instead, she took on the dutiful role of mother and wife while my bastard of a father brought shame and embarrassment to our family with his infidelity.

And when Mom got sick, he packed his bags and shacked up with the first woman who would have him. The fucker is now living just at the borders of Blackwater Falls with his latest baby mama, uncaring that his wife is clinging onto her last days.

Mom doesn’t talk about it, but I know that shit stings to no end.

Still, she has never said one bad word about him, undoubtedly thinking it might ruin whatever relationship her kids have with him.

As if I’d ever want a relationship with that asshole.

But the real nail on the coffin was when Nora died—the fucker didn’t even have the courtesy to attend her funeral.

Yeah.

I might be a bad man, but even I have my principles—the biggest one being not to fuck with my family. And by family, I mean my mother and sister. Aidan and our asshole of a father don’t make the cut.

Annoyed with the thoughts running through my head, I hop on my bike and drive into town.

This angry, there is only one person I want to see.

And that’s sweet little Rowen.

At this hour, she’ll be close to getting off her shift waiting tables at Rosie’s diner.

There aren’t many jobs available at Blackwater Falls, but Rowen had no difficulty nabbing one after she graduated, even if only a waitressing job.

But then again, being the sheriff’s daughter in this town has its perks. I’m sure everyone was eager to offer her a job, knowing that Hank’s protection would come with it.

However, I must admit that even I was surprised she took such a menial job, considering she could have had her pick of the litter and opted for one with better prospects. If she wanted, she could have interned as a clerk for the mayor’s office since Mayor Davenport loves surrounding himself with pretty girls.

And though hatred blinds me when I look at her, I can still see the appeal, even if it is only a facade.

With long chestnut hair cascading gracefully down her back, Rowen embodies a sense of effortless elegance, one that she’s unaware of. Her light-hazel eyes, flecked with golden specks, can’t help but twinkle with warmth and mischief, drawing people in with their enchanting depth. And the gentle smile that usually graces her lips radiates a charm purposely meant to captivate everyone around her.

But no matter her exterior beauty, on the inside, Rowen Hawthorne is as ugly as they come.

Cruel.

Deceitful.

Heartless.

Maybe Aidan is right in not getting too attached.

After all, Nora loved her, and look what that got her in the end.

Thankfully, I’ve never been blinded by a pretty face.

To Rowen’s misfortune.

Hmm.

Something tells me she’ll look even more exceptional with a noose tied around her little neck.

That’s the only vision I want to see.

My heart rate picks up at the fantasy.

Rowen’s eyes closed as she lies dead in a coffin, buried six feet deep in the soiled earth, just like my beautiful sister is.

Yes.

There cannot be a prettier sight than that.

But if the past six months have been any indicator, little Miss Perfect won’t give me what I want on a silver platter.

It’s been more than proven that, no matter how many visits she makes to Grove Bridge, she’s too much of a coward to fling herself off it.

And I’m getting antsy.

One thing is certain, though—regardless of the method she’ll use to end her life, I want Rowen to experience pain first. And I want to be there to inflict it. I want her to look up at me, with those doe eyes of hers, and watch as life starts slowly draining away from them. I’ve never considered myself a sadist, but the idea of causing Rowen pain and suffering makes my cock hard.

A better man would be troubled by the visceral reaction my body has every time I picture murdering Rowen, but not me.

Words like revenge and retribution happily dance in my head, just thinking about all the ways I could torture her before taking her life.

Oh, how sweet it will be.

Licking her tears off her cheeks as she begs me for mercy.

Watching trickles of her blood hit the ground until it’s a pool I can bathe myself in.

Yes.

How fucking sweet it will be when vengeance is finally mine.

Every molecule in my body is humming in excitement by the time I reach town. I park my bike across the street and glance at my watch, happy to see I got here just in the nick of time.

Not a minute later, my smile broadens when Rowen walks out of the diner, officially done with today’s work.

Hidden away in an alley where she can’t see me, I watch her talking with two patrons. She showcases that sweet smile of hers, laughing at something said by one of the diners.

I want to bash those teeth in.

Her smile makes her look so fucking innocent and sweet it grates on my nerves.

I know she’s not any of those things.

After she says her polite goodbyes and waves them off, her grin immediately slips off her face the minute they turn their back to her.

That’s more like it.

With her arms wrapped around herself to shield from the cool September breeze that sends her hair flying behind her shoulders, she begins to walk across the town square.

My forehead creases when I see her bypass her car and continue downhill.

Hmm.

Leaving the helmet on my bike, I decide to stalk her on foot since it’s apparent she still has business in town.

I wonder if, like Aidan, she also has a side piece she’s thinking of visiting this afternoon.

My hands ball into fists at the idea that she’s fucking someone else.

If I had it my way, she wouldn’t even be fucking Aidan.

I only allow that shit to happen since it’s obvious she takes no pleasure out of it, considering the sounds that cross the thin walls of our house.

I swear to fucking Christ, if the next stop she makes is to fuck some other asshole, I’ll murder them both on the spot.

She’s mine to toy with.

No one else’s.

Fuming at the seams, I force myself to keep my distance while watching her walk down the long hill toward the town’s abandoned church. She must sense me, though, because she looks behind every few seconds to check if someone is following her.

Oh, I am, Roe.

I am.

I hide behind a nearby building as she walks up the stairs to Hollow’s Church, glancing over her shoulder once more before she steps inside. I count to five before sprinting into a run after her just so I don’t miss a thing.

If this church is where she’s about to have her clandestine rendezvous, then she couldn’t have picked a more poetic place to do what I’ve been itching to do for months now.

I wanted to be patient.

I wanted to be strategic in my vengeance.

But if I catch her fucking someone here… then I can’t be held responsible for my actions.

I see the monstrous scene play out before my very eyes—pinning the fucker she’s banging onto a cross while she watches me gut his insides with my switchblade, then turning on her to slice her up good and deep while whispering in her ear that not even God could help her now.

It will be messy and gruesome, but it will also be out of my hands.

For your sake, Rowen, I better not catch you with anyone here.

I open the church’s doors carefully and slide inside, hiding amongst one of the wooden pillars. I scan the space for her, surprised to find her frantically searching for something or someone.

The fuck are you up to?

Whatever she’s looking for, she doesn’t find it because she lets out an angry exhale before kicking one of the pews with all her might.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyelids shut as if in deep thought.

Then as if an epiphany has finally graced her with its existence, Rowen’s lips form a triumphant smile before she takes off and runs toward the back of the church, causing me to have to hall ass after her—a challenging task to achieve when I’m desperately trying to conceal my presence from her.

Damn it.

She’s fast.

I’m still racing after her when I see the church’s back door slam behind her. When I open it, my jaw clenches at the sight before me since the fucking door leads directly to our town’s cemetery.

I haven’t been here since Nora’s funeral.

I couldn’t bring myself to visit my sister here, knowing that her body lies still, trapped in a box.

This is not how I want to remember Nora, so Rowen bringing me here only amplifies my ire.

If I didn’t hate her before, I sure as fuck do now.

And what kind of game is she playing?

I mean, why the fuck is she even here?

Pissed beyond measure, I watch from the sidelines as she scurries through the tombstones, her gaze inspecting the eerie cemetery for something.

The fuck are you looking for, Rowen?

But just as the question repeats itself in my head, I witness her frantic state begin to relax, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. Ever so slowly, she begins to walk toward something. When I turn the corner, I realize she’s approaching the old priest, who is on his hands and knees, tending to a rose bed and murmuring incoherently to the flowers.

Father O’Sullivan—Blackwater Falls’ resident nutjob.

Whatever ounce of sanity he had, left him after he endured the games.

I’ve heard the rumors.

Everyone has.

It’s basically an urban legend now.

Somehow, the priest managed to get himself chosen for the Harvest Dozen twenty years ago in the hopes that he could put an end to The Scourge if he met the people behind it.

They say that before he left for the games, he was a good, decent man, honorable in his quest. However, what came back was something broken and deranged.

The Scourge not only killed eleven people that year but also ravished the priest’s body, mind, and soul.

With one of his eyes gouged out of its socket and his left hand amputated by the wrist, his wrecked body is a true testament to the cruelest forms of torture he endured.

No one truly expected him to return. But return, he did. And with him, a suitcase with over a million dollars in it—the prize money for surviving.

Legend has it that his last lucid act was building a bonfire at the very center of the town square and flinging each dollar bill into the flames while dousing it with bourbon.

The most fucking expensive way to keep warm if you ask me, but no one dared to stop him, too afraid of what the priest would do in retaliation.

People usually stay clear of Father O’Sullivan since he’s known to lose his temper and react like he’s still stuck in the games.

Hmm.

Could that be why Rowen looked so frantic to seek him out?

Because she thinks she can goad him into killing her?

I frown at the idea.

If I had to choose between the priest taking her life and myself, I would rather it be me.

I need it to be me.

I walk closer to the pair, the priest still talking to himself about God knows what while Rowen approaches him like one would a wounded animal.

“Father O’Sullivan?” I hear her call out ever so sweetly.

“Red. Red. Everything red. Always red,” he mutters, his focus purely on his roses.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you,” she insists, trying to bypass his looney remarks, hoping to have a coherent conversation with him.

“White won’t do. White never stays white for long. Only red. Only red will do.”

Fucking wacko.

She frowns when he doesn’t so much as look up at her.

“The roses are very pretty, Father,” she says, trying to gauge his attention. “I can tell that you’ve put a lot of time and care into them.”

“Red is true. True. Honest. Not white. Never white.”

Her frown deepens.

“I don’t want to impose and take you away from your roses, but I was wondering if we could talk.”

“Red is true. True. Not white. Never white. Never white.”

“It will only take a minute of your time. I promise,” she insists. “I just need to ask you a few questions about the games.”

Old man O’Sullivan shakes his head, grabbing the roses at their stems and pulling them from the soil.

Easy, Rowen.

You’re spooking him.

“I know it’s a sensitive subject for you, but I promise it won’t take long. Just a minute or so.”

Another violent shake.

Come on, Rowen.

Open your eyes and get the fuck out of there.

But instead of listening to my silent demand, the incessant girl does the unthinkable by placing her hand on his shoulder.

What unfolds next occurs so quickly that it takes me a moment to register it all. In one second, Rowen is giving a comforting squeeze to the priest’s shoulder, and the next, he has her pulled down to the ground with sharp shears placed at her neck.

“No games! No wbite! No white! No white! Only black! Always black! Black is always better!”

To her credit, she remains perfectly still as the shears dig into her tender flesh while the priest hovers over her, spewing his nonsense.

My heart stammers in my chest as I watch the priest blubber incoherently in her face. He pushes the blade into her throat, digging to the point of drawing trickles of blood that hit the cold grass. And when she doesn’t move or try to push him away, my hackles rise.

She wants this.

She wants him to cut her.

Fuck.

This is it.

This is it.

But instead of the relief I should feel that justice is finally on the horizon, a sense of dread starts seeping through my pores as panic sets in.

No.

Not like this.

Not like this.

Time is of the essence, so I look around and find a rock lying on the ground next to a vase with withered flowers. I pick it up and swing it with all my might to a tombstone beside them, causing the priest to momentarily lose his train of thought.

As predicted, the small commotion is enough to snap him out of whatever hell his mind is living in. He gets up from on top of Rowen and drops the shears beside her face, making a loud clunk as they hit the ground.

“Black is better. Black is always better,” Father O’Sullivan continues to mutter, walking away as if he didn’t just try to murder someone a minute ago.

The knot in my chest eases as he wanders deeper into the cemetery, Rowen now long gone from his mind.

However, she remains lying on the grass in frustration as tears stream down the corner of her eyes. She just lies there for what feels like forever before picking herself up, a disheartened expression plastered on her face.

I ignore the myriad of confusing emotions I’m feeling just so I can concentrate on her next move.

Unfortunately for me, her next move is to visit my sister’s grave.

“I’ll find a way, Nora. I promise I’ll find a way,” she vows with such conviction that I believe her.

Rowen wants to die.

With every cell in her body, she yearns for death.

How fortunate that it’s all I want for her, too.

Up until this very moment, I thought my sense of vengeance would be appeased if she or someone else did the deed for her.

It took one crazy priest to show me what I truly want.

Your end will be by my hand, Rowen.

And mine alone.

This is my solemn vow to you.