Deviant

Chapter 32

Rowen

Once I’m sure Elias is fast asleep, I quietly slip out of bed, pull on my Converse sneakers, and grab my favorite blue hoodie that I brought from home before sneaking out of the room.

I know that when he finds out in the morning that I left his bedside, there is going to be hell to pay, but unfortunately what I have to do, I have to do alone.

Moving on feather-light feet to avoid waking anyone, I tiptoe over to Harper and Andy’s room and knock softly on the door. “Harper… Harper… It’s me. Open the door,” I whisper, hoping she’s a light sleeper and that Andy isn’t.

Thankfully, after a minute or so, a groggy Harper comes to the door.

“It sure took you long enough,” she yawns before shoving her hand into her robe pocket. “I had a feeling you’d be popping by tonight. Here,” she says before handing me the master key.

“How did you know?” I ask, astounded, staring at the key in my hand.

“Hey, we’re besties, remember? I know you.” She gifts me a genuine smile. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, thanks. I’d rather do this on my own.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” she says before pulling me into a hug. “I didn’t say it before, but I’ll say it now. She doesn’t know what she’s missed.” I close my eyes and hug Harper just as fiercely as she’s hugging me.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, bestie,” she says before releasing me from her embrace. “Do what you need to do to get some closure. But if I don’t hear your footsteps creep back into your room after an hour, I’m waking up the cavalry, got it? I don’t like the idea of you sneaking around this place late at night on your own.”

“I promise I’ll be careful. And an hour is more than enough.” I smile widely before waving her goodbye.

I then proceed to tiptoe through the shadowy hall of the mansion, each creak of the floorboards beneath my feet sounding like a thunderclap in the stillness of the night. My heart races as I reach the staircase and walk up to the second floor of the house, dreading entering the library that holds the haunting reminder of my mother. With every cautious step upward, I fight the urge to return to the safety of my room, since the image of my mother’s plaque pulls at me like a magnet, urging me to confront the memories I’ve tried so hard to bury.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on the floor staring at the golden plaque naming my mother the winner of The Scourge in 2009. Her name etched onto the wall feels like a cruel taunt I can’t escape. All these years I thought she was dead. I spent my entire life believing a lie. Not only is my mother alive, but she willingly chose to leave me and my father for The Scourge, never to return.

How could she have done that to us?

Everyone who ever knew her made sure to tell me how wonderful she was. They eagerly shared stories about her kind heart, her quirky sense of humor, and what a devoted mother and wife she had been. Far too often I felt envious of those recounting such beautiful recollections, since my own memories of my mother were so faint that sometimes they felt more like a dream than reality.

I was only five when it happened. When I saw my mother pull down her eagle mask during the Harvest Festival. At the time, I didn’t understand why everyone was staring at us with pity in their eyes. I was too young to comprehend any of it, and although it’s sometimes difficult to recall her face without a photograph as a reference, I still remember the words she whispered in my ear to this day.

‘I love you, Rowen. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. Remember that.’

I cried my eyes out watching her leave with the others in her group, but it was the news of her death one month later that made me the fearful person that I am. Or was.

How could she lie like that?

How could she leave us in such a way?

Was she unhappy in her marriage? Is that why?

Was it out of greed, as Harper suggested? Boredom? What?

What could possibly justify a mother choosing certain death over watching her daughter grow up? These thoughts plague my mind, and no matter what plausible excuse I come up with, none can justify leaving a child motherless.

The love I have for the memory of a woman who never truly existed feels like an albatross around my neck, weighing me down, and pulling me under.

Maybe I could have forgiven her for choosing The Scourge over her family.

Maybe I could have found it in my heart to forgive such apathetic cruelty.

But if it hadn’t been for that one choice she made all those years ago, then I wouldn’t have grown up with such a debilitating fear of abandonment… and maybe… just maybe… Nora would still be alive today.

And if that had been the case, then I wouldn’t have felt the need to follow in her footsteps by willingly volunteering for The Scourge. But that would also mean that Elias and I would have never become who we are to each other.

My head feels like it weighs a ton with all these thoughts drilling holes in my brain. Having had enough of staring at the name of a total stranger, I decide to return downstairs back to my room before Elias realizes I’m not there.

Just as I start to turn to head toward the door, a flash of white catches my eye through a nearby window. It’s fleeting, almost like a trick of the light, and before I can even process it, it vanishes.

“Great. Now I’m seeing things.” I let out a sigh, since apparently learning that my mother is still alive and well, and doesn’t give two shits about her family, has me hallucinating.

But when the glimmer reappears, more persistent this time, I realize it’s not my mind playing tricks on me at all. With my curiosity piqued, I make my way to the window, peering out to get a better look at the source of the mysterious flash. However, once I finally reach the glass, my pulse quickens as I catch sight of none other than Mackenzie sprinting down the yard toward the gate. Though I can’t see her face from this angle on the second floor, an unsettling feeling creeps in.

Is she making a run for it?

Is she trying to escape?

The questions swirl in my mind, and an undercurrent of suspicion gnaws at me, making the air around me feel charged with apprehension. I stay rooted to my spot, watching as she approaches the iron gate, but instead of trying to open it, or even climb over it, she just stands there in the dark, completely immovable, just staring at the foreboding forest outside the iron gate’s bars.

Maybe she remembered how Lucas got electrocuted when he tried to climb over it and is just taking her time to figure out another way to overcome that obstacle.

But when she turns around after five minutes and makes a run for it back to the mansion without so much as trying anything, my suspicions grow even further.

Just what are you up to, Mackenzie?

What the hell are you up to?

“Are you sure it was Mackenzie?” Harper interrogates me the next day, after I’ve shared with everyone what I saw last night, much to Elias’s displeasure.

“I’m positive. It was her. It was definitely Mackenzie.”

Harper thinks long and hard on the matter and comes up just as empty-handed as I am.

“You know what? I don’t even want to know. I think I would rather spend the last day before the games on something other than trying to figure out the warped mind of Mackenzie Davenport.”

“I second that motion,” Andy agrees, gaining a kiss from his girlfriend.

“Don’t look at me. You lost all your brownie points when you went rogue last night,” Elias grumbles, still pissed that I sneaked out of bed to go to the library without telling him.

“I’d ask Abbie to brainstorm with me, but she’s come down with a cold and is stuck in bed all day.”

“You know what? A day in bed doesn’t seem like a bad way to spend the day. What do you say, Andy? You game?”

“Like I need to be told twice. See you guys at dinner. Me and my girl have a full day ahead.” He laughs, placing his arm over Harper’s shoulders and leading her back upstairs.

Now that our friends have left, I turn to Elias and start batting my eyelashes at him. It usually works for Harper when she’s trying to persuade Andy to do her bidding, so I figure I’d try it on Elias. But unfortunately for me, he’s having none of it.

“Batting your eyes at me won’t make me care more or less about whatever that psycho is up to. I say leave it alone. Whatever Mackenzie’s got up her sleeve will bite her in the ass eventually. I’m with Andy. Let’s spend the last day of freedom we have before the games and go back to our room.”

“Actually, I had another idea in mind,” I say, discreetly slipping him the key that Harper gave me last night.

“You still have this?” he says, quickly hiding it in his pocket.

“Well, technically, you’re the one who has it now.”

“Don’t get cute with me, Roe. Especially when I’m still angry at you. You’re lucky I don’t put you over my knee and give you a good fucking spanking for the stunt you pulled last night.”

I swallow dryly, my skin suddenly heating up at the image he just planted in my head.

Elias smirks when he sees how the idea of a good spanking isn’t as revolting to me as it sounds.

“Bed it is, then,” he says enthusiastically, starting to pull us both off the couch.

“Though going back to our room to role play is tempting-—very tempting—I want to go with my original plan for today instead,” I announce, pulling him back to his seat.

“Which is?” He frowns, disgruntled and annoyed.

“I want us to continue searching the house like we did yesterday for more clues. And before you tell me no, please hear me out. The library we found contained all the names of every person who ever won The Scourge, right? Who’s to say there aren’t more rooms like that one scattered throughout the mansion? Perhaps there’s an archive room or an office that might contain other types of records. Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious to find out?”

“Roe, sweetheart?” he whispers softly, tugging my chin with his thumb and index finger. “If this is about your mom, just come out and say it.”

“Fine… okay… it is about my mom,” I admit sullenly. “I just need to know, Elias. I need to know why she left us. I need—”

But my words are silenced by his tender kiss, and once he’s made sure he’s quieted my troubled mind, he breaks our kiss and stares lovingly at me.

“That’s all you needed to say.”

My heart feels like it can’t fit in my chest with the way he’s looking at me right now.

And for the first time in a long time, the desire to succumb to my misery no longer rings true to me. It’s almost as if every thought I’ve had of death and suicide ceases to plague my soul since agony and suffering no longer live in it.

How could they, when Elias takes up so much space?

It’s like he’s moved into my heart and kicked everything that didn’t belong out of there.

Which is a highly inconvenient thing for him to do since I’ve charged him to kill me.

“Hey? Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure,” I answer truthfully.

He presses a tender kiss to my temple and then helps me off the couch.

“Then let’s go hunt those answers for you. Maybe then you’ll have some peace of mind.”

Doubtful.

I don’t think anything will give me back my peace again.

Oblivious to the newfound torment I’m experiencing, Elias helps me search every room of the house for most of the day, pausing only for lunch and a few brief breaks. Despite spending hours combing through every nook and cranny of this house of horrors, we find absolutely nothing—no clues that could lead us to The Scourge or to my mom.

“We’ll keep looking,” Elias says encouragingly.

“Where, Elias? Where will we look? We’ve rummaged through every room in this house, and aside from the library, we’ve found nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I reply, feeling exasperated.

“Come here,” he says, opening his arms for me. I fall into his embrace, his scent and warmth like a balm to my soul. “If whatever we are looking for is under this roof, then we’ll find it.”

“I thought so too. Five hours ago. Soon it will be dinner time, and we can’t miss that. Not if we don’t want Henry to become suspicious of what we’ve been up to.”

“There is one place we haven’t searched yet.”

“Where?” I ask, craning my head back to look at his face. “We’ve searched this house top to bottom.”

“Not all the way to the bottom,” he retorts with a sly smirk.

“The basement. Of course!” I grab his face and kiss him. “You’re a genius.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He chuckles. “But if you still want to do this today, we better hurry. It’s like you said. Pretty soon, it will be dinner time, and if either Henry or the twins see two empty chairs there, they’ll come looking for us.”

Without a further word, we rush downstairs to the basement, Elias holding my hand as we descend down the same flight of stairs we take to the games. Just knowing that tomorrow six of us will have to face those macabre challenges again chills my blood.

“Don’t think about it,” Elias whispers as if he has a direct line to all my thoughts.

Easier said than done, but I try anyway.

Once we take the final step, Elias points to the opposing direction from where those wretched painted doors are.

“If I were an evil puppet master, I’d keep my records just close enough to the action but not so close they could be easily found,” he mumbles to himself as he leads me deeper into the disturbing hallway.

The air down here is thick with an unsettling stillness, and the lack of doors amplifies the unease creeping up my spine.

“There are no doors,” I whisper to myself as my fingers trail over the smooth, pale white wall of the long hallway, which seems to absorb the dim light overhead, casting the space in an otherworldly glow.

Elias pulls me further along the befuddling corridor, its starkness disorienting. Each step feels heavier as if the very wooden flooring beneath us is reluctant to let us move forward. Then, without warning, we stop before a small, empty space that suddenly appears before us.

A dead end.

That’s where this corridor led us to—a freaking dead end.

The room is hardly more than a few paces across, its wooden walls and floors creaking underfoot, a stark contrast to the coldness of the hallway. And as I stare at the wooden paneling of walls, making the room feel that much smaller, I suddenly feel like they are closing in on me, suffocating the very air in the room.

“I can’t believe this is all there is,” I utter, my voice a mix of confusion, disappointment and a little hint of panic. Why lead us through such an interminable corridor only to end at a room that is half the size of most rooms upstairs?

And as I imagine the wood-clad walls closing in on me, a deep sense of confinement and claustrophobia begin to claw at my sanity.

“Maybe you’re wrong, Elias. Maybe they have it in one of the torture rooms,” I stammer, eyeing the shadowy corners of the small space, my imagination conjuring up all manner of horrors hidden in the dark. This place feels wrong, like the very air is laden with secrets waiting to be unearthed.

“Roe, look at me,” Elias says, giving my shoulders a little shake. “I know that being down here brings back all sorts of traumatic shit, but you have to purge it out of your mind.”

“I’m trying… but it’s difficult,” I admit, feeling my skin crawl just by being in such a confined place down here.

“Do you trust me?”

“What does that have to do—”

“Roe,” he interrupts my panicked drivel. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” I nod. “Of course.”

“Good. Then all I ask is that you be patient with me for a few more minutes. Can you do that for me?”

Again, I nod.

“Good girl,” he says before planting a sweet kiss to my lips. “I know what I’m doing,” he adds, his eyes darting around the room as he begins to knock on the walls.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I chew on my bottom lip, my heart pounding as his fists lightly connect with the wood. The rhythmic sound echoes softly in the silent space, amplifying my anxiety. But anxiety isn’t the only thing at play here. Paranoia also gets the better of me as I look down the long corridor, imagining Henry suddenly catching us in the act.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

And then a more pronounced thump reverberates through the air.

“What was that?” I ask, rushing to his side, my pulse racing.

“That, Roe, is what we are about to find out,” he replies, a gleam in his eye.

He drops to his haunches, methodically feeling along the wall as he searches for something concealed. His fingers dance over the surface until he stops, his brow furrowing in concentration.

I hold my breath, every instinct screaming that we should leave this wretched room.

Not a half an hour ago, I was adamant in trying to discover any clue that pertained to my mother.

But all it took was five minutes in this godforsaken basement for me to want to call the whole mission off.

Then, with a confident push, Elias hits a section of the wood with his fist, a satisfying click ringing out loud enough for me to hear it too. My heart stops as a small panel slides open, revealing a narrow passageway concealed within the wall.

“Every villain has an evil lair,” Elias says, a smirk curving his lips. “And, baby, we just found theirs.” He leans closer, the dim light from the corridor creating shadows on his handsome features as he offers me his hand, inviting me to follow him into the unknown.

Apprehension and excitement flutter in my stomach, and with one last look at the exterior of the room, I take his hand, ready to descend into whatever fresh hell awaits us next.

Though the narrow passageway doesn’t have any windows to it, emergency lights flicker at our feet as if their sole intent is to show us the way to where we need to go. Elias never lets go of my hand as we turn corner after corner until suddenly, bright white light comes into view, almost blindly so.

As our eyes adjust to the light, the first thing we see is rows and rows of meticulously organized film reels, their metallic cases gleaming softly under the flickering fluorescent lights. Each shelf seems to stretch on endlessly, each canister labeled with unknown names and the respective year they must have participated in The Scourge.

Despite the pristine whiteness of the room, an unshakable tension hangs thick around us, a constant reminder that we must tread lightly. Every sound feels amplified against the cold tile floors, every shadow a potential threat. We can’t afford to be discovered in this hidden vault of nefarious memories, but we can’t stop now either.

Neither Elias nor I say a word as we move through the rows of recorded death and despair of every person who was ever selected for the Harvest Dozen. The winners got their names on a golden plaque, but the losers… they live immortal for some sick monster to rewatch over and over again.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand as bile rises to my throat.

But something must catch Elias’s eye, because his hand tightens around mine, pulling me further into the large room. It’s only when we step away from the rows of canisters that I realize what he’s seen.

Twelve large TV screens adorn a wall, displaying a constantly changing array of numbers alongside pictures of each one of us. Below our individual photographs, display snippets of muted video clips of us, taken during the Harvest Festival and throughout our time in this house. I watch in horror how every challenge we have faced since our arrival has been captured on tape for all to see. Each of the dozen has their own screen dedicated just for them, showing the highlights of their time here. The only screens that have been turned off are of those who have already died to The Scourge.

I try to avert my gaze from the flashing images on display and instead focus on the odd numbers that keep changing below our names. I bite into my inner cheek when I see that alongside my name and the word ‘volunteer’ is another word in bold, gold lettering—’LEGACY’.

Rowen Hawthorne – Volunteer – LEGACY

135 609 002

Paired: 46%

Group: 44%

Solo: 32%

I turn to Elias to see if this makes any sense to him and find him staring at the rectangular sign just above the screens, its glowing red numbers flashing in rapid succession, faster than I can process. My eyes struggle to keep up as the digits blur together, racing endlessly as if they have a purpose I can’t understand. I stand rooted to my spot, trying to make sense of it all, wondering what these odd numbers mean, why they keep increasing so rapidly, and why Elias can’t seem to look away.

“What do you think this all means?” I ask when it’s obvious I can’t get there on my own.

“Isn’t it obvious? They’re betting,” Elias utters, his voice cold and unfeeling.

“What? What do you mean they’re betting? Betting on what?”

“On us.” His nostrils flare as his grip tightens around my hand. “They’re fucking betting on us!”

I gently ease my hand out of his grip before he breaks it in his mad state. I then place my palms on his chest, knowing my touch usually brings him back to me when he’s this riled up.

“Elias,” I say as softly as I can. “Look at me.”

It takes him a second for his black eyes to lower to mine, such hatred embedded in them that I can almost taste his loathing on the tip of my tongue.

“None of this matters. None of it. Only we matter. Only us.”

He closes his eyelids, grabbing hold of my wrists to his chest and takes in a deep breath.

“Only us,” he whispers, as if those two words hold all the power he needs to simmer down his rage.

When Elias opens his eyes again, they’re no longer that bottomless abyss of black, but a shimmering midnight blue.

“I always knew this was a game to them,” he begins to explain, “But I never figured they were getting rich from it.” He then points to the large rectangular sign with its ever-changing numbers over the TV screens. “That’s how much money some sick fuckers have spent so far betting on our survival of The Scourge. That’s how they have so much money to shell out to Blackwater Falls every year after the Harvest Festival. It’s just a drop in the bucket for them compared to the billions they make.”

I push down the bile that threatens to rise up again and look at our screens in a whole different light.

“Which means those are the betting statistics of each one of us making it out of this alive,” I add, my voice cracking in the end when my percentages are less than stellar. But then my gaze darts over to Elias’s screen, and suddenly something clicks into place.

Elias Larsen – Volunteer – LEGACY

291 228 195

Paired: 24%

Group: 98%

Solo: 99%

“That’s the reason why they never wanted to select you for the Harvest Dozen. You were a sure win. It would be bad for business to have such a participant in the games.”

“Not anymore,” he scoffs, eyeing the paired percentage in disdain.

“Oh my god. It’s because of me,” I stammer as all the pieces of the puzzle start making sense. “When Henry said that this year everyone was going to be set in pairs, it was so they could pair you off with me and lower the chances of you winning. I’m the reason why you’re here. I’m the reason why you’ll probably die here too.”

This time around, it’s Elias who tries to comfort me out of my panicked state.

“That’s not going to happen, Roe. It’s not.”

“How can you say that when the probabilities of it happening are right there on the screen!” I point out, but just as I do, I see a change to my own screen. Images taken fifteen years ago start flashing before us, coaxing my panic to subside and give way to confusion.

“Mom?”

In a confused daze, I walk right up to my screen and watch as my mother, dressed in white, takes off her eagle mask in front of the whole town. I watch as she goes to her knees to hug a five-year-old version of me, her eyes red with unshed tears. She then straightens up and hugs my father with all her might, the dam breaking with his kiss, tears streaming down both their faces.

My entire body freezes in place as I take in the highlights The Scourge has deemed fit to show to their followers. My heart beats rapidly as the next image that appears is her and her group arriving at the mansion and a younger version of Henry welcoming them in.

And then the games start.

I can’t pull away as I see my mother facing each challenge alone and how her upbeat demeanor begins to fade, giving way to something else… something without a soul. Tears sting my eyes as I watch her cry and holler as two women pin her down in a group challenge to burn her entire body with cigarettes. I watch her break as she’s ordered to saw off a kid’s foot—a young boy who must be barely older than Abigail.

Elias quickly wraps his arms around me as my knees threaten to buckle at the sight of the horrors she had to endure. My lungs start to burn from holding in my breath as I watch my mother enter a small white room with the three other men who have survived the games so far. And it’s only when all three receive their orders to rape her—like Chris was ordered to do to me—that Elias turns me away from the screen, shielding me from having to witness such a horrific scene.

But when he turns me around again, giving me the all clear, it takes me a second to gather whatever remaining bravery I still have to look back at the screen. And as I do, I verify that my mom is no longer trapped in the house with monsters but is running through the woods outside the iron gates. I can’t see her face, only her feet running, running, as far away as she can.

Or at least that’s what I first assumed.

In reality, she wasn’t running away from something… but running toward someone.

One by one, I see my mother’s hand lift a knife and slit her rapists’ throats. These men had been her neighbors once, maybe even her friends, but now they are just flesh under each stab of her knife.

The final image is of her falling to her knees on the cold earth, blood all over her hands and legs.

And that’s how her highlight reel stops. With her bloodied, bruised, and broken.

Now I understand why my mother never returned home… why she didn’t come back for us.

The woman I knew as my mother died in this house.

The one that lived… is nothing but a ghost.