Deviant

Chapter 39

Rowen

“Have you ever been to New York before?” the limo driver asks, trying to make small talk.

“No,” I answer, hating that he slid down the partition after our little stop at the gas station where I got cleaned up and changed.

He’s been talking nonstop since then, completely uncaring that I’m in no mood to chit-chat. The dried blood on my clothes should have been his first clue that making polite small talk was something that didn’t interest me. Not in the least.

“You are going to love it here. This city just has that energy about it. A person can really get lost amongst the crowd here,” he states, his gaze staring at me through his rearview mirror.

“Good to know,” is my curt reply.

“I’m just saying. There are worse places to be in.”

“And just exactly where are you taking me?” I ask, since I had no say in the matter.

Henry told me that I could ask the driver to take me anywhere I wanted, but the option was taken away from me when the chauffeur announced his precise orders were to drive me to New York.

“The Ritz-Carlton. Doesn’t come any fancier than that. You’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will,” I lie.

“We’re just five minutes away, unless you want me to take you somewhere else first?”

“No, the hotel will be fine.”

He nods and continues on with our journey.

Five minutes later, just as the chauffeur had predicted, we arrive at The Ritz-Carlton, the doorman opening the limo door for me like I was royalty.

“This is going to take a little bit of getting used to,” I say as I step out of the car, the driver rushing to the rear to take my backpack from the trunk.

“You all say that,” the chauffeur lets slip, making me realize that I’m not the only one he’s driven from Blackwater Falls to this hotel.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say with the fakest of smiles I can muster.

“Not a problem. Here’s my card in case you get lost in the city.”

“I thought that was the whole point of being in New York,” I say, throwing his words back at him.

“True. But another thing you should know about this city is that nothing stays lost for long.”

“Good to know.” I force my smile to widen. “Well, I’m beat. I need some shut eye.”

“Just tell the receptionist who you are. The reservations are under your name.”

I nod and wave goodbye as I let the doorman lead me inside the fancy hotel.

Any other day I would have been awestruck at my new lavish surroundings.

But not today.

Not when it means that I still have eyes on me.

“I believe you have a reservation for me under the game Rowen Hawthorne,” I say at the front desk.

“Let me check,” the receptionist replies as she types my name into her computer. “Ah, here it is. We have you down for the presidential suite,” she informs, all smiles.

“Of course, you do,” I say through gritted teeth.

First, the games’ organizers threaten to tear me down, limb from limb, and then they spoil me with all this decadence.

But I’m not fooled.

Not after Henry warned me how they like to keep tabs on their winners. If the limo ride here and the fancy room is to lower my guard and lull me into a false sense of safety and security, then they failed in their mission.

The receptionist hands me the key card to my room and is about to call one of the bellboys to help me with my luggage when I let her know that there is no need for that.

“I only have this backpack and I’m perfectly able to take it up on my own. Thank you anyway.”

“Of course, Miss Hawthorne. But if you need anything, please feel free to reach out to the front desk so we can help you.”

I thank her for her kindness, though I know it’s her job to offer such help, and make my way to the elevator, who also has someone inside to push a button for me.

The elevator operator takes us up to the very last floor, the sound of the bell dinging unsettling me and making me almost jump out of my own skin.

“Are you alright, Miss?” the man asks, wondering why I got so startled.

“Yes. Quite alright. Thank you,” I lie, since I won’t be able to explain to him how I can’t hear any type of ringing sound without memories of the watches we used in The Scourge popping in my head.

I step out of the elevator and into the presidential suite, where opulence and decadence collide in a lavish display that whispers both luxury and excess. This exquisite suite boasts stunning panoramic views of Central Park, a private living space, and lavish furnishings that redefine indulgence.

And all bought and paid for with the blood of my friends.

And my Elias.

There is no way I’m staying in this hotel for another second, or even in this city, for that matter. I don’t want to be anywhere where the puppet masters behind The Scourge know where to find me.

With my backpack in hand, I walk out the door, happy to see that the elevator is somewhere on a lower floor. I look for another exit and find the emergency stairwell, rushing down the stairs and opening the door on each floor, until I find what I’m looking for. On the third floor, breathless and weary, I finally find an unattended housekeeper’s trolley. I rush through the corridor scanning it in a hurry for the housekeeper, breathing out a sigh of relief when I see two come out of a room.

“Hi there,” I ask, sweating and breathing hard.

“Hello?” the housekeeper’s reply sounds more like a question than a greeting.

“Is there anything you need, Miss?” the other housekeeper asks, while the first one steps behind her friend, looking at me suspiciously.

“Yes. What I need is help.”

“What kind of help? Do you need us to call the reception desk—”

“No!” I say a bit too loudly when she takes a phone out of her pocket. “I mean no, thank you. In fact, I was hoping that you could help me out with a personal matter. You see, I’m staying here in room,” I quickly do a quick scan of the long corridor before continuing, “three hundred and fifty-six to hide from my stalkerish ex but I fear he tracked me down and knows I’m staying here.”

“Oh no,” the sweet one says sympathetically.

“How do you know that he found you?” the more skeptical one questions.

“I saw the limo that he drives for work parked just outside,” I reply, hoping that I’m right.

“He got a parking space in this city just to stalk you?”

It’s obvious the suspicious one thinks I’m full of bullshit, and when she says that she’s going to check it out for herself, I’m not the least bit surprised.

Damn it.

Maybe I should have said something else. I should have put more thought into my excuse, but at the time I thought the truth—albeit a little changed—was my best shot.

“Exes are the worst. I had one that would come to my place of work just to embarrass me and beg me to come back to him,” the sweet one says, as we wait for her friend.

I start biting my nails, anxiety getting the best of me as my new friend goes on and on about horror stories involving psychotic exes. I half expect her suspicious friend to return with security, but when she finally reappears, she looks angry on my behalf instead.

“You were right, hun. The bastard is out there parked in his limo eyeing the front door.”

Damn it.

I guess I should listen to my gut more often.

“What do you need?” she asks, more sympathetically this time.

“Well, I can’t stay here now but I also don’t want to leave through the main door, if he’s watching it.”

“We can help you with that. You can leave through the hotel staff’s exit behind the building. Come, we’ll show you the way.”

“Thank you,” I reply, my eyes tearing up at their kindness. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

“We women have to look out for each other. There are a lot of bad men out there. Men who get their kicks terrorizing those they see as weak and vulnerable.”

“Don’t I know it,” I mutter under my breath as I trail behind them downstairs to the backway exit.

“Good luck and stay safe,” both women say in unison as they wave goodbye.

I thank them again, then put my hoodie over my head and run out of there. It’s only after I’ve ran a few blocks that I hail a cab, asking the driver to take me to the train station. I’m so on edge looking behind us to see if we’re being followed that I don’t even register the lights of the Big Apple.

This is the first time I’ve ever been in a town or city that isn’t Blackwater Falls, and yet, instead of enjoying this bout of freedom, I still feel my town’s claws clinging to my skin, its merciless grip unwavering.

After arriving at Grand Central, I pay the taxi driver and sprint toward the first ticket line I see.

“Where too, Miss?”

“That all depends. What’s the next train out of the city?” I ask the clerk.

“That would be the six o’clock train to Boston. It leaves in about five minutes. You’re going to have to make a run for it though.”

“Nothing new there,” I retort handing him my money and snatching the ticket from his hand.

Boston isn’t very far from New York, but it will have to do, for now. At least it has an airport. I’ll figure out where I’ll go after I get out of this city. It might be paranoia plaguing my mind, but I don’t trust that I’m completely out of the woods yet. I’ve seen too much and have done too much not to be wary, especially just as I think I’m coming to the finish line.

It’s only after the train pulls out of the train station that I can finally breathe.

But my relief is short-lived because just as suddenly come all the memories of the last couple of months to the forefront of my mind. Especially the last memory I have of Elias, him jumping off the cliff, his smile getting lost in the fog.

Tears well up in my eyes as I try to recall all the other tender moments I spent with him.

If I’m alive, I have Elias to thank.

He saved me.

In more ways than one.

And now that he’s gone, I feel just as lost as when he found me.

Maybe even more so… for how can I be expected to go on without him by my side?

Do you trust me?

Why would he ask me such a question just seconds away before killing himself?

And why did he wink at me? Did he think flinging himself from a cliff would be funny to me?

Maybe I lost my mind in the mansion, like so many others before me, but there must be a reason he would do such a thing.

Or maybe I’m just asking all these questions because a part of me wants to believe that Elias survived such a fall. I mean, I saw how he dived off that waterfall when we were hiking to our deaths that one time. He made the dive look like child’s play.

He’s a strong swimmer, of that I have no doubt.

He could have made it.

It’s not impossible, just unlikely.

‘No, Rowen. No one could have survived that fall,’ my subconscious warns, and I know it’s right.

It must have been at least a hundred-foot drop from the cliff down into the water. Deluding myself that Elias is somehow alive is just setting me up for more heartache.

Still… wouldn’t I feel him gone?

After he jumped, I felt such excruciating pain that made me consider jumping in after him. It was only when I remembered his wink—that little wink of his just before he took that fatal leap—that I found the courage to pull myself off the ground and continue following the remaining rules of the game.

Why would he wink?

Knowing that would be my last memory of him?

There has got to be a reason for it.

Or maybe he did it just to give you a glimmer of hope to cling on to, knowing that it would be the only way for you to survive without him.

Hating that thought, I turn my attention to the window and watch the scenery pass me by.

It’s nothing like back home.

There are no mountains here.

No large dense forests.

No clouds or fog.

Just a clear night sky hovering over city buildings and highways—a total different civilization from the one I came from.

Once I arrive in Boston, I prefer to walk rather than hail a cab to the nearest and cheapest hotel I can find. With the cash Henry gave me, they’ll probably expect me to go to some fancy hotel to live it up and celebrate my win. But what’s to celebrate?

I’m here all alone.

No Nora to lead me.

No Harper and Andy to laugh with.

No Abbie to protect and guide.

But worst of all… no Elias to love me.

I have no one but myself.

That’s not true.

Hmm.

My father might have written me off, but I still have a parent who is alive somewhere in this great big world—my mom.

Maybe if I can figure my shit out, I’ll be able to track her down. Though I’m unsure of which state I’ll find her in, after witnessing the hell she had to endure in her own games, I at least have to try—if only to thank her for her sacrifice.

Once I find a hotel that fits the bill, I settle in and start making a list of everything I have to do.

I spread the contents of my backpack on the bedspread, crossing my legs as I stare at each one. The plane ticket Henry gave me is for tomorrow, but there’s no way in hell I’ll be on that plane. If I were smart, I’d leave the money in the Caiman Islands and let it rot there.

But Henry was right.

That kind of money can make anyone disappear if they put their minds to it.

However, if I truly want to disappear and leave no trace of my existence, I’ll need to become a whole different person.

This means I’ll need a new name, a new social security number, and a new passport.

A tall order for a girl who doesn’t know anyone.

Luckily for me, if The Scourge taught me anything is that I can be extremely resourceful when the time calls for it.

And there is no better time than now.