Page 89 of Sin Like the Devil

It’s just another psychological game. Another tactic. Any way they can dehumanise us further. The ones brave enough to oppose the recent crackdown are being singled out and targeted. Pull a stick out of a bundle, and it’s easier to break, right?

Rumours have been swirling for days about what’s happening beyond Harrowdean’s walls. Our internet access is meagre, but they can’t silence word of mouth. And everyone’s abuzz about Blackwood.

The escaped patients haven’t been caught. More and more fatalities are being confirmed with each passing day too. I heard from someone that bodies are being pulled out of the institute’s ruins by authorities every hour.

Some shit definitely went down. No one knows exactly what, but we will all feel the repercussions if the situation escalates. Secrecy and subterfuge have kept this program intact for decades, and Harrowdean is no friend to the spotlight.

Finally, the crunch of footsteps approaches. I look over my shoulder in time to see Elon arrive, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He glances at the CCTV camera—switched off, naturally—before pinning his sour gaze on me.

“You’re late,” I call out.

He scowls. “You adhere to my schedule, inmate. I’m not your fucking lapdog.”

“Sure. I have nothing better to do than sit here and wait for you.”

Stopping at the edge of the dock, he dumps the backpack. “I am in no mood for your lip today.”

Tempted to poke the bear a little more, I decide to relent. The last thing I want is to pack myself off to solitary again. With the mood management’s been in of late, I doubt it’ll be a fun experience.

After surrendering this week’s cash, I unzip the backpack and take a cursory glance. It’s half-empty. Only a few baggies of the usuals, but none of this week’s special requests. Glancing up, I find Elon even more stony-faced than usual, his grey eyes lit with frustration.

“You’re also light.”

“Deal with it,” he snaps.

“Letting customers down is bad for business. I have orders to fulfil.”

“You think I give a shit?”

Biting my tongue, I rifle through everything, mentally taking stock. This is barely half of the list. I’m going to have a lot of pissed-off patients on my case if I rock up with this load to sell.

“What gives?” I glance at him.

Elon rubs a hand over his cropped hair. “We’re being closely monitored. I have to be cautious.”

“This got something to do with Blackwood?”

Shutters immediately fall over his expression. “Why do you ask?”

“Come on. Everyone knows what’s happening.”

“You don’t know shit, inmate.”

“Who the hell died?” I gesture towards the backpack. “Because this haul is pathetic.”

“The fucking warden did!” he erupts.

Not expecting an honest answer, I reel back. The gossip I’ve heard made it sound like unsuspecting patients lost their lives in whatever chaos engulfed Harrowdean’s sister branch. Not the bloody warden.

“You’re… serious?”

“The entire corporation is under investigation by some fancy assholes from London. All our asses are on the line.”

Holy. Freaking. Shit.

Mind spinning, I try to pin down the ramifications, but I can’t wrap my head around them. How does the perfect business model go so horribly wrong? What kind of courage did it take for patients to take down Blackwood?

“I still need the rest of the items on my list. I have requests to fulfil.”

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