Page 17 of Deviant

Chapter 4

Rowen

Feeling emotionally drained after my last unsuccessful attempt at the bridge, I walk into the sheriff’s station an hour later with a defeated frown still etched on my lips.

It’s only when Bobby, my father’s right-hand man, waves at me from behind his desk that I put on a fake smile for his benefit and pretend that all is well.

“Heya, kid!” he greets warmly.

“Hi, Bobby.”

“Are you here to pick up your dad?”

I nod, shoving my hands into my hoodie’s pockets.

“Thought so. He might be a while. Things have been a bit chaotic tonight.”

“They always are these days.” I let out a demoralized sigh after glancing over at my father’s office and finding him locked away inside, his head bowed over his desk with his phone glued to his ear.

I decide to shake off the reason behind my father’s recent hectic work schedule and engage in idle chit-chat with Bobbyinstead. But even my father’s favorite deputy, whose demeanor is usually upbeat and cheerful, doesn’t seem immune to the palpable tension in the air.

Not that I can blame him.

Once the calendar flips to September the first, Blackwater Falls takes on an entirely different ambiance—one that is bleak and dark… and terrifyingly ominous.

The abrupt change is anything but subtle, either.

You can see it carved in people’s faces.

The fear.

Like a switch is somehow flipped inside us all.

The lightheartedness of carefree summer days is quickly replaced with anxiety and trepidation about what the next month will bring.

Everyone wears the burden differently.

Some act as if the end of days were upon them, urging them to pack as muchlifeas they can before the Harvest Festival arrives so as to not have any regrets on a life less lived, whereas others mourn whatever days they feel they still have left.

But in general, this town just musters through the season with conditioned apathetic grace.

It’s a state of being that Blackwater Falls has mastered over the years as a coping mechanism to survive the games.

We all lie and pretend to possess a certain type of resilience and fortified elegance in our actions. Still, there is no genuine concern or emotional investment for any of it.

That would require giving a fuck, and this town has long given up caring about anything aside from its own dismal survival.

After sneaking a peek over at his computer screen a few too many times while talking to me, I take pity on Bobby and suggest a different alternative to keep me busy while waiting for my dad to finish up.

“So, who do you have for us tonight that I might entertain myself with?”

“Who else?” Bobby laughs, tilting his head to the small jail cell at the back of the room.

“Why do I even bother asking?” I chuckle at the sight of our beloved town drunk, Joe, sprawled out on the floor rather than using the spare cot, nursing yet another bender by singing to himself.

“I got some paperwork to finish. Are you good with keeping him company while you wait?”

“Aren’t I always?” I smile before walking over to the coffee machine to grab a hot mug for Joe.

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