Page 182 of Deviant

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 inThe 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 toThe 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!”

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