Page 21 of Deviant

“That’s it? That’s your big revelation? That the Harvest Dozen harbors a secret or two? Doesn’t everyone have one of those in this town?”

“Yes, but I’m not talking about secrets like shoplifting a chocolate bar at the grocery store when you were a kid. I’m talking about secrets that can ruin a person. Ruin a life.”

Suddenly, my heart jacks up to an alarming rate with his insinuation.

I have such a secret.

I have the motherload of secrets.

“Earlier, you said thatThe Scourgeonly takes good people, but if you’re right, if they do harbor such self-destructive secrets, then how good could they possibly be?”

“Even good people do bad things,” he explains with a shrug.

“You know what? You’re more fun when you’re drunk. This conversation is far too dark for my liking,” I try to brush off, not entirely comfortable with how quickly this conversation has turned to touch my own inner struggles.

“Nothing in Blackwater Falls is ever light and breezy. We all live in the dark. I just found a way to get used to it.”

Getting hammered, twenty-four-seven, wouldn’t be my first choice, but I understand where he’s coming from.

But as I think about everything he’s divulged, certain things start to click in my head.

“If you’re right… if all you just told me is correct, then none of the Harvest Dozen are randomly selected, are they?”

He taps his nose yet again in agreement.

“But if that’s the case, then someone, maybe even someone we know, is more than complicit in the deaths of the dozen. They’reresponsiblefor them.”

“You might have inherited the sweet, good-natured temperament from your mom, but the brains, they are all Hank’s, girlie,” Joe jokes, eyes gleaming with pride.

“That’s—”

“Sick?” he finishes for me with a loud exhale. “Tell me about it. Knowing one of our own is keeping tabs on us and choosing who will be sent to their death is all sorts of fucked.”

“But then again, aren’t we all complicit withThe Scourge? I mean, don’t we all turn a blind eye to it?” I ask, my guilt multiplying tenfold since the income from the games is what keeps the lights on in most of our homes.

“It’s not like we have a choice. It’s not like we can ask for help or leave this place to alert anyone. We all know what happens to those who try.”

My chest tightens at the underlying truth of his warning.

It’s true.

We’ve all heard the rumors about how, over the years, the more conscientious of us tried to get help for our little town from the outside and got their throats slashed in the process. All the brave souls that managed to escape Blackwater Falls were somehow caught in the real world, their remains ending up scattered in the town square as a warning for all of us to see.

We all know we’re hostages here, and to leave or ask for help is a death sentence.

There is only one safe and secure way to get out of this town and take your loved ones with you—and that’s winning the games.

In all my twenty years, I’ve seen many families move out of our town as a reward for one of their relatives having wonThe Scourge.

But even then, people know that if you leave, you must never talk about what happens here.

If you do, then death is never far behind.

Still, even under such a threat, the winners and their families don’t think twice in leaving Blackwater Falls, fully aware theyare abandoning people they’ve known all their lives, who will continue to endure such unscrupulous evil.

I wish I had it in me to blame them for their apathy.

But I don’t.

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