Page 24 of Deviant

Maybe the punishment I deserve for what I’ve done would be to die the way Nora would have if I hadn’t interfered.

‘Maybe The Scourge is the answer to all my problems.’

The cruel whispers of hope dance in my chest at the thought.

But how can I get picked if I don’t even know what qualifies someone to be selected?

If I go by Joe’s account, then I knowhow not toget chosen but nothow toget chosen.

Secrets.

The Harvest Dozen all harbor secrets.

If that’s true, then I pray whoever is in charge to look into my brain and see mine.

Because what better secret of destruction is there than the one where a girl killed her best friend?

Surely that will suffice to qualify?

But how can I be sure?

I guess if I want answers about the games, then maybe I should seek out the one person with first-hand experience in them.

Maybe Father O’Sullivan won’t object to one final confession.

One that I hope will finally give me the absolution I’ve been praying for.

Chapter 5

Elias

I gently place a blanket over my mother’s sleeping form, doing my best not to wake her up from her nap. When she stirs in pain, even in her sleep, a mumbled curse escapes me, hating that all I can do is helplessly stand by and watch her disintegrate before my very eyes.

She’s getting frailer by the day. Nora’s death has taken most of her energy away despite her willingness to fight the disease.

The doctors all say the same thing—all I can do now is keep her comfortable.

That it won’t be too long now.

But what they don’t tell you is that while you wait for the inevitable, a piece of your soul dies, too.

No one fucking deserves to watch the clock run out on a life, especially their mother’s.

Especiallymymother—a woman who doesn’t have a mean bone in her body and would take the shirt off her back to help someone else.

It’s like the damned and corrupted get to live it up in this purgatory of a town while the good and self-sacrificing get their lives cut short before their time.

It happened to Nora… and soon, it will happen to my mom.

Fuck.

Needing a distraction more than the air I breathe, I grab my leather jacket and pick up my motorcycle helmet. A ride in my Bonneville T120 will do me some good to clear my wayward thoughts.

I’m two steps away from reaching the front door when I hear my fucktwat of a little brother call out my name, forcing me to turn around and deal with his ass first.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Aidan asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Out.”

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