Curse (Blur Trilogy Book 3) (34 page)

Please.

Some of the men stopped near the hotel and stood staring at the blaze, mesmerized by it, as if they were caught in some bizarre dream and hadn’t woken up yet.

Others fled into the storm, scattering and escaping into the night.

Please!

Then they appeared.

Tane first. Then Ty.

And, finally, Daniel.

Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

But when she saw that Daniel’s shoulder was out of socket, she gasped.

Nicole hurries toward me and asks about my arm. I assure her that I’m okay, then confirm that the rest of our friends are out here too.

All the cars are still in the parking lot and I wonder what happened to Dr. Waxford and his staff.

Was there another way off the mountain?

Since they took the keys from us earlier, we can’t drive out of here, but Poehlman said that cops were on their way up. We just need to hold out until they get here.

As I’m thinking of that, headlights appear on the road.

But then, all at once, from near the building, someone shouts my name.

I turn.

Dr. Waxford emerges from the shadows with his gun aimed at me, and stands between me and the hotel, his back to the blaze.

I don’t know why he hasn’t left the area yet. It seems like he should have, like there was enough time.

And then, behind him, the man from room 113 appear
s—t
he serial murderer who killed a bo
y
in the same barn where I was pla
yi
ng when I was nine.

Now he stands, hulking, in the doorway with the flames raging around him.

He stalks forward.

“Run,” I tell my friends. “Go, go, go.”

They back up, but Dr. Waxford warns me to stay where I am. “Do not move.” He doesn’t see the killer that he’s been tormenting and torturing for months coming toward him. “I’ve only shot one person in my life up until now, but—”

I hold up my hand to warn him. “Dr. Waxford, you need to—”

“Quiet!”

Then two giant bats appear to my left and begin to skirt along the ground.

Follow the bats.

The words resonate through my head. Call to me, won’t let me go.

And my dad’s saying, “Nothing is mundane if everything matters.”

Everything matters.

Follow them.

Ever since my dream when I first heard those words I’ve wondered what they mean.

Maybe this is it.

This is where everything was pointing.

Leading.

I trust the moment and take off after them.

Dr. Waxford hollers at me, shoots.

Misses.

And is distracted enough by my movement that he doesn’t notice the killer.

I glance back and see the man grab hold of Waxford’s hair, yank him backward off his feet, and start dragging him toward the hotel.

“Come on, Doctor,” he says, his voice more of a snarl than anything. “Let me show you my room.”

The bats disappear and I watch what’s happening with Waxford.

He cries out and struggles to get free, but it does no good.

As he’s pulled through the mud, he twists his arm and fires at the man.

It looks like he hits him, but it doesn’t stop him, and the killer hauls Waxford into the blazing hotel.

For a long moment I hear his screams echo out the door.

And then I do not.

This place where Waxford had handed out his own twisted form of justice had now handed it back to him.

The only sound is the crackling flames devouring the building.

As I’m standing there listening to the sizzle of the blaze in the rain, the car that was coming up the hill arrives.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

The drug that Dr. Waxford gave me still makes everything seem slower and more deliberate than it should be.

Kyle leaps out of the passenger seat.

Dr. Carrigan climbs out the driver’s side.

“Are you guys okay?” Kyle shouts. “We called the cops, but they were already on their way up.”

He’s right—beyond the sound of the rain and the fire, the echo of police sirens comes rolling up the mountain.

Seeing Dr. Carrigan makes me think of the photograph I saw in Dr. Waxford’s office—the same print from the theater.

Carrigan said he took all those pictures himself.

He said he didn’t sell them, just gave copies to his friends.

Does that mean that—

“It’s you!” Petra shouts at Carrigan, then shudders and backs up.

“Petra?” He looks shocked.

“What are you doing up here?” I ask him suspiciously.

“The helicopter pilot called me. The gu
y
who likes apple pie. He told me that
yo
u needed help, so I cancelled m
y
show. What’s all this about? What’s happening here?”

“How did you get past the gate?”

He doesn’t answer that. “What happened to your arm, Daniel?”

“The gate. It was locked. How did you get past it?”

He’s in on this.

He’s part of it.

The sirens are closer now.

Kyle answers, “He tried it. It was unlocked. Someone from up here must have unlocked it.”

“Did you see him?” I ask.

“What?”

“Did you see him try to unlock it?”

“I—No.”

He has a key.

He has his own key to the gate.

“You weren’t coming up here to help us,” I tell Dr. 
Carrigan. “You were coming up here to help the doctor.”

“Why would I help Waxford?”

“No.” I shake m
y
head as the first police cruiser pulls up. “I never told
yo
u his name.”

“What?”

“Not here. Not at the theater. I never mentioned Waxford’s
name.”

“I didn’t either,” Kyle says. “How did you—?”

The Great Carrigini begins easing back toward his car.

Then, as an officer gets out of the squad car, Dr. Carrigan produces something from his waistband.

A revolver.

“Watch out!” I yell to the officer, who pulls his own gun and directs it at Dr. Carrigan.

“Stop! Hands up!”

A second cruiser arrives.

Staring at me with cool, steely eyes, Dr. Carrigan slowly raises his hands.

“Drop the gun!” the cop orders him. “Now!”

He does.

Then the officer comes forward, has him kneel, and handcuffs him.

Excellent timing.

When the prisoners who’d remained near the hotel see that the police are here, they all disperse into the woods. Although, in this storm I’m not sure how far they’re going to get.

Mia is on her hands and knees near the hotel, searching for something in the mud.

What is she doing?

The officer from the second squad sees the way my arm is hanging from my shoulder and radios for an ambulance. Then he asks us what’s going on up here while the other cop takes care of Dr. Carrigan.

“Do you have a way to make a phone call?” I ask him. “A satellite phone? Anything like that?”

“No, but we can radio down to dispatch. Why?”

“We need to get a message to Senator Amundsen from Georgia and let him know his daughter is alright.”

I’m not sure who to trust, or if these officers will know what to do with the general’s USB drive. However, there’s one person in law enforcement who I know I
can
trust to do the right thing.

My dad.

As soon as I can, I’ll get it to him and we’ll let the world know what Dr. Waxford was really doing up here.

We would get the truth out there. I would honor the general’s dying wish.

“Aha!” Mia reaches into the mud and comes up with her butterfly knife. “There you are, Lucy!”

I hand the geo-tracker to the officer. “General Gibbons told me that you can use this to find them.”

“General Gibbons?” He looks confused. “Find who?”

“All of the escaped, crazed, tattooed-eyeball prisoners,” I tell him. “From the top-secret, government-funded torture site,” Kyle adds helpfully.

“Oh.”

As the officer radios dispatch to get word to the senator, Nicole asks me quietly, “Any sign of Malcolm?”

“No.”

“Do you think he’s alive?”

“He can take care of himself. I’m sure he made it out.”

But I’m really not sure about that at all.

Wondering if the bats will reappear, I study the fringe of darkness surrounding the fire.

But maybe they’ve finally served their purpose because they don’t emerge.

However, the boy with the old-fashioned clothes does appear again, standing beside the hotel. He nods once toward me, turns to vapor, and merges back into the night.

PART IV

SYNCHRONICITY

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

TWO DAYS LATER

CADES COVE, TENNESSEE

THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS

We step off the trolley.

Evening mist circles through the cool, twilit forest.

The park rangers limit the number of people who can visit this valley, the only place in the United States where the synchronous fireflies congregate. However, even though the tickets for tonight were sold out, they found a way to fit us in.

Nicole points toward some of the rangers who are cheerily directing people where to go. “They look so happy in their Smokey Bear hats and uniforms. And so pleased to have all these people here in their park.”

“Warms my heart,” Mia mutters.

Kyle takes her hand. “Mine too.” In his other hand he’s carrying his energy drink concoction. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Give it up, babe. You’re never gonna break your record.”

“No, I’m serious, if I can make it through until midnight I’ll hit thirty-nine hours and forty-two minutes.”

“You’ll probably fall asleep before the fireflies even come out.”

Just behind us, Tane is leading Alysha, who hasn’t had a chance yet to get a new cane.

Yesterda
y,
she and I talked through things regarding the “girlfriend issue,” as she put it. I made it clear that I was taken, and later I saw her sitting with Tane. She had her hand on his cheek feeling his face and I took that as a good sign. Who knows where it might lead?

My shoulder is back in place.

Thankfully.

A new sling.

Still hurts, but not as bad as when it was dislocated.

And this time, despite the fact that I’m missing the basketball camp, I’m going to rest it. Sometimes it just takes time for things to heal, and there’s no way to hurry the process along.

The doctors are still going to do a few more tests on me, but so far it looks like Dr. Waxford didn’t give me enough of his chronomorphic drug to have any long-term effects.

Nearby, my parents are talking with Kyle’s mom.

The three of them flew down
ye
sterda
y
mornin
g—compliments of Marly Weathers.

Still haven’t met her.

Or him.

At least not that I know of.

Mia’s and Nicole’s parents couldn’t make it. Neither could Tane’s mother. Alysha’s mom and dad will be arriving tomorrow morning.

Sue Ellen drove up from Atlanta this afternoon with homemade fudge for everyone, and now ambles along beside Petra and Senator Amundsen. He may have resigned, but Petra told us that once you’ve been a senator it’s a title you get to keep for life.

Earlier tonight, at supper, she mentioned that she’d started taking her antipsychotic meds again and, though they hadn’t totally kicked in yet, she was beginning to feel better.

She even solved some of Kyle’s math and logic problems. A kindred spirit. She was at least as good at them as I am.

The doctors gave her a shot of some t
yp
e of steroids to calm down her reaction to the poison iv
y,
and she’s recovering.

Senator Amundsen got a note from Marly Weathers telling us to cash in the debit card and split up the money between our families. He and Petra declined accepting any, but it would sure help the rest of us, even provide me with some cash that I could put aside for college in case I don’t end up with a scholarship.

Together, we move with the throng of several hundred people toward the expansive picnic area.

With the touch of fog wisping through the towering trees, it almost seems like we’ve entered another, slightly magical world here in the Smokies.

The crickets
chirrup at us as we pass.

A park employee with an infectious smile motions us forward. “Just go off by yourself, find a boulder or a log to sit on—there are plenty of them out here. We have some historical cabins in the area, so let’s avoid going into those. As it starts to get dark, the fireflies will come out. Don’t disturb them and you’ll see what you came here to see!”

“That’s Tiff,” Kyle tells Tane and me. “She’s the one who gave us the package from Marly Weathers the other day.”

“So does she work for the park service or the educational center?” Tane asks.

“Dunno.” Kyle takes a slurp of his drink. “That’s a good question.”

Tiff continues with her instructions by reminding everyone not to use flashlights unless they have a red cellophane filter over the lens. “Otherwise, it can disrupt the activity of the fireflies.” She sweeps her arms to the left. “For complimentary red filters, please line up over here.” And then to the right. “If you’re all set, c’mon this way. Remember to pack out your trash and enjoy your time at Cades Cove! The fireflies await!”

When she sees us, her eyes light up. “So, you got some tickets after all!”

“We did,” Nikki replies.

“I’m so glad you could make it.”

“So are we.”

“When do you fly back to Philly?”

“Sorry?”

“Back home to your dad, Mr. Weathers.”

“Oh, right. We’re hoping to enjoy the South for a few more days first.”

We move to the right and join the people who are picking out viewing spots throughout the valley.

“Your dad?” I ask Nicole.

“I
sorta fibbed to her the other day.”

“I’m sure you had a good reason.”

“Sure I did. Finding you.”

It’s been an eventful couple of days.

M
y
dad posted the videos from the USB drive that
General Gibbons gave me and they went viral. Dr. Waxford’s secret research is all over the Internet.

Even though the senator’s committee meeting was cancelled, now the FBI is involved and there’s going to be a full investigation—not just on the proper use of Waxford’s findings, but also on the role of consciousness in punishment to examine what is ethical and what isn’t.

His research might be beneficial someda
y—
like maybe to help alter the perception of how much time someone spends in pain after surgery, to make it seem shorter. Or for drawing out positive experiences so they seem like they last longer: prom nights, birthdays, graduation parties. First dates and sunsets and fishing trips and roller coaster rides.

Or maybe, it’d be better if we left things as they are.

Maybe we’re meant to just experience every moment as is, taking it for what it’s worth, nothing more, nothing less. I guess that’s something to consider too.

As far as Dr. Waxford, neither he nor the serial killer who dragged him back into the building survived the fire.

The other convicts were all located through the tracking unit and
U.S. Marshals were returning them to the prisons they’d originally been transferred in from.

Henrik Poehlman never made it out of the hotel. They found his body in the basement, his lungs filled with smoke, his throat with dead flies.

As it turns out, Deedee didn’t die when she fell from the fourth-stor
y
window, but she did break her leg, and the fall knocked her unconscious. Her partner, Sergei, was picked up b
y
state troopers after tr
yi
ng to hitchhike near Gatlinburg. Both are
in custod
y
and
being guarded b
y
the police.

Waxford’s other staff members and researchers have been arrested as well. Depending on how much the
y
participated in his work, the
y’
re each facing a whole list of charges.

For helping save the other inmates, it looks like Ty Bell is going to get some leniency in his sentence.

I’m not sure how I feel about that, but my dad said there comes a time to trust the justice system and I figure, after all that’s happened, he probably has a point.

We still don’t know where Malcolm is. No one has seen or heard from him and, although the fire investigators are still going through the charred remains of the hotel, so far they haven’t found his body. Though his eyeball was tagged, he didn’t show up on the tracking unit.

And Dr. Carrigan?

The police are trying to figure out what to do with him. Evidently, he’d been hypnotizing Dr. Waxford’s prisoners over the last few months and implanting destructive suggestions while they were in their trances. It wasn’t ethical, but it wasn’t clear if it was an actual crime or not.

He said that when he drew his gun he was just trying to protect himself from the prisoners, but I doubt that. The last I heard, he was in custody, but his lawyer was trying to get him free and I’m not sure they’ll be able to hold him with what they have.

The trail we’ve been taking through the picnic grove fingers off into a series of more overgrown paths that meander through the valley.

Initially, my mom and dad were pretty upset with my friends for not telling them that I was missing the other day, but they’ve had some time to process what happened and it doesn’t seem like they’re going to hold a grudge.

So that’s cool.

Now, I tell them that we’re going to head down by the stream where it looks like there’s a clearing.

“So you can see more fireflies?” my mom says.

“Exactly.”

Over the last few days we’ve talked more about the shadows she sees out of the corner of her eyes and the bats that have been haunting me—or helping me. At the hotel, the monsters from my childhood turned out to be not so monstrous after all.

Maybe these things do run in families.

So maybe, as a family, we could learn to deal with them better.

As I turn toward the creek with my friends, I see her reach over and take my dad’s hand.

Tiff was right about there being plenty of places to sit.

We all locate logs or boulders surrounding the stream.

Not too many other people have found their way down into this part of the cove.

“Have the fireflies come out yet?” asks Alysha, who has positioned herself on a massive log near the water.

“Just a couple here and there.” Tane is sitting beside her. “So this is for real, though? Thousands of them are supposed to just blink on and off, all together?”

“That’s what they say,” Nicole replies. “On the trolley ride over here, the guy next to me mentioned he’s been coming for five years. He said to just give it some time. There need to be a bunch of them first before they start blinking synchronously.”

Tane shakes his head. “That’s impossible, though. The whole synchronous thing. I don’t get it.”

Alysha smiles. “And this coming from a guy who hears people who are miles away talking to him in his thoughts. I’d say lots of impossible things happen every day.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Mia says. “
How do those little buggers know when to blink?
”

“I say God designed them that way,” Nicole tells us confidently. “And he’s an expert at making impossible things come true.”

“Not to change the subject.” K
yl
e clears his throat slightl
y.
“But, Al
ys
ha, I’ve been meaning to ask
yo
u something.”

“Yes?”

“How do you spell your name?”

“A-l-y-s-h-a. Why?”

“It’s crazy, but Alicia is The Thing’s blind girlfriend in the Fantastic Four comics. It’s spelled differently, though: A-l-i-c-i-a.”

“Well, I can definitely tell you that The Thing is not my boyfriend.” But then she adds, “Although, I have had guys about as interesting as a rock ask me out.”

“But you have to admit it’s kind of a cool coincidence, though. I mean, you weren’t blinded in a laboratory explosion by a vat of radioactive clay, but you do have the same name as her.”

“Maybe it’s not a coincidence at all. Actually, I don’t believe in them.”

“Neither do I,” Nicole notes. “I think there’s a bigger reason that we can’t always see, directing the things that we can.”

Her words make me think of the Chinese folktale again.

Curses.

Blessings.

Turning the first into the second.

Blurs and clues, glimpses of the future through the lens of the present.

I guess a lot depends on your perspective and whether or not you trust those reasons that you can’t see.

And maybe that’s something I’m finally ready to do.

The darker it gets, the more fireflies begin to emerge.

A few dozen flicker around us now.

They’re still blinking on and off intermittently.

Not in sync quite yet.

“Okay,” Kyle speaks up. “I just thought I’d mention that no one has solved my riddle yet.”

“Which riddle is that?” Tane asks.

“The one I made up on the drive from Wisconsin—I guess I never told it to you guys. So: ‘What’s the largest thing you’ll ever see, yet smaller than a pin? You’re looking into history, so let the guessing begin.’”

Tane stares thoughtfull
y
into the distance. “Is it a
problem—that’s something that can be small but seem big, right? Or maybe a riddle?”

“Nope.”

“A blur?”

“Nice try, but no.”

A little boy who looks about seven years old starts walking toward us.

“I think I might know the answer,” Alysha tells us.

“What is it?” Kyle asks her.

“A star.”

After a moment of shocked silence, Kyle exclaims, “That’s it! You got it!”

My attention is split between the riddle conversation and the boy coming this way.

Nicole looks curiously at Kyle and Alysha. “How’s it a star?”

Though I don’t know the boy, he seems to recognize me as he angles my direction.

I’m not entirely certain that he’s real.

He might be a blur.

“Because you’ll never see something bigger than a star,” Alysha answers, “but when you see it in the sk
y—
”

“Oh.” Nikki catches on. “Right, it looks smaller than a pin.”

As discreetly as I can, I take out my cell phone and tap the video recording app.

“Yes. And you’re looking into history because the light from the star takes thousands or even millions of years to get here, so some stars might have already burned out, but their light is still traveling through the universe.”