There isn’t sound. But the image is horrific enough. And when Allie walks through the door and jumps on his back to defend me, I want to reach into the screen to stop her, to make her go find Seth, get away from this monster. But I know she doesn’t, and I brace myself, my body stiffening for what happens next.
By the time the video stops playing, I’m possessed with rage, barely able to restrain myself from smashing every monitor in the room. I shove away from the desk. Sophia’s eyes are reflective pools of horror, a hand covering her mouth like she’s trying to stuff the scream back down her throat.
“We really should go,” I choke out, shaking with the suppressed anger. I can’t be in this space any longer. It’s as violating as the pictures downstairs. Sneaking into our lives, watching our every move. My stomach sours in disgust.
Sophia closes the files. Clicks and types some more before wiping everything down like it’s a crime scene. She’s compartmentalized the horror, hiding it behind her neuroticism.
“What did you just do?”
“Edited the activity log, so he won’t know we were looking.”
I examine her like she’s the most fascinating person I’ve ever known. Because … she is. There’s so much about this uptight, adorable mess of a girl that she hides from the world behind her quirks and colorful pills. She is as much a mystery as Ashton was behind her mask of indifference. And maybe I should start paying more attention. Brendan always theorized that whoever is getting to me has access to tech and must be almost as good as he is. So unless he’s the culprit, which is still possible, I may be looking at the only other person at Blackwood who is as talented as Brendan. Someone who is supposed to be my friend.
“What?” Sophia asks when she finds me inspecting her like I’m trying to unveil the reality behind the illusion.
I just shake my head. I’m exhausted … all of me. My stomach hurts. And my head is spinning like I just stepped off the Tilt-A-Whirl.
I run a hand over my face. “Let’s go.”
“Oh no,” Sophia gasps, her focus behind me.
I turn and search the screens for whatever’s making her look like she’s about to start rocking in a corner. The campus is pretty quiet; there aren’t many people walking around. Which makes those who are moving easier to spot.
“Shit.”
Brendan progresses from frame to frame in the Court, nearing the guys’ dorm.
Sophia is already halfway down the ladder when I reach the top of it, switching off the monitors before I descend.
I stop when I realize I’m about to step on Sophia’s head. She’s frantically pushing against the back of the bookcase, but it won’t budge.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my pulse racing.
“I can’t”—she grunts, shoving with her entire body—“get it to open.”
“Let me try.”
She steps back to make room. There’s barely enough space for the two of us between the walls. I can feel her heavy breaths on the back of my head. I pat along the back of the bookcase, blindly searching for a lever or button or something.
Just as my fingers settle on the release, a door slams shut on the other side, and we plunge into darkness. Sophia must have clicked off the lights when she heard Brendan enter. Makes sense since we don’t want him to see the glow beneath the shelves, but it’s not helping my claustrophobia any.
I press my ear to the smooth wood as sweat prickles along my spine. I close my eyes to will the panic away and redirect my focus on listening.
“Where the fuck are you?” Brendan’s voice comes out booming and angry, even filtered through the layers of wood.
I don’t hear another voice.
He keeps talking. “What do you mean, don’t worry about it? Vic, you better not be anywhere near Blackwood. If you’re the one who drugged Ashton, I’ll fucking kill you. You know I will.”
A moment later, something thuds against the wall farther down from where we’re standing still as statues, barely breathing.
Vic. He was talking to Vic!
They know each other.
He was handsome and charming. Said the right words. Lied believable lies.
The door slams a minute—or year—later. I have no idea. I’m propped against the ladder, barely cognizant of where I am, forget about how much time has passed.
There was a moment earlier today when I thought I understood Brendan. Oh, how wrong I was. The more I learn, the less I know. And now … I don’t know anything.
The truth. The lies. The secrets. I’m buried beneath them all and can’t find my way out.
Sophia and I return to the dorm without a word. I can’t talk. The pieces of armor slide into place with each step, sealing me off—protecting me from the chaotic thoughts. Shutting out the anger and confusion. By the time I reach my room, I can’t feel a thing. And my thoughts are a low buzz in my head.
Sophia disappeared like a whisper somewhere along the way. I don’t have to ask her not to say anything. That’s pretty obvious.
I have questions for her. So many questions. But not tonight.
I mindlessly wash my face and brush my teeth and then dress in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt before collapsing onto the bed. I stare motionless at the starlit ceiling, awaiting my nightly check-in before allowing myself to fall asleep. Assuming I can sleep.
My attention drifts to the wall and the fireflies dancing across it.
I pick up my Blackwood phone and text Grant. I need you.
He responds immediately, I’m here.
Can you come here in the morning?
How’s 10am?
Thank you.
I’m always here, Lana.
I smile weakly. Do me a favor?
Anything.
Look up Morgan Wolfe? See if anything comes up in NYC around two years ago?
Three dots blink on my screen as he types his response. I’m prepared for his questions. But none come.
Instead, my phone buzzes in my hand, demanding a thumbprint.
I stare at the dark screen, focused on the lens at the top and silently speak to him, If you can see me, Brendan, I will find out what you’re hiding.
I plug the phone in the charger and drop it in the drawer of the nightstand. Inside is Joey’s phone. I stare at it, trying to decide what to do. I don’t want to touch it—ever. But if I throw it away, Brendan will know. And I don’t want him to suspect I’m onto him. Not yet.
I roll over and become mesmerized by the flickering fireflies, my mind still. But my heart is beating so hard it hurts.
A rattling wakes me. I don’t remember falling asleep, but it feels like it was only a few minutes ago.
I fumble with the drawer and pull out my phone.
“Hope you’re awake. Mack’s waiting for us.”
“Do I look awake?” I grumble, throwing the phone on my bed. Reluctantly, I push off my covers and sit up, my lids still half-closed. I blink awake when I remember the photo of Mr. Garner and Parker and rush to get dressed, intrigue shaking off the dregs of sleep.
I’m thoroughly exhausted, beyond sleep deprivation, from sparring with Mack when I find Mr. Garner waiting in the lobby to walk me back. Our return is tensely quiet. He keeps glancing over at me like he wants to ask me a question but is waiting for me to begin.
I’m hesitant to question him. I hope he doesn’t lie to me. I really want—no, I need Mr. Garner to be one of the good guys.
When I feel like I’m about to burst from holding it in, I ask, “Remember the thing that night in Sherling we were never supposed to be at?”
“Vaguely.” His eyes scrunch warily. “Why?”
“How’d you get in?” I watch him carefully.
“I told you, I grew up with most of the people there. I went with a group of friends.” He clears his throat uncomfortably.
My chest tightens as I fight to keep from reacting. He’s lying.
Mr. Garner smiles awkwardly. The question that he hasn’t asked still dances in his eyes. But he br
eaks our connection without asking it.
“I won’t be here this weekend, so you’re free to go—or not go—to the gym on your own. But I’ll be waking you first thing on Monday, so you can not hate me again then.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, hoping that I really don’t hate him when this is all over with.
“Family thing,” he responds evasively.
“Back in Oaklawn?” I can’t look at him. If he lies to me again, I might never forgive him.
“New York actually,” he answers stiffly. “My mother lives there.”
“Well … have a good weekend in New York,” I tell him flatly before walking toward the rose trellis.
“Lana.”
I turn back.
“Be good this weekend. Please.”
My mouth quirks. “What could possibly happen? I’m stuck in the middle of fricken nowhere.”
“Trapped with your chaos,” he reminds me. “Be careful.”
I watch him walk away. Why? What do you know that I don’t, Isaac?
“Lana, did you hear the question?”
“Huh?”
Everything around me comes back into focus. Including Grant, who is sitting next to me on the leather couch in the Quiet Room. We agreed to give studying another try … away from the library. I have my legs resting on his lap with a notebook spread open in front of me. I haven’t read or heard a single word.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m here. Just got lost for a minute.”
“Or five.”
I look at the clock on the mantel. “Oh. Um … yeah, I’m out of it. But I only have three hours to understand this or else I’ll fail the test.”
“You know the material. Trust me. How about some fresh air? Want to go for a walk in the Court? Maybe find a quiet spot.”
I grin suggestively.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He smiles back.
“Why not?” I tease.
He laughs. “There she is.”
Neither of us has mentioned the texts I sent last night. He’s waiting for me to open up, to tell him why I need him. I’m … nervous. And I’m almost never nervous. But I’m about to expose all of my secrets, and I don’t want to lose him. Then again, if he can’t handle this, then he can’t handle me. So here goes Honesty.
Today may be the day my curse destroys me.
I take the tablet from Grant and stuff it and my notebook into my messenger bag. Grant stands and offers me his hand, pulling me to my feet. I leave the bag in the corner of the room, not wanting to bring it with us, but too lazy to walk up the four flights of stairs to my room.
I know I’m in a school of liars, thieves and mentally questionables, but if they really want Blackwood’s tablet, they can have it. Even if it were stolen, I have a feeling Blackwood would know exactly where to find it.
“So … about yesterday,” I begin, walking through the foyer. “I really do need you. I’ve just never done this before.”
“Done what, exactly?”
“Been honest. I mean, I am honest, but … this is different.” I cringe at my awkwardness.
“I get it … I think.” Grant squeezes my hand. “I told you, I’m here. Not going anywhere.”
I release a deep breath, hoping that’s true after I share the dumpster fire that is my life. “Okay. But we can’t talk on campus. We need to go somewhere no one will hear us.”
“Lead the way.”
We leave through the main entrance, pausing on the front steps to stash my Blackwood phone beneath the hedges. I may miss a random check-in, but I’ll risk it.
Joey’s phone is currently wrapped in aluminum foil and hidden in the bottom of my Narnia closet. I spent the morning researching cell phone signals in the computer lab and read about the Faraday cage. I hope it’s not some sci-fi bullshit and the foil really works.
While walking through the halls today, I found myself scanning every corner for anything that might resemble a camera. I can feel the paranoia creeping in, slithering over my skin. I’m so on edge, I’m driving myself crazy. Which is why I lead Grant to the edge of Blackwood to keep from being overheard. If no one can hear Ashton and me screaming from this cliff, then our conversation should be held within the confidence of the lake and the wind.
Grant steps down onto the ledge and admires the view. “It’s beautiful here.”
“We call this Screaming Point,” I tell him, sitting on the slab with my knees bent and my arms wrapped around them.
“We?” Grant lowers next to me so that his arm brushes against my shoulder.
“Ashton brought me here when I first arrived. It’s a place we can, well … scream when the world gets to be too much and … sucks.”
Grant grins. “Do you come here a lot?”
“Should probably come here more,” I admit, making him laugh. “So … I have a lot to tell you. And some … well, most is going to challenge your integrity. I don’t expect you to promise not to say anything. I know you can’t. But at least hear me out before you decide what to do with it?”
Grant studies the seriousness etched on my face and nods. “Want to start with this?” He removes a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and hands it to me. “Morgan Wolfe. He’s from Sherling, where you’re from. Says he was murdered during a mugging in New York a while back.” When I don’t react, he adds, “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
I accept the paper but keep it folded, not ready to see Morgan’s face.
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath and meet Grant’s expectant blue eyes. “Morgan was my neighbor. Lived downstairs from us with his mother. My grandmother trusted him to watch me when she and my mother had to work late. I had the biggest crush on him, and … ” I close my eyes for a second, overcome by the power he still has over me. How weak I felt beneath his body. Defenseless.
“My grandmother walked in when he was … he was going to hurt me.” My nails dig into my palms. “She stopped him before he could. And after … she fell down a flight of stairs. I didn’t see what happened, only heard them arguing. She broke her neck and died instantly.” I bury my face in my knees, squeezing my arms tight like I’m trying to fold in on myself. Wishing for that moment back. For the chance to fight for her.
“He was the last person to see her alive. And then he disappeared and ended up in New York, where he did hurt someone. That night, he was murdered. He may have hurt others I don’t know about. I’ve never told anyone what happened to me. Not my mother. Not the police. I just … kept silent. Let him go free. Allowed him to do it again.” My body quivers with anger as I stare out at the lake.
“He’s the reason you punch first, isn’t he?” Grant asks quietly, his expression solemn, like he’s made room for the spectrum of emotions I war with every day. “The origin of your curse?”
I nod.
Fire courses through my veins. “I hate him. What he did to me. For taking away my grandmother. For hurting …” I clench my teeth together, unable to say her name. “I. Hate. Him. And he’s dead. So now, what do I do? How do I live with this? With knowing I didn’t stop him.”
“I get it … the anger … the fighting. The need to be loud enough. I understand even if I never truly will because it didn’t happen to me. Lana, you are not responsible for what he did. And if keeping silent protected you in some way, then that’s what you needed to do. Don’t blame yourself. You’re not the monster.” His hands tremble. He looks like he’s about to come undone.
“Are you okay?” I ask, watching him shift in his discomfort.
Grant laughs humorlessly. “You’re asking me if I’m okay?” He pauses for a quick breath. “No. But you understand … the hopelessness in wanting to protect someone, to take away their pain. And I don’t know how to not do anything since it’s in the past.”
“You could … hold me.”
He peers at me, sorrow shimmering in his eyes. “Can I?”
I nod. His embrace is gentle but solid. Not letting me go, but not trapping me either. I fe
el safe. Loved.
His touch abates the anger that has taken possession of me, lulls it back beneath the surface. “I know I’m not responsible for him, but I’m not sure how to forgive my silence. After it happened, it was my way of avoiding the truth, without lying. But not speaking up is so much worse than any lie. Because it gave him permission to hurt someone else.” I face Grant, splayed open and exposed. “I don’t want to stay silent anymore.”
Grant shifts to face me, his legs bent alongside mine. He wraps an arm around my knees, securing me against him, and his other hand holds mine firmly. He’s open and willing to accept whatever it is I need to say. And it’s not that I can change it. The truth will always be the truth. No matter how ugly or violent.
So I tell him everything. Every little detail. I can’t be compelled to stop once I begin. I release the flood of secrets I’ve been drowning in for nearly three years.
I don’t name Ashton, but he learns what happened to her. That Brendan and Parker were at the club that night. I vaguely explain that Ashton’s the reason Brendan’s at Blackwood, that he feels compelled to protect her—so Grant can easily connect the two on his own.
I tell him about the cameras on campus and the monitors in the attic. The files on Brendan’s computer and the pictures in the book. I mention Sophia’s alter hacker personality. And lastly … I recount every minute of the horrible night that resulted in me being sentenced to Blackwood. I even name Vic—I’m tired of keeping him a secret. He isn’t worth my suffering.
Grant already knows about my twisted family tree and the psycho’s notes—which may or may not be connected with the rest of this. It’s so twisted and tangled, I can’t make sense of any of it.
“That’s … everything,” I say, releasing a huge exhale. It’s like I can finally breathe for the first time in forever.
Grant doesn’t speak for a full minute. He looks pensive and a bit tattered around the edges. He stands with his back to me, gripping his head like it’s about to explode. His silence makes my chest hurt, and I wonder if this is it. His limit.
Maybe there wasn’t enough room to accept this much truth. And now I’ve crushed him under the weight of it.
The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew Page 8