The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew

by Rebecca Donovan

  “Yeah. Sawyer told me where to park.”

  “How is he? Did he, or should I say, did his parents decide to enroll him in Printz-Lee?”

  “Uh … he’s actually moving into Blackwood next week.”

  “Blackwood?” I question in shock. “What makes him qualified for Blackwood?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s obviously hiding something.”

  “Aren’t we all?” I mutter, then look to Grant. “Except you.”

  He shrugs, accepting that he’s an open book.

  It doesn’t take us long to find the remote dirt road we’re meant to park along. It’s a dead end with nothing built along it, like they had a plan but then abandoned it.

  Grant pulls off the road and backs within a grove of trees. “Just in case,” he tells me.

  “In case of what?”

  “Exactly,” he answers with a wink.

  I laugh, not understanding how his over-prepared brain works, but appreciating it all the same.

  Now that we’re off Blackwood’s property, I turn on Joey’s phone, hoping Brendan will contact me. As soon as it powers on, I receive a text.

  Be there in fifteen. Don’t bring your Blackwood phone.

  I eye the message curiously. Now who’s being paranoid? I pull the Blackwood phone out of the side pocket of the backpack and leave it in the glove box.

  “What was that about?” Grant asks, waiting for me outside the car with some sort of tarp.

  “I don’t know. Brendan told me not to bring it. Don’t ask me why.”

  I watch Grant cover the car with a tan tarp. Guess paranoia is in the air today.

  We head back to where the dead end runs into the woods and search for the yellow strips of plastic tied to branches and bushes, leading us to the barn. I’m not any more coordinated walking through the woods in the daytime than I am at night, even with sneakers on. I stumble over roots and stub my toes on rocks regardless. Grant turns every time it sounds like I’m about to fall on my face.

  “Are you going to be okay?” he asks, amused.

  “Just … keep going. Don’t look back unless you hear me scream,” I urge, frustrated with my clumsiness. I am not usually this uncoordinated. I swear these woods have it out for me.

  Grant laughs and continues in the direction the yellow ties indicate.

  “I didn’t realize it was this far out here,” I say, sighing when we’re still not at the barn twenty minutes later.

  “Sawyer said it’s about a half-hour walk,” Grant tells me, pulling out a bottle of water. “Want a sip?”

  I take it from him and tip back a long swallow.

  When I hand it back to him, I get a whiff of … smoke. “Do you smell that?”

  Grant tilts his head, sniffing. “Smoke? Maybe someone’s camping out here?”

  My gut twists. “That would be weird, right?”

  “I don’t know. It is Vermont. People camp everywhere.”

  Within a minute of walking, dark clouds of smoke start billowing above the tree line. A lot of smoke.

  “Um, that’s not a campfire,” I say, my heart picking up pace. “Grant, I think that’s the barn.”

  He glances at me. We must share the same thought because we take off running toward the fire at the same time.

  Grant is much faster than I am, and by the time I reach the blaze, he has his hands cupped against a window, trying to see inside.

  The back of the barn is in flames, but it’s crawling along the sides up to the roof quickly. I rush to the large sliding doors; they’re chained and secured with a padlock. A good one, not the kind I can pick easily. Especially under pressure. “Grant, is he in there?”

  “Shit,” he mutters. Then he looks to me, his eyes flickering in panic. “There’s someone lying on the floor. It might be Brendan. I can’t tell. We need to get in there.” Grant tries the window, but it doesn’t budge.

  I look around, searching for something to break the glass. I pick up a large rock and rush toward the window, tossing it through an upper pane. It shatters, leaving a jagged hole. I’m about to reach in when Grant intercepts me.

  “Let me.”

  It makes sense. He’s taller and probably won’t slice his arm open like I would. A second later, he’s pulling his hand back through and slides it open. The window is small, much too narrow for Grant’s broad shoulders to fit through easily.

  “Lift me up,” I instruct.

  “How are you going to get him out? You won’t be able to carry him.”

  “Lift me,” I insist. “Please.” My voice shakes.

  We’re running out of time as smoke rolls out the window, accosting us.

  Grant eases me in. I cough immediately. Holding the neck of my shirt over my mouth eases some of the burning in my throat. I duck down and run over to the body lying on its stomach.

  It’s Brendan. And he’s not moving.

  I shove at him, but he still doesn’t respond. “Brendan!” I scream, shaking him vigorously.

  He rouses, dazed.

  “You need to get up!” I yell over the crackling of the fire.

  I grab hold of his arm with both of my hands and yank him. He pushes off the floor and stumbles to his feet. Holding my breath to keep from inhaling the smoke, I guide us to the window.

  “Lana! You’re almost here,” Grant calls to me, coughing. His voice is faint, drowned out by the hissing and crackling boards as they get swallowed by the blaze. “Don’t stop!”

  I grip Brendan tightly and lead him the last few feet to the window. Grant reaches for me when I lean out the opening, desperate for fresh air.

  “No. Brendan first.”

  The flames are getting close. I don’t have to see them to know. I can feel the heat racing toward us. Burning up everything in its wake.

  Brendan half-collapses out the window, so Grant reaches in and pulls at his arms while I heave his legs behind him. A burning beam falls with a deafening crash. My heart races as I desperately push while Grant pulls again. It’s a tight fit despite Brendan’s slender build. He finally crumples to the ground in a heap.

  Grant reaches in to lift me out.

  As soon as my feet hit the ground, I’m on my knees, retching. Grant drags Brendan away from the barn and leans him against a tree before returning for me, lifting and carrying me a safe distance away from the inferno. Even here, it’s so hot; it feels like my skin is bubbling off my bones.

  “Is he …” I stop to cough, fighting to clear my lungs. “Okay?”

  Grant returns to Brendan, examining him. “Yeah.”

  But Brendan’s still pretty out of it, coughing and sputtering.

  The barn creaks as the interior structure begins to give way, like it’s screaming out, slowly being incinerated to ash.

  Grant turns Brendan’s head to the side, examining him. “You’re bleeding. Looks like you hit your head on something. Can you stand?”

  Brendan shakes his head, unable to catch his breath.

  “Breathe in slow,” Grant instructs. “Nice long breaths.”

  I bolster myself up, leaning wearily against the tree.

  “Will you hand me my bag?” he asks, still balancing Brendan upright to keep him from toppling over.

  Picking up his backpack, I shuffle to Grant, my strength slowly returning. Grant holds my gaze for a beat before taking it from me. He blinks back the shine in his eyes and focuses on Brendan.

  Unzipping his bag, he pulls out a first aid kit and a bottle of water. He opens the water and dumps it over Brendan’s head. Not what I was expecting.

  Brendan’s eyes shoot open.

  “Hey,” Grant says to him. “Need you to focus. Can you do that?”

  Brendan blinks, nodding.

  “Brendan,” Grant calls to him. “Look at me.” Brendan does. “Try to stand. We have to get away from the fire.”

  I hear the hum of an engine in the distance, heading in our direction. Sounds like a dirt bike or an ATV.

  When Brendan just stares at him, daz
ed, Grant persists. “Brendan. Stand up, buddy. C’mon.”

  He slides his arms around Brendan’s chest and eases him off the ground. Brendan stumbles on unsteady legs but tries to assist Grant until he’s standing. Sort of. Holding on to Grant’s shoulder, he blinks around again, fighting to be alert.

  He squints at me. “Lana?”

  “We need to get out of here, Brendan. Someone’s coming.”

  He searches in the distance. Hearing the motor getting closer, he nods. Grant directs us away from the barn and the trail we followed in. Brendan stumbles, unable to get his bearing. Grant grabs for him. Flinging Brendan’s arm around his shoulders, Grant helps him move forward, supporting him around his midsection.

  Slipping my backpack on and gathering Grant’s, I follow after them. I glance back in search of whoever is getting closer, catching a glimpse of someone in black as we disappear deeper into the woods. There are two of them, but they’re moving toward the fire, which continues to sizzle and roar loudly, covering any noise we’re making. They never look in our direction.

  When the barn is a decent distance behind us, Grant pauses and props Brendan up on a rock. Brendan closes his eyes and rubs them. He takes in a few deep breaths, touching his fingers to the side of his head, coming back with the tips covered in blood. Grant hands him a wad of gauze. Brendan takes it wordlessly and presses it to the wound.

  “Let me take a look at it,” Grant says, moving to stand next to him. Brendan removes the gauze, and Grant maneuvers his hair out of the way. “It’s not deep. Head wounds bleed, so keep pressure on it for a while. I don’t think that’s what caused you to lose consciousness though.”

  “No,” Brendan says, his voice raspy. “Someone came up behind me and put me in a choke hold. I was out … fast. Must have hit my head when I fell.”

  “Someone?” I question skeptically, bent over with my hands on my knees as I recover. My torso feels like I was kicked by an MMA fighter. And my head is killing me.

  Brendan silently looks to me, his face emotionless. But his eyes twitch with knowing.

  “Brendan,” I say, my voice stone. “Who wants to kill you?”

  “Kill me?” Brendan repeats with a baffled expression, like he thinks I’m overreacting.

  “Oh, right. Because you knock someone out and try to burn them alive for fun. Forgot what kind of twisted friends you have.”

  Grant glances between us, uncertain how to intercede.

  Brendan clenches his jaw.

  “You know exactly who did this,” I accuse.

  “Maybe we should get out of the woods before we have this discussion,” Grant suggests, searching the area. “Whoever was on the ATVs may start driving around, looking for the person who did it.”

  “Oh, I wonder where he is.” I cross my arms and glare at Brendan. “I bet you know.”

  Brendan lowers his eyes, his mouth pressed into a line.

  “Can you walk?” Grant asks Brendan.

  He nods.

  Grant takes his backpack from me, and we start back in the direction of the car. Or at least I think we do since I haven’t seen a yellow ribbon since we left the barn. Then I realize Grant has his phone out with a map on it.

  “How do you know where to go?” I ask him.

  “Blue dot—that’s where I parked.” He indicates the screen.

  I grin at him, not knowing why I expected anything less.

  Brendan moves slowly. I know he’s still recovering from the smoke inhalation and probably the head injury. But the more we move, the angrier I get. Until I feel like I’m going to catch fire myself.

  “He could have killed you!” I scream. I spin toward Brendan and march over to him until I’m less than a foot in front of him. “Do you understand that? You could have died, Brendan!” Tears blur my eyes. “You could have fuckin’ died!”

  Grant sets a hand gently on my shoulder as Brendan stares at me in shock. I turn from them both and stomp away, tripping over a stupid root in my escape. I swipe at the tear on my cheek. My hand comes back covered in soot. Great, now I’m crying.

  “Hey,” Brendan calls cautiously, trying to catch up but he’s still too out of breath. “Princess, stop.”

  I pause, refusing to face him. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m crying over him. I am, but still.

  “I know he was trying to kill me,” he says. “But who thinks like that? I mean … who tries to murder people? But you’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “You know it was Vic, don’t you?” My back is still to him. I run the palm of my hand over my face.

  “Yeah,” he says quietly.

  I jerk my head around, shocked he admitted it. He comes up beside me.

  “We need to get back to Blackwood,” he says. Then he narrows his eyes to inspect me. “Are you crying?”

  “Yes!” I huff. “Your fault!”

  He grins.

  “Here.” Grant pours some water over gauze and hands it to me.

  I wipe my cheeks. The gauze comes back black.

  Brendan grins wider. “You, uh, missed a spot.”

  I look questioningly at Grant.

  His lips press into a smile that he tries to suppress. “You’re covered in soot. You kind of look like a sniper.”

  Brendan tilts his head in thought. “Or an angry pixie in war paint.” I punch his arm. “Dammit! You’re not supposed to punch me. I’m injured!”

  “I’ll injure you,” I snarl.

  Grant scoops me up with one arm around my waist and keeps walking, like I’m a pixie-sized clutch purse.

  Brendan laughs at me, like I’m adorable. I kick at him. He swerves out of the way, still laughing.

  “Oh, you think this is funny! You wait until you taste my fist down your throat. And you should see your face! You look like a burnt marshmallow!”

  Grant chuckles above me.

  “Don’t encourage him,” I mutter.

  “I think I may have fallen in love with you all over again,” he says, smiling.

  Fighting it, I try to keep from smiling but can’t.

  Brendan flashes one of his cocky grins. “I knew you loved me,” he calls after me, falling behind Grant’s long strides.

  I flip him off over Grant’s shoulder.

  “You can put me down,” I tell Grant. “I promise not to incapacitate him.”

  When he lowers me, I wait for Brendan to catch up and slam my foot down on his instep.

  “What the hell, woman!” He hops on one foot and then limps forward.

  “Feel better?” Grant asks, taking hold of my hand.

  I shrug. “A little. Now he’ll know better than to get himself killed.”

  Luckily, no one’s on the road when we finally reach the car. Grant slips the tarp off. Brendan watches curiously but doesn’t remark on it.

  “You two can’t return to Blackwood, looking like that,” Grant says, unlocking the car. “I have a place we can go.”

  I squeeze into the nonexistent backseat, so Brendan and his stork legs can sit in the front. Grant steers us away from the woods, leaving the clouds of black smoke in the distance. We pass fire trucks when we hit the main road. It seems like it’s taken them a long time to respond, but then again, the barn doesn’t have neighbors nearby. I wonder how they’ll reach the fire. Or maybe they’ll just make sure it doesn’t set the rest of the forest ablaze. Guess it’s a good thing it rained last night.

  About fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling up to a house with a tall, peaked roof. It’s basically triangular, and the front of it is almost entirely made of windows with a few enormous beams of dark wood for support. The foundation and chimney are stone, and a huge deck wraps around the entire structure.

  “Whose is this?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Our family’s,” Grant says, walking up the steps. “The entire Philips family, to be more specific. We share it in the winter, for skiing.”

  “Oh,” I say, following behind Brendan. Why doesn’t anyone I know here own any
thing small? “It’s … impressive.”

  “You’re talking about the house, right?” Brendan teases. I punch his arm. He chuckles. “Well, I don’t know how serious you two are.”

  “We are none of your business.”

  “But you are a we,” Brendan notes with interest.

  “Shut it,” I threaten, walking past Grant, who’s holding the door open. “Can I take a shower?”

  Now that we’re away from the burning barn, all I can smell is smoke. I feel like a walking campfire.

  “Yeah, there’s a shower upstairs. And another in the master bedroom.”

  “I’m not sharing,” Brendan tells Grant. “You two will have to make do with the master shower.” Brendan climbs the stairs without looking back at the stunned expression he left on Grant’s face.

  “Shall we?” I offer, walking in the direction of what I think is the master bedroom.

  “Take a right,” Grant directs as I’m about to enter the wrong room.

  He follows me into a large bedroom with a king-size bed set in a dark wooden frame and enormous headboard.

  “That way.” Grant nods.

  Tearing my eyes away from the bed, I look at him.

  He shakes his head and laughs. “Not sure where your head’s at, but you almost got burnt to a crisp. And your maybe brother is upstairs. That bed is not an option right now.”

  “Oh, right. No,” I fumble. “Not what I was thinking. I smell like someone tried to roast hot dogs off my skin. Shower first.”

  “First?”

  “Just a shower,” I correct. “Then we tie Brendan to a chair and interrogate him.”

  Grant raises a brow.

  “I promise not to pull out his teeth or his fingernails. I’ll only poke him with a sharp blade a couple of times.”

  Grant shakes his head, smiling. “Go shower. I’ll see if I can find clothes for you. My sister may have left some things behind.”

  Sadly, I shower alone. I step out of the fogged glass stall, having stayed under the hot stream until the water went from black to clear. I had to scrub and wash everywhere at least twice. A T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants are waiting for me on the counter.

  When I emerge, Brendan is on the deck, looking out at the forest and the mountain in the distance. He’s wearing a pair of shorts that are a little too big on him. Grant’s probably. His platinum hair is slicked back, hiding the cut somewhere beneath.