Curse (Blur Trilogy Book 3) Read Free Page B

seriously awkward if the two of them aren’t getting along.
    “So.” Nicole goes for a chair, slides it close to my bed, and takes a seat. “How’d it happen?”
    They know about my blurs, so I go ahead and lay everything out there. “I’m pretty sure I had another blur. This time it was a boy, maybe in kindergarten or so. I don’t know who he was.”
    “Did he say anything?”
    “No.” I fill them in on what happened. “I need to find out what all this means.”
    “Well,” Kyle says somewhat grimly, “then there’s one thing we’re gonna need to do.”
    “What’s that?”
    He pulls out his phone. “Check the obituaries.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    Dr. Waxford wound his way along the road, climbing higher into the Great Smoky Mountains.
    He and his team had made great strides in the last couple of years, but the loss of the research facility in northern Wisconsin last December had slowed things down—that is, until they located this old hotel here in this remote part of eastern Tennessee.
    Actually, the site was ideal. It was isolated and lay at the end of a one-lane road that had hardly been used in years.
    Back in the 1950s when a new highway was built that wrapped around the other side of the mountain, it took the tourists and other businesses with it. The hotel owners went bankrupt and the property went into foreclosure.
    Rumored to be haunted, the Estoria Inn had sat empt y for decades and was being reclaimed b y the forest when Adrian and his team started renovations. Most people, even those in the nearb y towns, had forgotten that this place even existed.
    And none of them knew what kind of research was happening there now.
    Which was probably a good thing.
    Fortuitousl y, the Estoria was also less than an hour drive for the h yp notherapist Adrian sometimes brought up to implant suggestions in the minds of his subjects after the y’ d been put into a deep trance.
    When you pay a hypnotist enough, you can get him to implant any suggestions that you want.
    Despair.
    Depression.
    Loneliness.
    They can all be the tools you use in the service of the greater good.

    We’re on our phones searching Internet news sites for recent obituaries when the X-ray results come back.
    No broken bones.
    The ankle is only sprained. The shoulder will recover. It won’t be ideal for the basketball camp, but at least it’s not my shooting arm.
    The doctor gives me a sling to keep the shoulder in place, then explains what I already know: It’s going to be very sore for a while and I’ll run the risk of it coming out of its socket again unless I’m careful. “You’ll need to keep your arm in that sling for the next four to six weeks.”
    “Oka y. Thanks,” I sa y, but I know that’s not going to happen.
    This camp is a huge deal and missing it isn’t an option. At least a dozen Division I coaches will be there recruiting players and it’s my best chance to get the attention I need for a scholarship offer.
    Although I’ve had some interest from a few Big Ten football coaches, honestly, I’d rather play college basketball. Way fewer injuries. Less time lifting and more time actually playing. Besides, I don’t really have the size for college football—not to mention my mom worrying about me less, which is a bonus.
    While the doctor calls Dad to bring him up to speed and also get permission to give me some pain medication, I touch base with Mom to make sure she knows I’m alright. I decide that it’ll be best to explain about the blur in person, so I don’t bring it up.
    Finally, the doctor hands me the meds, along with a prescription.
    On their way to see me at the hospital, Kyle had picked up Nicole from her place, so now we swing by to get my car from the road out by the lake where I left it earlier.
    Somehow, the logging company has managed to get the logs far enough to one side to allow cars to get past.
    Being here brings everything back again and I can’t tell if it’s just my imagination, but my shoulder