Chapter 11

Saturday morning, Gabby picks us up in her family’s car. We get a flat tire halfway there, but there’s a spare in the trunk. We reach our destination without any other problems.

Destiny has a pair of bolt cutters in her backpack. I use them to cut a slit in the fence. It’d be too risky to scale it again. Plus Destiny can’t manage the climb with her cast.

I pull apart the metal mesh. We slip through the gap and start running.

We reach the town. Head up Main Street. No coyotes so far. But we don’t slow down. The plan is simple. Get in, get the print, get out, beat the curse. At least I hope it’s that simple.

Because once again, this is my idea. If it goes wrong, that’s on me. Like so many other plans I’ve made, with so many other friends I’ve let down.

We’re out of breath by the time we reach the shed. Inside, I head straight for the stacks of old reels. I can’t remember where exactly I saw the one with the MWTSS label. So we start sorting through the collection as fast as we can.

I’m halfway through a pile when I find it. “Got it!”

“Bravo, Ventura.”

That’s not a voice I was expecting to hear.

We all spin around.

Tanner Crook stands in the open doorway, casually lighting a cigarette.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

He grins. Pops the cigarette in his mouth. “Making sure that movie never sees the light of day,” he says, taking a puff from his cigarette.

“Are you serious?” says Ahmed. “How do you even know about the movie? Were you eavesdropping at the library?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Osama. You think you’re better than me? You think you deserve this?”

“Deserve this?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t bother to answer my question. “Hand it over, Ventura.”

My hands tighten around the film reel. “You clearly need to get a life, man.”

Tanner flicks the ashes off his cigarette, takes a step toward me.

For a split second I wonder whether it matters. If I hand over the reel, I mean. As long as the print’s found, does it matter who finds it? Maybe he’ll sell it on eBay. Would that count as showing it to the world?

Tanner’s close now. Close enough to smell his cigarette breath. Close enough to see the glow behind his eyes. There’s a matching glow slowly eating the tip of his cigarette.

Suddenly I’m slammed with an image from the official version of Man with a Silver Star. Earl Morrison, casually giving himself lung cancer. Casually destroying the hard work of the people around him.

And that’s when I know. Handing this print over to Tanner Crook would be like putting the curse on steroids. Because the curse is inside him, controlling him. It’s turned him into an echo of Earl Morrison. Everything he’s doing right now has to be the work of the curse.

“I’m not asking again,” he says. “Give it to me. Now.”

I glance at the others. Gabby and Destiny look furious. Ahmed just locks eyes with me and slowly shakes his head.

Good. We’re all on the same page.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” I say.

Tanner reaches behind him and slams the door shut. To symbolically block our exit, I guess. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and tosses it away. “You got a prob—”

That’s as far as he gets before the wall behind him bursts into flames.