The Curse

By Jon de Silva

Patrick Lowery is a graduating senior at Milneburg State University with a bright future ahead of him. That changed one fateful day at a school fair when his life turned upside down. As his life worsens, he becomes convinced that he is cursed.

While researching the history of Milneburg State for its Centennial Celebration, he and his best friend, Grant Hoover, make a discovery that changes their lives forever. They find a picture from 1988 of a student who looks exactly like Patrick and could be a key to his past.

In his search for answers, Patrick learns that all is not as it appears and those he trusts the most are lying or hiding the truth from him. He becomes obsessed with learning the truth no matter what the cost.

It’s a matter of life and death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon de Silva
• Release date: Apr 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781386714149

Book preview

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to those who were adopted and to the loving families who took in and accepted these children as their own.

Prologue

He stumbled into his dorm apartment with her willingly in tow. She laughed at how drunk he was.

After closing the front door, he said, I’ve waited so long for this moment.

So have I. She approached him.

He stroked her face. You are so fine.

They hugged and she placed her head on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead. My life is cursed. Everything has fallen apart around me. I lost my job, my girlfriend, and everything I believe in. But now that you’re here, none of that matters. Only you matter.

She smiled. What a sweet thing for you to say. She moved in closer and whispered, I want you.

His heart soared and he surrendered to his desire for her. She threw her arms around him and they kissed. Her lipstick tasted unusually sweet, but he didn’t care. This was the best he had felt in a long time.

Let’s go to my room, he said. It’s time.

She gave a wry smile. It’s time, but I’ll never share a bed with you.

What? I thought—

Her face changed from loving to hateful. You thought wrong. You’re a pig.

The room began to spin. What...what’s happening? He staggered to the sofa. I can’t breathe. What did you do to me?

She wiped the lipstick off his lips. Everything has a purpose, dear. You have yours and I have mine.

He grew weaker and had trouble breathing. In a panic, he said, You said—

I lied, she said with a smirk.

She moved his head to the cushion on the end of the sofa and put his legs up on the other end. He tried to resist, but his strength failed him.

No, he said.

Lie down. It’s better for you this way.

His chest heaved and he could no longer move. Why? A tear rolled down his cheek.

You now belong to me.

I...I love you. His breathing became more difficult by the second. In desperation, he tried to call for help, but could only manage a slight gasp.

That’s your problem. She opened the front door. Goodbye.

He tried to reach for the telephone on the coffee table and...

Chapter 1

Good morning. It’s 7:45 am, fifteen minutes before eight o’clock on this beautiful sunny morning. Let’s get to the—

SLAM!

Patrick Lowery bolted up. His head throbbed. His stomach churned and he fought the urge to throw up. Going against his better judgment, he got out of bed.

The room spun and he had trouble standing. He had a vague memory of drinking maybe a third or half a bottle of apricot schnapps the night before. Thinking about it made the pain worse.

Then he saw the time. Oh shit. I’m going to be late for my history test!

Patrick waited a few moments to see if his trip to the bathroom would be more eventful than usual. The queasiness passed and he continued. There was no time to shower, since he had fifteen minutes to get to class.

He put on a t-shirt, shorts and shoes, grabbed his book bag, and ran out the door of his dormitory apartment. As he ran down the steps of the second-floor dorm, Patrick was greeted by the morning sunlight. The brightness was too much, so he stopped. His headache and queasiness worsened. Everything was still spinning, but at least he could throw up on the grass. After a few seconds, his stomach eased enough for him to keep going.

When Patrick’s eyes adjusted, he took a step toward the street and stopped. Something was wrong. Instead of the bustling traffic of cars and students, there was nothing. No traffic. No students trying to get to class. His stomach churned again.

Hey, dumb ass!

It came from his apartment porch.

"Hey, you dumb ass. It’s Sunday, unless you want to go to class."

Oh shit. Patrick turned and saw his roommate, Grant Hoover, sitting by the front door. Grant was laughing at him and having fun with this little episode. Then Patrick remembered. They got bombed at Roscoe’s the night before.

Roscoe’s Bar was a few blocks from Milneburg State University. It was a place where students liked to go if they wanted hard liquor. It was one of the oldest establishments in town and had been in the owner’s family for generations. The school bar, The Devil’s Lair, only served beer and wine.

Patrick began the slow march back to his apartment, praying he wouldn't throw up. His journey seemed to take forever, compounded by Grant's laughter. Grant appeared to be hung over, too.

Man, a red-eyed Grant said. You look like you’re about to hurl. You were definitely the life of the party last night.

You don’t look any better. Patrick shook his head.

Yeah, but I’m not as hung over as you.

Patrick went inside and put his books away. He looked down at his t-shirt and noticed it was on inside out. He took it off and stared at his chest, wondering if it would ever be very hairy. There were a few wisps, but nothing like some of the guys had, including Grant.

Patrick Lowery was a slender, clean shaven twenty-two year old senior at Milneburg State University. He had short hair, parted on the side. He majored in History with a minor in Secondary Education.

Grant Hoover was a heavyset twenty-two year old senior and Patrick’s roommate. The two had been best friends since grade school. He had long hair often worn in a ponytail and he sported a goatee. He majored in Music Performance, with a minor in Music Education. Because he hated to practice, he was a mediocre guitar and piano player. When he applied himself, he showed signs of real talent.

Patrick dreaded Grant’s account of the night before, because he didn’t remember what happened. In the kitchen, he poured a cup of coffee and added cream and two sweeteners. He went outside and sat in the folding chair next to Grant.

Did I drink apricot schnapps last night? Patrick sipped his coffee. It tasted odd and he grimaced.

Yeah, Grant said with a grin. You took a dare that you could finish the rest of a half bottle.

Patrick braced himself for the next question. Did I?

Grant laughed. Hell yeah. You chugged it. Then you danced to some old disco tune and ended up dancing on the bar. You must have been good, because you and some hot cougar were flirting with each other. I think she was trying to pick up on you, dude. That was too funny. Good thing Donna wasn’t there. He sipped his coffee. Monday should be fun.

Patrick cringed. I don’t want to know. Let’s change the subject.

Through the queasiness and the pounding headache, he barely remembered talking to an older woman. What did she look like? He took another sip. It tasted more like coffee.

Okay, tell me something, Grant said. Why were you so spooked by Kelly’s aunt at the Milneburg fair yesterday? She’s a bogus fortune teller. Kelly told us her aunt's stairs don’t go all the way to the attic and the woman proved it.

She didn’t freak out on you. The woman said I’m cursed and flipped out. She actually threw us out of her booth. My bad luck started from that moment.

Dude, at least she gave you your money back. You got a free fortune telling out of it. She gave me some bullshit line about becoming part of something bigger than myself. It’s the oldest fortune telling scam in the book. Be a part of something bigger than myself by doing what? Joining a fraternity? Joining the Army? Trying out for the football team? It’s all bullshit. She’s a nutcase like Kelly said, so don’t worry about it. Grant finished his coffee.

All right, I won't. Patrick shook his head.

Yeah, right. What about the other thing? That’s the big one.

It happened right after Kelly’s aunt said I was cursed. Can you explain that?

There’s no need to. At least your mom and dad said they’re locals. They didn’t have to tell you anything. Grant thought for a moment. You okay?

Patrick sipped his coffee. I don’t want to talk about it right now. I still can’t believe they lied to me for all these years.

They love you. If you won’t talk to me, then talk to that priest friend of yours.

I’ll talk to him this morning. Patrick finished his cup. I don’t want to talk about it right now.

They drank another cup of coffee and Patrick felt a little better. He was happy Donna missed his antics at Roscoe’s.

Donna Galloway was Patrick’s girlfriend. She was a slender, pretty girl who wore her hair in a ponytail. They had been dating for a year and their relationship grew more serious. She was not the jealous type or a drama queen. In fact, he liked her usual good moods.

Fortunately for him, Donna was out of town for the weekend, but she would know everything by tonight. He knew he had to be the one to tell her. They were honest with each other and he figured she would get a laugh out of this.

PATRICK TOOK A SHOWER to rid himself of the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Afterward, he made the grocery list since it was his week to buy groceries. He got dressed and put the list in his pocket.

Mass would start in thirty minutes, but it would only take him five minutes to walk from campus to church. He attended St. Christopher Catholic Church for most of his life. Starting as an altar boy, he received first communion, and was confirmed there. He enjoyed when Father John Seaver gave mass.

Father John, as everybody called him, had short salt and pepper hair. He and Patrick were the same height. He usually had a happy demeanor, but there was a hint of sadness about him. Patrick once asked him about it, but he smiled and changed the subject. The priest also had a reputation as a storyteller, entertaining the masses with his homilies. Patrick preferred to go to confession with Father John, who was like a dad to him.

He made it to church ten minutes early and met Father John by the door. He shook the priest's hand. Hello, Father.

Hello, my son. Rumor has it you had a pretty good time last night, dancing on the bar. Now that’s original.

Patrick blushed and looked away. That’s the rumor. I’m still trying to remember, but I don’t think I want to.

Father John grinned as he entered the church. He sat on the left side in the middle row near the aisle.

During mass, Father John gave another interesting and entertaining homily. This one was about honoring thy father and mother. He definitely knew kids, because he listed many things kids did to irritate their parents. Patrick was guilty of some of those sins and slouched when Father John mentioned them. Father John wrapped up the homily by challenging parents and kids to make each other’s lives better. Patrick thought Father John could make a good living as a motivational speaker.

Patrick knew his parents were good people. After the fiasco with Kelly's aunt, they told him they adopted him. The admission destroyed his world.

As much as he wanted to accept the truth, his anger wouldn’t let him. he wanted to find his natural parents, but decided to do it after graduation. Maybe he shouldn’t have put Grant off earlier by not wanting to talk about it.

When mass ended, he waited for most of the parishioners to leave before approaching Father John again. He wanted to talk about his devastating news. Father, can I talk to you?

What is it my son?

You know my parents.

Of course. Are they all right?

Yeah. It’s just that...they told me....

Patrick agonized over what he wanted to tell the priest, almost to the point of crying. Father John put his arm around him. Easy now, son. Focus on what you want to say.

Father, Mom and Dad told me yesterday I was adopted. I thought I was their son. It’s turning my life upside down. I don’t know what to think anymore.

Father John, with that almost sad expression, gave a reassuring hug. "You’re still their son. You’ll always be their son. Never forget that. They love you and as far as they’re concerned, you are their natural born son. By the way, is that why you drank so much last night?"

It is. Patrick decided not to tell Father John the part about Kelly’s aunt and the way she acted.

Father John rubbed Patrick’s head, as he did since he was a little boy. You know better. Go and be at peace. I’ll expect you in confession. It should be interesting, depending on what you can remember.

Patrick tried to smile, but grimaced in pain from his ebbing hangover. He returned and gave an entertaining confession. Father John gave him his penance and Patrick returned to his dorm.

Mr. Gill called, Grant said. He needs you to come in. Today is simply not your day.

I’d like to have the day off, but I’ll go in.

That’s why he calls you, you know.

Yeah, but I don’t mind doing it. Besides, it’s extra money in my pocket. What are you doing today?

What I always do on Sunday; practice, practice, practice a little more, and then watch TV.

"You mean watch a lot of TV and maybe get some practice in." Patrick shook his head.

You got it, Grant said with pride.

Patrick got ready and left for work. He had to be there at noon and had a comfortable forty-five minutes to get there. Gill’s was a thirty-minute walk from school and a five-minute ride in his car. Since the nausea from his hangover hadn’t gone away, he drove to work.

Patrick's car, the Pat-Mobile, was a gray 1985 Honda Accord. He liked to call the color defective gray, because of the peeling paint and rust spots on the body. The car had a five-speed standard transmission. It still had most of its original equipment, including the radio with a built-in cassette tape deck.

Gill’s Sporting Goods was the biggest independently owned sports equipment retailer in Milneburg. Don Gill was the owner and manager. He owned three stores within a one hundred mile radius, but based himself at the Milneburg location, which his father, Big Lou, started and left to him. His brother and son ran the other two stores.

Don Gill had the reputation as a strict manager, but likable once an employee earned his respect. He viewed Patrick as a diamond in the rough who had a future as a manager. Whenever another student called in and Gill needed somebody, he usually called Patrick.

When he arrived, Gill assigned him to the hard goods department. He liked working in hard goods on Sundays, because he could gab with Gill when business was slow.

In the last remnants of his hangover, Patrick forgot about the Milneburg Pro-Am Golf Tournament Sale Gill advertised on TV and radio.

Just before he unlocked the front door, Gill shouted, Get ready for the chaos!

People came in as soon as the store opened. Amateur golfers came out of the woodwork to shop for golf balls, golf clubs, and accessories. Patrick enjoyed the busy time, but wondered why people waited until after the tournament began to start buying golf equipment. It happened every year.

The run lasted two hours and customer traffic slowed from there. He cleaned the department between customers. When he finished his tasks, the sound of approaching footsteps attracted his attention. He turned to see a woman looking at baseball equipment. She was slender, with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.

Patrick greeted her. How may I help you, ma’am?

I’m just checking out the aluminum bats, she said. They’re a lot lighter than I remember. I once knew a guy who had a practice aluminum bat.

How do you know it was a practice bat?

"Because it had the word Practice above the label. It was heavier than all of these."

Oh, okay. Bats are lighter today. It’s the speed of the swing, not the weight of the bat that makes the difference when you’re trying to hit the ball with any kind of power. Which of these bats are you interested in getting, ma’am?

None of them. The woman smiled. I see you had a rough night. That’s what you get for drinking apricot schnapps and dancing on the bar.

Patrick realized she was the hot cougar from the night before. She appeared to be in her late thirties or maybe her early forties. You were funny dancing up there, but you do have a nice singing voice.

Uh, thank you. He blushed. I sing better sober or when I have a couple of beers in me. By the way, I’m Patrick.

I’m Angie. It’s nice to meet you.

They shook hands. Patrick thought she had the handshake of a refined woman. Noticing she still held his hand, he put on his best smile and turned on the charm. Maybe we can go out sometime and get to know each other a little better.

Angie inched closer. Don’t flatter yourself. You are a nice, charming young man, but you’re not my type. She withdrew her hand. I bet you have a girlfriend, too.

Well, uh....

She gave a wry smile. Shame on you, Casanova.

He blushed again.

Don’t feel bad. She pointed toward a small little league fielder’s glove. I’m still pleased to meet you again. I’m actually here to get something for a baby boy.

How big is he?

The baby hasn’t arrived yet.

Oh. Are you sure it’s a boy?

I’m sure. The glove is all I want today.

Okay. Patrick grabbed the smallest glove in the group and handed it to Angie. This is one of our Big Boy gloves. It should fit properly when he’s about five or six.

This will do nicely. Thank you.

Emma can take care of you at the register. I hope we’ll meet again. Come back and see us.

I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Goodbye, Patrick. Angie turned and left for the register.

Bye, Angie. Patrick went into the stockroom to get some more bats and gloves to put on display.

PATRICK, GRANT, AND their girlfriends arrived at the Student Union at 5:30. They were part of the university’s Centennial Committee. During the semester, the Centennial Committee met on the second floor of the Student Union every Sunday evening at six.

The busy Sunday wore Patrick out, but he made it past his apricot schnapps hangover. He liked arriving early to socialize with the other members of the committee, especially the faculty.

Professor Emeritus Walter Young waved to Patrick. Young was a fourth generation Economics professor who started teaching at Milneburg State University in 1970. He kept his long gray hair in a ponytail, and usually wore tie-dyed shirts and blue jeans. A laid back type of professor, he enjoyed working with students more than doing his research. He was also a history buff and the local expert on the history of Milneburg State University. Chancellor Howard Smith appointed him to the committee.

Smith was a tall, stocky man from Texas who had one of those classic southern drawls heard in old westerns. He had gray hair, which was short and thinning. As with Young, Smith had a laid back style and was a natural leader. He enjoyed interacting with students and was genuinely interested in what they had to say. Unfortunately, Smith’s duties kept him from attending most of the committee meetings. Vice-Chancellor Robert Sykes substituted for him.

Sykes was the acting committee chair and led the meetings. Robert Sykes was the opposite of Smith; an average sized, slender man with dark hair, much of it combed over the bald part of his head. He was formal, aloof, and condescending to students. He addressed students by their last names and demanded respect from them, though he rarely returned it.

In addition, Sykes lacked Smith’s leadership qualities. Although he had no problem telling people what to do, he had trouble making quick decisions when things got hectic.

The meeting started with Sykes pounding the gavel on the podium. This meeting is now in session.

Patrick and Grant hated Sykes. Grant told Patrick that Sykes was an elitist snob who had a superiority complex and resented getting passed over for chancellor. Sykes had seniority over any other university administrator, yet the board hired Smith, an outsider.

Although Sykes ran the meeting efficiently, his meetings were boring, even to the faculty. During the committee reports, Patrick saw Grant falling asleep and nudged him awake. The student government president, Pete Thomas, sat in front of Patrick. Pete paid close attention to everything Sykes said.

Pete Thomas was a tall, slender senior with short blonde hair. He played the political game well, saying whatever it took to get what he wanted from people. Patrick thought Pete was a nice person, but a mediocre student government president.

The Student Committee consisted mostly of student government officers. Patrick, Grant, Donna, and Kelly were four of the non-student government members on the committee. Student Representative Breanna Jordan talked Kelly into joining the committee. Soon after, Kelly talked Donna, Patrick, and Grant into joining.

Kelly was Grant’s girlfriend. Kelly Jarrell was a few inches shorter than Grant. She had a round face and wore her short hair in a bob. Kelly was an emotional person and had a well-earned reputation as a drama queen. She had a shallow quality about her that even annoyed her close friend, Donna.

The Student Committee was originally supposed to handle key assignments. However, Sykes assigned the members the mundane tasks the other faculty committees didn’t want. The vice-chancellor explained the reassignments by stating he wanted the students to focus on their studies first. Grant believed Sykes detested the idea of students affecting the outcome of an important event.

After the committee reports, the old business part of the meeting went by quickly. Patrick figured the meeting would end soon, since the Centennial Celebration started in less than a month. Sykes addressed that subject in the first item of the new business part of the meeting.

Based on our current progress and the dwindling number of tasks in new business, the Student Committee is no longer needed and all the non-student government members are dismissed from the Centennial Committee and this meeting.

Patrick’s face twisted. The committee had more to do. The other committee members were just as surprised, including faculty members. Pete had no reaction, which aroused his suspicion.

Vice Chancellor Sykes? Patrick raised his hand. We still want to help, sir. Put us on another committee.

You do not have the floor Mr. Lowery. Please leave the room now, along with the rest of the non-student government members.

As they got up to leave, a visibly angry Grant muttered something under his breath that included an expletive or two.

Sykes pointed the gavel. You will show this committee respect, Mr. Hoover.

"I will show you the same respect you showed us—none! We were supposed to help and you made us nothing more than gofers for the faculty committees."

"You will show this committee respect, Mr. Hoover, and you will address our members as sir and ma’am!"

Fine. Grant cleared his throat. "You’re an elitist asshole, sir!"

Patrick grabbed Grant’s arm and pulled him to the door. He tried not to laugh, but failed. The other members of the Centennial Committee in the room were shocked at first. After a few seconds, they smiled and snickered. Grant saw it and nodded with vindication.

A red-faced Sykes stood up. Before he could unleash his wrath on Grant, someone from the front of the room said, Wait. I’ll take them. I need their help. Young had his hand up. I still have decades of yearbooks and school newspapers to research.

No, Sykes said. You heard what Mr. Hoover just said.

Oh, lighten up, Robert. These meetings are boring and you tend to drone on.

I don’t remember giving you the floor, Dr. Young.

No, but you haven’t been fair to these students either. How about this; they can report to me and I can report to you.

I thought you were the resident expert on the history of this school. My answer is still no, especially Mr. Hoover.

Then you don’t need me. Find somebody else to research and write the history for the celebration.

Sykes waited a few seconds and sighed, Fine, they’re all yours.

And still on the committee, including Grant?

Yes. All of them are still on the Centennial Committee.

An elated Patrick pumped his fist. He hoped to work with Young at some point.

That’ll work, Grant said.

Meet me in my office at two tomorrow. Young waved goodbye and the four left the meeting.

None of them said anything until they got down to the first floor lobby. Then Kelly yelled at Grant, Are you nuts? You just cursed out the vice-chancellor of the university. He could have you kicked out of school. What were you thinking? You made us look bad to the other committee members.

Grant’s face turned almost as red as Sykes, but Patrick chimed in first. We all need to settle down. At least we’re still on the committee and we’ll be working with Dr. Young. He’s a cool professor. Grant and I are going back to our apartment if you want to join us.

I’d like to, but I have a test tomorrow morning and so do you, Patrick. Donna kissed him and then gave Grant a big hug. It’ll be all right. Bye, Grant. See you later.

Grant smiled