Stephen Curry All 286 Three-Pointers Full Highlights (2014-2015 Season Three-ilation Part II)

Stephen listened with annoyance at the voicemail message on Klay’s phone, giving his teammate a long opportunity to answer the call. “You’ve reached Klay Thompson’s phone, but he’s not available to take your call. Please leave a message…”

Hanging up, Stephen shook his head. The messages he had been leaving were all being ignored. Even at practices and games, every time Stephen brought up the amulet, Klay would find some way to exit or divert the conversation. Their relationship had become strained; it was friendly enough in the presence of teammates and media members, but frigid cold at all other times.

Not once since the season had started had Stephen even seen hint of the ensorcelled object, and its workings were still a mystery.

Klay did not wear it during games. It would be too noticeable, given the wide necks of their jerseys. But it seemed to Stephen that he did not don it in the presence of others, period. The round bulge around his sternum was ever-absent. Yet, he still showed marked improvement in his three-point mechanics and accuracy. It was almost as if the amulet had a residual effect which did not require the bearer to wear it at all times. Most likely, Klay only wore it when he slept, just as Steve must have.

It was so grossly unjust. Stephen had been the one to organize the mission into Steve’s bedroom. Klay had just tagged along like the useless lapdog he was. And now that Klay had a taste of glory, undeserved though it was, he simply refused to give it up. Meanwhile, Stephen was uncharacteristically struggling from beyond the arc, bogged down by worry about the complicated situation.

He resolved to himself that the situation would be resolved tomorrow at practice. Not only for him, but for the continued success of his team.

“Klay. We have to talk,” Stephen said sternly, cornering his teammate by a rack of basketballs as the rest of the team engaged in a lazy pre-practice shootaround.

Klay swiveled his head to the opposite side of the gym. “Oh hey Leandro!” Klay called out, waving to Leandro Barbosa, who had just walked in.

“No, Klay, I’m serious,” Stephen reiterated, putting his hands on the taller man’s shoulders. “We’re talking about the amulet whether you like it or not.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Klay responded testily, brushing Stephen’s hands off of him. “So you want your turn wearing the amulet?”


“Well, you’re not getting it,” Klay said, smugness evident all across his face. “I’ve rather enjoyed my time wearing it. Do you see how well the team is doing, entirely thanks to my improved shooting? You would be doing everybody a disservice if you, shall we say, upset the apple cart at this point, Steph.”

“That’s the amulet talking, man! The real Klay wouldn’t say that! The real Klay values the contributions of his teammates!”

Klay roughly pushed Stephen out of his way. “This conversation is over. Catch you later, Steph.”

“Wait a minute, you idiot! We’re not done!” Stephen yelled, but it was too late. Klay had already entered into a vigorous discussion about the merits of various burrito restaurants with Marreese Speights. “I’ll get it from you, Klay. One way or another, the amulet will be mine,” Stephen muttered.

Unseen to all of them, a hidden microphone planted by coach Steve Kerr continued to record.

Stephen hunkered down in his car, which was parked on Klay’s street. Every few minutes, he would lift his head just enough to see whether the lights in Klay’s bedroom had been turned off. After weeks of surveillance, Stephen knew his behavioral patterns down to the smallest detail. When the light went off, Klay would place the amulet around his neck, then browse his phone for a few minutes before falling asleep.

Thirty minutes later, the light had been replaced by darkness, and the signature glow of the iPhone screen had been similarly vanquished. Klay would certainly be asleep by now.

Taking great pains to be as quiet as possible, the ski-masked Stephen tiptoed over the lasers which functioned as the alert system for Klay’s home. He knew that one stray footstep would be his downfall, that one misplaced pants leg could forever bar him from the amulet.

After several tense minutes of calculated, precise, movements, Stephen was at the front door. The next part was easy, Klay had taken no steps to conceal the keycode that was used to grant entry. Punching in 4-6-9-5-3, the door audibly unlocked, and he entered with no further hindrance.

Unlike the fateful foray into Steve’s abode, Stephen’s purpose here was clear. Immediately, he ascended the stairs in front of him, walking towards the door that served as a laughably weak barrier between him and unimaginable power.

An unexpected voice came from the inky shadows, freezing Stephen in the middle of reaching for the doorknob.

“Not so fast, Steph.”

Part I:

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