Condemned

by Christopher Renna

  Conner returned to the room, and Adam gulped a bottled water and then downed the pills.

  Conner squirted lotion onto his hands then softly massaged Adam's thigh. "Gotta loosen up the muscles first. Then I'll work on the ligaments to your knee."

  Adam laughed.

  "What?"

  "You always tell me that. You've done this a dozen times, and you sound like a doctor every time."

  "One of these days."

  Closing his eyes, Adam concentrated on relaxing his leg as Conner gently applied pressure with his fingertips. Even the soft touch was painful. He sucked in air through clenched teeth. "Hey, do you—"

  "Too hard?"

  "No. It's fine." He took another deep breath. "What do you think about Jared's house?"

  "Uh. Well, I think it was kinda weird."

  Adam propped himself up on his elbows. "The bed?"

  "Yeah."

  "So you think the stories are true?"

  "Yeah."

  Relieved to not be alone with his suspicion, Adam replied. "Yeah, I do too." A jolt of pain in his thigh caused him to jerk his leg away from Conner's touch. "Ow."

  "Sorry. Relax, dude. You'll feel better in a few minutes."

  "Are we still going to the funeral in the morning?"

  "Yeah, I think so. Don't you think we should?"

  He did.

  While Conner worked on his ligaments, Adam stared at the ceiling. The soreness had already started to fade, and he was able to relax more easily. Then he said, "Can you believe Zach? He's such an ass, bringing up Lisa."

  "Totally unexpected," Conner replied as he sat on the floor and wiped the lotion from his hands. "I'm surprised you didn't punch him in the face."

  "Probably would have if you didn't grab me."

  "Yeah, well, I didn't think a fistfight was what we needed to deal with at that moment."

  Adam sat upright and rubbed his knee. "Much better. Thanks."

  "You're welcome." Conner moved to the edge of his bed. "Do you ever think about Lisa and the pregnancy?"

  "Not really. Sometimes I think that makes me an ass."

  "You still don't know if she had the baby or not?"

  Standing, Adam exhaled as he rested his hands on his head. "Nope. No idea. I'm totally outta the loop."

  Conner jumped to his feet before the moment of silence became awkward. "Okay. So now whatcha doing?"

  Adam wanted to avoid the possibility of getting dragged into an argument with his parents. He also wanted to spend time with someone who appreciated and loved him no matter what. "Can I sleep over?"

  "Yeah, of course." Conner walked toward the door. "Let's brush our teeth and then jump into bed."

  * * *

  Hailey settled herself in bed and pulled the pink comforter up to her chest. She clasped her hands and breathed in deeply.

  "Dear Lord, I don't pray as often as I should. But sometimes life gets kinda hectic, and then I forget or I'm too tired. I know that's not a good excuse. But I'm grateful for all the wonderful blessings in my life. Like my sisters and my parents and my grandparents. My favorite aunt, Patsy. Well, everyone. Thank you for giving me a great family. And I have great friends too.

  "Tonight, we went to Jared Smith's house because we wanted to see if there was some sort of evidence about his rumored possession by the devil. And please, forgive me for talking about the devil. I hope it's not blasphemous. I'd never want to offend you.

  "Anyway, it was kinda spooky in the house. And we found his bed all by itself. And there was damage to the room like something violent happened in there. We were about to look at this scribbling on the floor under the bed, but the police came, and I was totally scared that we were going to be arrested. Oh, my parents would have been so mad. Not to say that they weren't upset with me. Because they were. But they forgave me. And I'm thankful for that.

  "So um, the main reason I'm praying to you now is because I'd like to ask that you lay your hand upon me and my friends. Protect us from evil. 'Cause I think there was something evil in that house, and I don't want it to follow us. And oh, dear Lord, I hope it didn't latch on to one of us already. We're all good people. Like, we don't get into serious trouble or anything. And I don't want trouble from the devil for me or my friends. So please, please, please, keep Satan away from all of us. Restrain him in the depths of hell where you banished him.

  "Thank you, dear Lord. Thank you. Amen."

  She scrutinized the darkness from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. Then she flicked on the lamp on her nightstand and pulled the comforter over her head.

  * * *

  Lou Price situated an old wooden coat rack next to his desk and then clamped a new silver-rimmed spotlight onto the upper portion of the pole. He turned it on, then checked his face on his computer's screen. The lighting wasn't right, and he always wanted to appear professional and attractive on film. So he adjusted the height of the spotlight and reevaluated his image. The lighting was much better, washing out his sun-damaged skin and giving him a more youthful appearance.

  During his short career as an online personality, he'd learned the importance of good video presentation. For the sake of his die-hard viewers, he needed to be entertaining and informative. For the sake of a handful of girls, he wanted to be considered somewhere between cute and handsome.

  He tapped his cheeks in an effort to rejuvenate his energy at the late hour. Burning the midnight oil in a rush to film a segment for his vlog, The Ghost Stalker, wasn't something he was accustomed to. He usually hunted ghosts during the night and filmed during the day. But his routine was temporarily thrown off course because he and his partner, Dave, had consumed much of the evening working on a proposal for a cable network. If he and Dave convinced the interested producers in their concept, they'd travel America—hell, maybe even Europe—filming a weekly program about hunting ghosts.

  At forty-six, Lou was desperate to expand his business. The families and businesses seeking a ghost hunter provided a decent income in addition to the vlog's ad revenues. Yet he wanted more. He wanted an inflated savings account. He wanted a new car. He wanted a new house. He wanted a real home office. He wanted all the attention that fame bestowed upon a celebrity.

  His partner walked into the studio, a renovated walk-in closet. For such a small space, it accommodated two people and a table setup quite comfortably. Dave swiped his thin, in–need–of–a–trim brown hair from his forehead as he chewed the last of his everything bagel. He dropped a printout onto the small, white acrylic-top IKEA table.

  "What's that?" Lou asked.

  "Thought we might get a jump start on a spook in Connecticut."

  "A spook in Connecticut, huh?" Lou glanced at the paper as a courtesy and read the first few lines. "Somebody posts something in a forum about a possessed kid, and I'm supposed to spring a boner?"

  "Keep reading," Dave said as he knelt on the floor and slipped a folder from his backpack. "Sounds interesting. And if we can get the goods on the story first, it just might be the thing that excites the network about working with us."

  "Probably a hoax or some borderline nutcase. If we chase this story and it goes nowhere, the network will kick us to the curb and tell every other network why they did it."

  "The kid's dead. A seventeen-year-old boy. The family moved out of the house, pronto. And apparently the priest who performed the exorcism hasn't exactly been discreet. Practically the whole town is talking about it."

  Lou glanced at his watch. "It's four in the morning. I'm tired. Let's film this segment so I can have a shot of whiskey and hit the hay." He set aside the printout about Jared Smith, then studied his face on the screen. "I'll read the info about the possessed kid after I wake up."

  SEVEN

  Conner awakened groggy, as if his head were made of concrete. It was as though he'd only slept three hours instead of seven. Although he and Adam hadn't immediately gone to sleep, he didn't recall tossing and turning or waking during the night. Even Adam's light snoring hadn't kept him
from falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  He dangled his feet over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. Yawning, he reached back and smacked Adam on the shoulder. "Wake up. Gotta eat breakfast and get ready for the funeral."

  Groaning, Adam sat up and tossed the blanket aside. "We could have slept in."

  "We did." He walked to the closet. "Do your parents even know that you spent the night here?"

  "I'll send a text," Adam said. "I doubt they even know I'm gone."

  Conner shook his head. "That's crazy."

  Adam checked his phone. "No text. They have no clue." He tapped the screen and then tossed the phone onto the bed. "I'm hungry."

  "I want french toast."

  "If you're cooking, then I'm game for whatever."

  There was a knock on the door, then Conner's mother spoke. "Time to get up. It's eight thirty."

  "We're up," Conner called out. "We'll be down in a few minutes."

  "I'm headed out," she said. "Unless you need to talk before I go."

  "All good, Mom."

  "All right. I'll see you guys later."

  Conner pulled on a pair of basketball shorts. "If I didn't answer, my mom would have thrown open that door real quick. I don't know why your parents are so—"

  "Neglectful?"

  "That's not the word I was trying to think of. I was probably going to say trusting."

  Adam tilted his head back and sighed. "Neglectful is probably the better word choice."

  Inside the closet, Conner searched for a T-shirt. He didn't want to instigate a conversation about Adam's inattentive parents. He loved Adam's parents, but they were neglectful, which explained how Adam sometimes drank too much alcohol; how he got Lisa pregnant; how he could sneak out of the house and sleep in Conner's bed for the whole night without getting caught.

  Trevor arrived soon after nine o'clock, dressed in a white dress shirt, black slacks, and a red tie. "Smells good in here," he said, walking into the kitchen. "Where's mine?"

  He sat with Adam at the breakfast nook while Conner showered.

  "Mom doesn't think we should go," he said. "She thinks we'll fan the flames."

  "Piss off the Smiths?"

  "Uh, huh."

  Adam placed his plate in the sink then leaned against the counter. "I hope not. I mean, I guess it's possible."

  "Well, according to the police, we broke into their house."

  Thumb between his teeth, Adam nodded.

  Trevor steered the last bite of french toast through the pond of syrup on his plate. "What did you and Conner talk about last night?"

  "What do you mean? We talked about everything like we always do, and he worked on my knee."

  "Did you talk about Jared's bed?"

  "A little. Not really."

  "There was something etched into the floor," Trevor said as he carried his plate to the sink. "I want to know what it is."

  "Maybe it was just scratched up from the bed moving around."

  "Yeah, I guess." Trevor returned to the table and sipped his coffee. "You going home to shower and dress or are you jumping into the shower with Conner?"

  Adam raised his middle finger. "Shut up, dude."

  Trevor laughed. "Well, you better get to it. We gotta go soon."

  "Okay. I'm running home. Be back in fifteen."

  * * *

  Trevor parked in the lot at Saint Ann's Church, a red-brick building that had apparently acquired a modern addition in the recent past. They sat in the car silently for a minute, maybe two, before Conner spoke.

  "I was expecting a white house-like building with a steeple. This almost looks like a college or something."

  Adam echoed the observation.

  "The Smiths have money," Trevor said. "I bet they donated a lot. That probably helped when they needed a priest for an exorcism."

  "You think?" Conner asked.

  Trevor shrugged. "Don't know. I've only gone to weddings and funerals at churches."

  "Me too," Adam said. "But I didn't know that Jared's family went to church."

  "Yeah," Conner replied. "Remember, when we were younger, his family used to go every Sunday? But he didn't go much anymore after he got older."

  "I don't really remember that."

  "Oh. Well, he did." Conner scanned the parking lot. "I think I see their car parked over there."

  Trevor peered out the windshield. "Yeah, that's Mr. Smith's car. So, they're already here."

  "Duh." Adam chuckled. "Like they'd be late to their son's service."

  Trevor grabbed his phone from the dashboard. "We should just walk through the front door, right?"

  "I guess." Conner stepped out of the car and zipped up his jacket. "Man, it's cold out. I should have worn a coat instead."

  The three briskly walked against the wintery breeze, then slowed their steps closer to the church's entrance. An older woman in black attire and a purple lace hat opened the door wide enough to slip through the gap.

  "Think she's here for the funeral?" Conner asked as they stationed themselves on the steps under a navy-blue awning, the edges gently flapping in the wind as icy rain pelleted the fabric.

  "Maybe," Adam said. "Let's just go in. We're gonna look like idiots just standing out here. And it's starting to rain again."

  Conner pulled the oversized door open. Instantly greeted by the warm temperature and bright lights inside, he ushered Trevor and Adam through the entrance and allowed the door to close on its own. The lobby was empty, but the murmurs of people could be heard behind a set of closed doors. He'd expected to immediately see a small group of people—including Jared's family. Yet there was nothing but muted voices, bright lighting, and the smell of new carpeting.

  "Where do you think we should go?" he asked.

  Trevor shrugged. "Maybe there's a sign or something."

  Adam gestured to the end of the lobby. "I hear people down there."

  As the three stepped forward, a door to their right opened. Jared's sister, Leah, walked into the lobby and then suddenly stopped at the sight of them. She wore a black short-sleeved dress and a silver crucifix around her neck. For a moment, Conner was surprised by her appearance. Her blonde hair was carefully styled. Her makeup looked as though a professional had selected the perfect colors to enhance her features. She looked prettier than Conner had ever seen her.

  Then he recognized the fatigue in her eyes and the droop of her defeated posture.

  "What are you guys doing here?" she asked.

  Conner was at a loss for words, and he was grateful when Adam blurted out, "We came for Jared."

  "My parents didn't want anyone here," she said.

  "Yeah, we know," Conner replied. "But we thought we should come and pay our respects."

  She glanced nervously down the hall. "You should go."

  "Really?" Trevor asked. "It's us. I mean, I thought it would be okay that we came."

  "You guys stopped coming to the house a long time ago." She moved as if she intended to push them to the entrance. "But I guess I don't blame you guys."

  "What happened?" Conner asked.

  She looked offended. "What do you mean? Jared died."

  "Well, yeah. I'm sorry. But have you heard what some people have been saying?"

  "About how he died," Adam added.

  She crossed her arms. Her eyes appeared watery. She bit her lip.

  Conner felt bad for possibly upsetting her.

  "Yeah, I heard some of the stories."

  He didn't want to make direct eye contact. "Is it true?"

  A tear rolled down her cheek. "I don't wanna talk about that."

  "But—"

  The door behind her opened, and Mr. Smith appeared. The hint of a smile on his face vanished. He rested his hand on Leah's shoulder.

  "Hey, boys," he said. "It's nice of you to show up, but this is a private service."

  Conner stared at the carpeted floor. "You want us to leave?"

  "I'm afraid so," Mr. Smith said, stepping forwa
rd. "This is for close family. Mrs. Smith is very emotional right now. I think seeing Jared's friends might be too much for her. Especially after last night's stunt."

  Adam muttered, "But we were like family."

  Nodding, Mr. Smith replied, "We'll be in touch with you soon. But let us get on with our day here, okay?" He turned to Leah. "Honey, will you please see your friends outside? I need to get your mother. The service is going to start soon."

  Leah escorted the three to the door. "So, like my dad said, you guys need to go now."

  "We're really sorry," Trevor said. "About Jared and everything."

  "Yeah, thanks."

  Adam pushed the door open and then pivoted. "You moved away already. So, are we ever gonna see you again?"

  She shrugged. "Probably not."

  Conner leaned against the door. "Can you just tell us if the stories are true? We want to put an end to all these rumors."

  "You could just ignore it," she said, clearly irritated.

  Trevor shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "Before we go, it would be nice if we had something to go on. We want to . . . I don't know . . . clear his name or whatever."

  "Which story did you hear?" she asked.

  "He died of cardiac arrest," Adam said, "because he was possessed by the devil."

  Teary-eyed, she appeared as if she would turn on her heel without responding. But she said, "It's true." Then she hurried away to rejoin her parents behind closed doors.

  Stunned, Conner stood on the steps, fixated on the building across the street. His eyes traveled skyward past fiery orange and red leaves to the powdery white-gray clouds.

  Somehow the confirmation that Jared had suffered a terrible ordeal that led to his death caused Conner to shed tears. When he looked at Adam and Trevor, they both wiped at their eyes.

  "Oh, my God," Conner said. "This is really, really horrible."

  "I feel so bad for him," Adam said.

  Trevor rushed down the steps to the asphalt. "I wish we could have helped him. But maybe there was nothing we could do."

  "Deny everything," Conner said.

  "What?" Trevor asked.

  "We need to deny everything. Don't let people talk crap about him. They're going to turn him into a scary story, like when kids say a house is haunted or there's a ghost on the country road that causes car accidents. We can't let that happen to him."