Condemned

by Christopher Renna

  * * *

  Another Colonial house, Lou thought as he and Dave sat in the car, scoping out the address where Jared Smith's memorial was to be held. They'd arrived early to increase their chances of talking to Jared's parents. Yes, it might seem rude and intrusive. And yes, they were crossing a line by showing up uninvited. But more often than not, paranormal investigators had to chase down their sources. So, that's exactly why they were parked at the curb, staring at the location of a memorial gathering for a teenaged boy who'd died during an exorcism.

  Dave finally dragged his eyes from his phone. "It's almost one o'clock. I'd think they'd be here any minute."

  "Uh, huh."

  "And I bet Stella and Walter are sitting down with the priest just about now too."

  "Uh, huh."

  "So? We're gonna be making some real progress, don't you think?"

  "Gotta get some good info from the kids," Lou said as he tossed a cigarette butt to the street. "If we can talk to Jared's family, then we're looking good progress in the eye."

  "Think Stella's gonna get all the details from the priest?"

  "She's good at what she does. She'll pull some good stuff from him. But I imagine it'll take more than just one interview. You know how it is. I'm hoping we'll be involved with the next interview."

  "If we get this story, there's no way the network will pass up a deal with us."

  "It's gotta be a great story. We know how to make"—Lou suddenly glanced at a picture on his phone—Hey. That's Mr. Smith right there with his wife and daughter."

  The three casually strolled along the sidewalk leading to the house. They appeared like a normal family returning home from an outing. Not one of them projected an air of melancholy.

  Lou rushed to set his Styrofoam cup of coffee on the dashboard, nearly tipping it over in the process. "Ow. Shit. Fuck!" he shouted and flicked hot coffee from his hand. "Let's go!"

  Never run up on a potential source. Lou learned that the hard way once when a woman had immediately blown a whistle and aimed a can of mace at his face.

  At a brisk stride, Lou approached with Dave close behind.

  "Hello," he called out. "Mr. Smith."

  The man stopped and looked at Lou as if trying to register whether he knew him. "Can I help you?"

  "Yes, hi. My name is Lou Price, and this is my partner Dave Taylor. Can we speak to you for a moment?"

  Mr. Smith gestured to his wife and daughter to continue on to the house. "What would you like to speak to me about?"

  Lou waited until Mrs. Smith and the daughter were out of earshot. "Your son. We'd like to talk to you about Jared."

  "What about Jared?" Mr. Smith seemed to subdue a scowl. "How do you know my son? Are you here for the memorial?"

  "No, we didn't know Jared personally. We recently heard about his case, and we wanted to talk to you about it."

  "His case? Who exactly are the two of you?"

  Lou inhaled deeply and as casually as possible. Here we go. "There's been a lot of talk about Jared and his death during an alleged exorcism. Dave and I are here to investigate the incident."

  "Incident? My son is dead. And you want to talk to me about some bullshit story you heard?"

  "Sir, please. We don't mean to upset you."

  Mr. Smith stepped toward the house. "The two of you should leave before I call the police."

  "Please, Mr. Smith. Just let us explain our purpose here. Then you're free to go without talking to us. You can even call the cops if you want. But please, just hear us out."

  "I don't need your permission to call the police."

  "There will be others snooping around about Jared and the exorcism. I guarantee someone else will hunt down you or your wife or your daughter."

  Mr. Smith paused his intended escape and released a heavy exhale into the chilly air.

  "This is your chance to keep that from happening."

  Tightening the belt of his stylish camel-brown trench coat, Mr. Smith spoke as he passed them, walking toward the street. "I'll give you a few minutes of my time."

  Lou and Dave quickly followed him to the curb.

  "I'm sorry for your loss," Lou said. "I know—"

  "You're sorry for my loss, but you want to pry me for information regarding my son's demise?"

  "I don't mean to be disrespectful. But if you talk to us and tell us some of your story, that might keep the other vultures from bothering you and your family."

  "I could choose . . . We could choose to keep our mouths shut and not say anything to anyone. Ever."

  "Yes, of course. That's totally your right. But for weeks or months or even years, people will be hounding you for an interview. I'm sorry to tell you that Jared's story is only gonna get bigger."

  As if surrendering against his will, Mr. Smith asked, "What exactly do you want to talk about?"

  "Well, your son. The alleged demonic possession and his death during an exorcism."

  "What in the hell makes you think that I owe you or anyone else information about Jared?"

  "If you talk, then there's not much more any other investigator would hope to gain. Your story—Jared's story—will have already been told. Once and for all."

  Mr. Smith rubbed a finger along his temple as he glanced at the house. "Fine. I'll meet with you. I'm not making any promises. But I'll meet with you and that will be the only time I'll discuss anything related to Jared's case."

  Reining in his excitement, Lou said, "Great. Thank you, Mr. Smith." He handed the gentleman his business card. "I can meet with you this evening or tomorrow. Whatever works best for you."

  Glancing at the card, Mr. Smith cocked his head. "Paranormal investigator right on the card, huh? Look, after tomorrow my family and I won't be coming back to Newman for a very long time. If you don't hear from me this evening, I'll call you tomorrow morning."

  "Fine. Thank you, Mr. Smith. We really appreciate it."

  Mr. Smith turned toward the house. "Please leave. If I see you bothering any guests for the memorial, I'll call the police and you'll never hear Jared's story from me or anyone in my family."

  * * *

  They had decided to eat lunch at Charlie's Diner. Adam didn't mind because he could eat his favorite chicken tenders every day of the week. What he hadn't expected—and Conner and Trevor probably hadn't expected it either—was several friends from school to be there as well. Adam nearly suggested another restaurant when they'd walked through the door.

  His head was swirling with images of Jared's blood-smeared face and the man at Lake Bantam. He'd hadn't thought about what had happened until Conner mentioned it. Now he was thinking about the goat as well. The damned dark-brown goat with black on its muzzle and the long horns that curved at a steep angle.

  Bringing up the camping trip at Charlie's Diner wouldn't be a smart decision. Trevor didn't want to talk about it yet. And any discussion about Jared should take place without the possibility of being swarmed by friends from school, which is exactly what happened as soon as they sat at a booth.

  Zach and Eric strutted to the table, each with a smirk that could have carried a soda on one end and a side of fries on the other. Pushing the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows, Zach said, "I got a message from a ghost hunter."

  "How'd they get your number?" Conner asked.

  "No. On Twitter." He tipped his head toward Eric. "Both of us, actually. What about you guys?"

  Adam stared at his menu, the words blurring behind the lamination. He was still pissed at Zach for leaking his secret about Lisa Reynolds. Now he wondered if Zach had blabbed about it to others.

  "Yeah, we did," Trevor said. "But not on Twitter."

  "This shit is blowing up," Eric said to Zach. Then he exhaled a hoot. "Man, this is getting crazy."

  "This isn't funny," Conner said. "And it's not entertaining either."

  Eric appeared embarrassed. "Well, no, it's not entertaining, but it's interesting."

  "Whatever," Conner huffed. "If it's true about Jared, he had
no control over it. Like, would you make fun of someone if they had cancer or something?"

  "Hey, I'm not a dick, man."

  "You're being a dick right now," Trevor said and then stood. He looked at Adam and Conner. "Let's go. We can eat at my house."

  "What's your problem?" Zach asked as Trevor nudged him out of the way. "You weren't even friends with Jared anymore. Why do you guys even care what people are saying about him?"

  "Because he was our friend, you dumbass."

  "Jeez, pretty hostile," Eric muttered. "Maybe the devil gotcha, and now you need an exorcism too."

  Trevor pressed his palms against Eric's chest with a thump. "Screw you."

  When Eric moved forward like he was going to retaliate, Adam and Conner jumped from their seats.

  A waitress stepped up and said, "Nope. Not in here. Sit down or get out."

  "Sorry," Trevor said to the woman. "We're leaving."

  Adam and Conner followed Trevor out to the parking lot, where Trevor stopped and spun around.

  "Let's get our stories straight," he said, "before any of us do the interview with Lou and Dave."

  "What do you mean?" Adam asked. "Tell the exact same story?"

  "No. I mean, if one of us is going to talk about the camping trip, then we should all talk about it." Cleary frustrated, he started walking to his car. "But we're not going to talk about that here."

  Adam slid onto the back seat. "Do you think it was our fault?"

  Driving out of the parking lot, Trevor glanced at Adam in the rearview mirror but said nothing. Adam knew Trevor was fuming and decided not to push it by asking more questions or saying anything until Trevor was ready to talk.

  A moment later, Conner mumbled, "If it wasn't Jared, it could have been one us instead."

  TWELVE

  Other than Lou, the hotel's lobby was void of guests when Stella pranced through the revolving door. The instant she spotted Lou seated against a wall, her smile stretched to such a degree that he wanted to verbally express his bitterness. However, he couldn't risk the possibility that she'd turn on her stiletto heels and leave him without a vital piece of the Jared Smith story. He needed the priest's account of events just as much as she needed Mr. Smith's personal statement about the case.

  "Well, a woman doesn't smile like that," he said, "unless she has something good to share."

  Standing before him, she replied, "Better than good. I have Father O'Leary's commitment to a sit-down interview on Tuesday."

  "I knew you'd get it."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, did you?"

  "Of course." He rose to his feet and grabbed his cell from the side table. "A few minutes ago, I got off the phone with Mr. Smith. He agreed to an interview tonight."

  "Fantastic, Lou." She glanced around the lobby. "I'm not sure the front desk of a hotel is the best place to discuss our work. Should we go somewhere a little more private?"

  "Such as?"

  "There's a coffeehouse down the street. Let's take a stroll."

  "My car's right out front."

  "Mine is too," she said as she walked toward the entrance. "C'mon, Lou. The fresh air will do you some good."

  Outside, he buttoned his coat and then pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket. "What direction are we headed?"

  Lou and Stella settled at a small wooden table in a secluded corner of the coffeehouse. He sipped his nearly black coffee as she shrugged off her black puffer coat.

  He asked, "Think we're gonna pull off this pilot episode?"

  She nibbled on a piece of cinnamon scone. "Are you interested in this just because of what it could mean for your pilot?"

  "No. Sorry if I've given you that impression."

  "You have."

  "I wanna know Jared Smith's story. I wanna know what happened and how much truth is layered within the fabrications." He straightened his posture and dipped a chocolate-covered madeleine into his coffee. "But I can't ignore what this could mean for my production deal."

  "All right. I understand. I don't mean to give you a hard time."

  He leaned forward, grinning. "Your involvement with the pilot means good things for you as well."

  "True."

  Bored by Stella's attempt at chitchat, Lou scanned the crowd of young couples, teenagers in small groups, and a few older folks on laptops. He inhaled the strong aroma of coffee grounds and sweet pastries, then he cut to the chase. "So, this Father O'Leary, what did he tell you?"

  "Basically, he flat-out told me that Jared Smith was possessed by a demon. He'd gotten involved when Mr. Smith reached out to him to counsel Jared. At first, he suspected Jared was only experiencing the usual bouts of teenage rebellion and maybe even some psychological issue."

  "What convinced him?"

  "Initially, it was Jared speaking to him in French. He also claims objects and furniture moved on their own. There were random cold spots, but mainly in Jared's room. The smell of sulfur traveled around the house. He heard the sound of pigs on several occasions. And Father O'Leary swears Jared levitated more than once."

  "No speaking in Latin, head-spinning, or pea-soup vomit?"

  Stella chuckled. "No. He said Jared would scratch lines and words into his skin until he bled. He urinated in his room. And he spoke Spanish and French, not Latin."

  "Huh? Spanish and French?"

  "Apparently so. Maybe Father O'Leary will give a lot more details during the interview. But all the expected possession details like the speaking in Latin, and the mention of demon names, and claiming to be Hitler or Beelzebub—none of that happened."

  "Hmm. Not speaking in Latin is disappointing. Spanish and French are too common."

  "Father O'Leary alluded to other supernatural events, but I guess we'll have to wait till Tuesday."

  Lou licked the chocolate off his thumb and reclined in the chair. "If we're lucky, Mr. Smith will give us some information that might influence the priest to be more forthcoming."

  "Perhaps." Chin in hand, she nibbled on the scone again. "How did your talk with Jared's friends go?"

  "Good. I think they can help us form a better picture of who Jared was. Once they finally relaxed and trusted me, they seemed more eager to talk. But"—he gingerly shook his head—I think there's something they're reluctant to discuss."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I don't know. A hunch."

  "Well, their friend died during an exorcism. That would be pretty difficult for anyone to believe. Plus, Jared only died a week ago. It's possible they never experienced the death of someone close to them."

  He dipped the second, and last, madeleine into his coffee. "We'll find out tomorrow."

  * * *

  Trevor's mother, Diedre walked into the house with a grocery bag in one arm and a black Coach tote purse in her other hand. When she saw Trevor and his friends lounging in the living room, she exclaimed, "Fantastic! Go use your muscles and help me unload the car."

  "Sure thing, Mrs. Helms," Conner said. He quickly typed a text to Hailey—r u okay?—and then followed his friends out the front door.

  He carried a Whole Foods bag into the kitchen and set it onto the counter. Trevor and Adam did the same, the three lingering as Mrs. Helms pulled food from the bags.

  "How long have you guys been home?" She passed Conner, her perfume trailing behind her.

  He'd asked her once what the spicy fragrance was, and she'd replied in her sophisticated manner, "Indecense by Givenchy." Ever since, whenever he smelled a similar scent, he immediately thought of Mrs. Helms.

  "Couple hours," Trevor said as he tore open a bag of nacho chips. "We ate lunch and been hanging."

  "And how was last night?"

  Mrs. Helms was an intelligent woman. Conner had always thought so. And she was a paralegal. He suspected she might already know about the night at Adam's. In the past, she'd employed the trick of hinting, which usually prompted Trevor to confess a mistake or secret.

  "Ah, you know," Trevor said, "It was fine."

  "
What did you guys do? Anything fun?"

  The boys exchanged sly glances.

  She stopped at the refrigerator and eyed each of them. "What's up? What was that look for?"

  "What look?" Trevor asked.

  "Hmm. So, what fun did you guys get into last night?"

  Trevor leaned against the counter, resting his elbows on its surface. "We hung out with Miguel and Hailey and Jasmine. And Levi and Kayla were there too."

  Trevor paused, whether for suspense or not, Conner wasn't sure. Then, rocking on his heels, Trevor sighed. "Well, we had a few beers, and then Adam's parents came home early and caught Adam and Conner having sex upstairs."

  Her eyes widened. "What?! Adam and Conner got caught having sex?" She laughed.

  "No!" Adam nearly shouted. "Not with each other."

  Raising his eyebrows, Trevor smirked at his buddies.

  "Not that I would care," Mrs. Helms said, searching a grocery bag, "but that would be a surprise, for sure. But you'd make a good couple." She perfectly aligned bottles of juice onto a fridge shelf, then turned. "So drinking alcohol, huh?"

  "I know, Ma," Trevor moaned. "We're underage."

  "True. But first, let me say, I'm glad you didn't drive home. But you're also eighteen years old now. I'm sure there'll be plenty of beers next year at college. I don't really approve, but . . . you've got to make smart choices, Trevor. All three of you, actually."

  "We know."

  She looked at Conner and Adam. "I hope the girls didn't give in to your sexual advances because they were under the influence."

  "What?" Mildly offended, Conner responded, "We didn't get girls drunk and take advantage of them."

  "I didn't think either of you would do that. But I still had to make a point." She folded a Whole Foods reusable bag. "What happened at the funeral?"

  "His dad didn't want us there," Trevor replied as he gave Adam the nacho chips. "So we left."

  "Really? I'd think that he'd appreciate having you guys there."

  "Ma. His parents don't want anyone to know what happened."

  "Oh, Trevor. You're not talking about—"

  "His sister told us it was true."

  "What? She did not."

  "Yes, she did."

  "That's nonsense."