Conner's phone chimed, and he glanced at Hailey's message: I'm fine, thanks. How are you doing?
While Trevor and his mother continued their discussion, Conner seated himself at the breakfast nook and responded to the text.
I'm ok. R u going to avoid me now?
Adam munched on chips and watched Mrs. Helms and Trevor carry on about possession and exorcism. When Trevor mentioned Lou and Dave, she reacted with clear disapproval.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?" Trevor asked.
"Why the hell would you want to participate in something like that? That's something that'll follow you around for years and years."
"Jared's dad is going to talk to Lou."
"What? Who told you that?"
"Lou."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. It's probably not even true."
No, I'm fine. I'm not going to avoid you. Promise.
ok good. Maybe I'll see u later or tomorrow
(smiley face)
Mrs. Helms called out Conner's name, and he jerked his head up. "Uh. What?"
"You're going to do this interview too?"
"Yeah." He set his phone onto the table and focused his attention on her. "We want to tell him all the good things about Jared."
With the slight tilt of her head, she appeared to be gathering her thoughts. "You guys are eighteen. I already expressed my opinion. So, go do your interviews, but if it's a mistake, hopefully you learn a valuable lesson from it."
Once she'd made it clear the subject had run its course, the boys made small talk as they helped her put away the rest of the groceries. She invited Adam and Conner to stay for dinner, but both said they were expected at home. As she was about to walk out of the kitchen, she said, "When you do your interview, just be honest and respectful. Short and sweet. Get it over with then leave."
She said the last sentence as though Lou posed some unimagined danger. As though sitting down for an interview would open a door that should remain closed. Then Conner understood that he was projecting his own thoughts onto her words. It was he who wondered if sharing with Lou might somehow steer them down a road they didn't want to travel. The road that led to Lake Bantam.
"Should probably get going," he said.
Adam agreed and folded the bag of chips closed.
"All right," Trevor said as he grabbed his keys. "Let's hit the road."
It was only a five-minute drive, which wasn't a lot of time for an in-depth conversation. As soon as they pulled out of the driveway, Conner said, "We should talk about what we're going to tell Lou about the camping trip."
Trevor groaned. "Fine."
Adam nestled himself between the two front seats. "We're gonna tell him everything?"
"I think we should," Conner said. "It might explain a lot."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Conner asked Trevor, "Don't you think?"
"Uh, huh. I just feel weird about the whole thing." He took a deep breath. "And a little guilty."
"Me too."
Slouching in the back seat, Adam muttered, "Me, three."
"We shouldn't feel guilty, though," Conner said. "It wasn't our fault. We didn't cause anything to happen. I mean, it's possible Lake Bantam has nothing to do with it."
Trevor continued to look straight ahead. "We all know it did."
Recalling the man, the goat, and Jared's disappearance during the night, Conner admitted to himself that everything pointed to their trip to the lake. As difficult as it was to believe, Jared's nightmare likely started on that sweltering June night when the cicadas had seemed to scream.
* * *
"Let me assure you that I have no intention of sensationalizing the plight that my son suffered," Mr. Smith said as soon as he sat. He cast his eyes from one side of the hotel suite to the other. "Yet I'm willing to discuss the matter because I don't want my wife and daughter to endure an onslaught of curiosity seekers."
"I don't wanna sensationalize your son's story. I'm seeking the truth. I can present Jared's case to the extent that no other person will bother you with requests for details. For both our sakes, I'd like my investigation to be the first and the last."
"It will be."
Lou shifted his weight in the armchair and set a notebook onto the table. "I have a list of questions, but we can just talk if you'd prefer."
"What exactly do you hope to accomplish with Jared's story?"
"In my work, I seek the truth of extraordinary circumstances. I seriously consider what someone is going through. Especially since I'm usually the last resort for a lot of people."
"And these people asking for your expertise, they feel comfortable telling you wild stories to put their mind at ease?"
"Sometimes I'm the only person who will listen to them. Because I wanna help but also give them the reassurance that they're not crazy."
"How often do you encounter people who lie and try to fool you?"
"There are a lot of people who think their house is haunted. So I go and find the old pipes, old wood framing, and such. Then I explain that there's nothing strange and ghostly taking place in their home."
Lou gestured to the kitchenette. "Would you like some coffee?"
Mr. Smith followed Lou to the breakfast bar. "Yes, coffee please."
Grabbing mugs from the cabinet, Lou continued, "I've had a few people try to pass off a hoax as the real thing. People who think they can concoct a story they can sell to a publisher or a movie producer."
"And the real cases?"
"I've witnessed a lot of ghostly activity. From minor orbs of light to more major incidents like objects thrown across a room." He fixed his eyes on Mr. Smith. "Once, I was knocked to the floor by a shadow entity that had been attacking a family in Rhode Island."
He set the full mugs of coffee onto the bar, then sat on a stool. "What about you? Have you experienced any of those things?"
Mr. Smith seated himself at the bar and poured creamer into his mug. He seemed to contemplate what he wanted to say, then he simply said, "Yes."
"Are you willing to share your story with me?"
Avoiding eye contact, Mr. Smith nodded and then sipped the coffee.
Lou retrieved the digital recorder from the living area. Placing it onto the bar, he said, "All right. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
Lou pressed record. "I'm conducting an interview with Mr. Graham Smith in Newman, Connecticut, on Saturday, November seventeenth, two thousand and eighteen."
He focused on the somber-looking man next to him. "Okay, Mr. Smith. In your own words, what will we be discussing this evening?"
Mr. Smith rubbed at the corners of his eyes and let out a stream of air. "My son, Jared. And his possession and death by a demon."
A drawn-out pause lingered before Mr. Smith resumed speaking. As he pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his trench coat, he said, "Jared was a fine boy. My wife and I had no problems with him. He was polite and friendly. Popular at school. Athletic. He had good grades." He chuckled. "He hated algebra, though. Didn't understand why he had to learn something he didn't think he'd use as an adult."
Lou smiled. "I said the same thing when I was in school."
"As an architect, I use algebra in my work. Whenever I reminded him of that fact, he'd look at me like I was trying to trick him into taking algebra seriously."
He tilted his phone's screen and showed Lou a photo of Jared, smiling wide for the camera at some outdoor event. "I think this was the last truly happy day I remember. About six months ago. My firm had a charity softball game, and he'd agreed to play for the team. It was a fun time."
Lou leaned a bit closer, gazing at the photo. "Good-looking kid."
"Yes, he was. Thanks."
"And you think he changed soon after this charity game?"
"Yes. I can't pinpoint the exact day. But it was soon after."
"Anything going on around that time that you remember? A bad experience at school? A run-in with some punk?"
"No. My wife and I discussed it many times. We tried really hard to make sense of it all. Tried to understand what might have happened to our son. But we never came to any conclusion that we both agreed on. He finished his junior year of high school. He had the whole summer to enjoy before senior year."
"But things changed during the summer?"
"Yes. Pretty early on, I'd say. He progressively got worse as the weeks passed."
"Did he meet a shady character? Maybe a new friend he shouldn't have been hanging out with?"
"No. He had a close group of friends. They were always together."
"A tight-knit group, huh? And who were those friends?"
"Adam, Conner, and Trevor. It was always the four of them."
Lou nearly revealed that he'd spoken to the friends, but he thought it might not be the best time. "What about his friends? Did any of them say anything at all that made you reevaluate what was going on with your son?"
"No. When the school year ended, they hung out every day. They went on a camping trip. He and his friends helped with the renovation of the backyard." He brought the coffee mug to his lips. "But he'd become aggressive and moody. And his friends started to pull away. Not that I blame them. Some days were pretty bad."
"Hmm. Whatever happened to through thick and thin?"
"Honestly, I think Jared pushed them away more than they pulled away from him. They wouldn't just abandon him. Unless, I don't know, there was a big fight or something. But I never asked any of them."
"Maybe you should have."
"More than anything, I suspected a psychological issue."
"His friends might have provided some insight."
"Maybe."
Lou swiveled the stool slightly and faced Mr. Smith. "I briefly talked to Jared's friends."
"Who?"
"I spoke to the three you mentioned and a fourth, Levi."
"What did they tell you?"
"Not much. I haven't formally interviewed them yet. I'm sitting down with them one-on-one tomorrow." Lou carried his mug to the coffee maker. "Would you like a refill?"
Mr. Smith slid his nearly empty mug across the bar. "Yes, please." He stood and gripped the edge of the bar as though he needed it for support. "Maybe they can tell you something I don't know. And maybe Levi will tell you something I was too afraid to ask."
Lou returned with the two mugs and a plate of assorted cookies. "I snatched these from reception before the other guests ate them all." He sat and picked up a peanut butter cookie. "What is it that you hope Levi might tell me?"
"Um, well." Taking a deep breath, Mr. Smith slackened his grip on the bar and then reached for his coffee. "I think he and Jared were more than friends."
The assumption surprised Lou, but he suppressed any reaction. "Was Jared gay?"
Mr. Smith shrugged. "He'd had four or five girlfriends during high school. But I observed some very close behavior between the two. And I thought it would be better for Jared to come out to his mother and me, instead of confronting him with a question about his sexuality."
"Having met Levi, I didn't even think he was gay. Are you sure?"
"Oh, Levi's gay. He came out a couple years ago." He reached for a cookie but set it next to his coffee. "I don't know for sure if Jared was gay or not. It's hard to tell these days. Kids are more touchy-feely in 2018. Bromance and everything. I have no clue."
"I don't either. I'm not even sure what a bromance is."
They both laughed, which seemed to relax Mr. Smith.
"Well, gay or not, that was the least of our problems with Jared."
THIRTEEN
Initially, Jared's parents recognized that their son seemed short-fused. Minor mishaps or simple disagreements set him off. Without much warning, his moods swung like a pendulum from his normal, happy self to a disgruntled young man and then suddenly back to his cheerful disposition. It wasn't until Jared called his sister a "fucking bitch" that Mr. Smith confronted his son.
"Don't you ever call your sister that again," he'd warned. "Do you understand me?"
"Uh, huh."
"What the hell is going on with you? Is there something that you need to talk about?"
"No, I don't need to talk about anything. Actually, I don't wanna talk at all." Then Jared stomped up the stairs to his room.
*
Jared returned home after hanging out all day with his friends. He'd appeared exhausted but happy. Later than night, Mr. Smith discovered his son digging a decent-sized hole with his hands in the backyard.
"What are you doing?"
Jared scanned the yard as if searching for something. Quickly wiping his hands on his jeans, Jared stood. "Nothing."
"We're about to redo the landscaping back here. We don't need more issues to fix." In the dim light of the warm evening, he noticed tears in Jared's eyes. "Why are you digging in the yard anyway?"
"I just did it. It's not a big deal." He kicked the loose soil back into the hole. "See? Problem solved."
As Jared walked away, Mr. Smith shouted, "Hey! Are you upset about something?"
"No, Dad. I'm not upset. I'm going to bed."
"Jared!" He called out, but his son continued toward the house without looking back or uttering a single syllable.
*
Leah yelled from the sofa, "Dad!"
Mr. Smith strolled into the living room with a partially eaten apple turnover in his hand. "What? I'm busy eating my snack," he teased.
"Shh. Listen."
"Listen to what?" Mr. Smith stepped farther into the room and stationed himself next to the coffee table. He trained his ear to the silence. Nothing. Then he heard it. The scurrying of little rodent feet.
"Is that a mouse?" He scanned the dark-mahogany hardwood flooring. The sound traveled from a corner to his left, along the far wall, then stopped near the fireplace. "Dammit. Don't tell me we have mice in the house."
"Ew. Dad. Find it and get it out of here!" Leah screamed as she ran out of the room.
Yet he found no mouse that night. Nor the next evening when the sound returned. Eventually the sound of scampering feet relocated to the foyer, then the stairs, and then the hallway on the second floor, increasing in volume and intensity as if the invisible mouse had grown to the size of medium-sized dog. A few nights later the sound returned one last time, and then they never heard it in the house again.
* * *
"Do you mention the mice," Lou asked, "because it was the first incident that seemed supernatural?"
"Yes. The strange things that occurred afterward led me to believe that the rodent noise was the first supernatural occurrence in the house. There's no other way to explain it."
"The noise never came back?"
"No."
"Did you hear other noises in the house?"
"Yes. Thumps and banging. And then later on there was"—he paused and cleared his throat—um, there were other noises."
* * *
Mr. Smith arrived home in the afternoon, intending to walk out onto the patio and check out the fence work by Jared and Adam. In the kitchen, he found Jared seated at the breakfast nook with his hand laid out in a pool of blood on the table.
"What the hell happened?"
Jared seemed dazed, his face and hair damp. "Um . . . huh?"
"Your hand. Why didn't you call me or your mother? You should have gone to the hospital." Mr. Smith peered out the window to the backyard. "Where's Adam?"
"Oh. His mom wanted him at home."
"You're going to need stitches." He pulled Jared to standing. "What did you cut yourself on?"
"A nail in the fence."
Mr. Smith shook his head. "Seriously, Jared? Use your brain. You need stitches and probably a tetanus shot."
Oblivious to the severity of his wound, Jared stared at the open laceration as if registering it for the first time.
Wrapping a kitchen towel around Jared's hand, Mr. Smith led his son out to his car and drove straight to the hospital.
*
Fol
lowing dinner one evening, Jared suddenly appeared pale and sickly. When his mother asked if he was all right, he replied that he was. But when his father touched his son's arm, it was cold as ice even though he seemed to be sweating. Fearful that Jared was sick with a raging cold, he escorted Jared upstairs to his bedroom.
"You should take a hot shower," Mr. Smith said. "It'll warm your body, and you can sweat out some of the virus."
"I'm too tired."
"Just a quick shower. It will do you some good."
Yet Jared remained seated on the edge of the bed, making no effort to walk to the adjoining bathroom.
Mr. Smith worried that Jared's apparent inability to concentrate might be the result of a high fever. He tugged his son to his feet. "C'mon. I'll help you."
In the bathroom, he turned on the shower and then instructed Jared to get undressed, but his son stood stationary as though he had no clue what to do.
"Honestly, Jared. Did you forget how to take your clothes off?"
Still unmoving, Jared lifted his arms as if signaling his father to pull the T-shirt over his head.
Mr. Smith helped his son undress and then guided him to the shower like he used to do when Jared was a little boy. "All right, son. Get in. You don't even have to wash. Just stand under the water for a little bit. You'll feel better if you do."
"I need to piss."
"Okay, well, pee first or just go in the shower."
Gripping his penis, Jared released a heavy stream of urine onto the tile floor.
"Dammit, Jared! What the—I'm sorry. You're sick, buddy. You're not yourself. I'm sorry. Don't worry about it. I'll clean it up. Just get in the shower, okay?"
While Jared sat under the jet of water, Mr. Smith pulled a towel out of the hamper to clean the floor. He heard Jared giggle.
"Are you all right in there?" he called out.
The giggling suddenly stopped.
A few minutes later, Mr. Smith dried his son's body and then ushered him to the bed. After placing Jared under the comforter, he sat on the edge of the bed, brushing the hair from Jared's forehead to check for a fever. He promised to check on him every couple of hours through the night. If Jared worsened, he'd rush his son to the hospital.
Once he was certain that Jared had fallen asleep, he quietly crossed the room. Before he closed the door, he could have sworn he heard Jared mumble something to the effect of: "I can see him in the fire."
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