"I've heard you talk about court cases, Ma. And you always say that a successful court case has all the valuable evidence, plus extra details for good measure. That's what we're doing with Lou."
"You're right," she said. "I'm sorry. Maybe because I don't know this Lou guy, I'm simply being overcautious."
Trevor chuckled. "You just don't trust people."
She acknowledged the statement with a knowing look and a tilt of her head. "Well, there's that too."
His father rubbed her arm. "I'm going to shower and get ready for bed, sweetheart."
"I'll be up in a minute." She looked at Trevor as though she had one last parting word of advice. Instead, she stood and said, "Good night, honey."
"'Night, Ma."
Alone in the living room, he wiggled more comfortably on the sofa and then turned the TV on.
* * *
Hailey entered the sitting room where her father always stationed himself to read The Washington Post and The New York Times. He read both papers every day of the week. In the morning, he leafed through the pages, reading about politics, sports, and worldly affairs. In the evening, he'd relax in the sitting room once again to revisit the articles that had ensnared his interest.
The lampshade on the side table cast light onto his face in vertical stripes. She sat on the matching accent chair opposite the side table. It was then that she noticed how fatigued her father appeared, his skin worn thin and creased like antique parchment paper. Yet she didn't consider him an old man. He was only a few years shy of fifty. Still, it wouldn't be unreasonable for a stranger to assume he was in his early fifties.
He gently tapped the bridge of his reading glasses, letting them rest slightly lower on the narrow of his nose. "Yes, dear? Can I help you with something?"
"I'd like to talk to you about Conner."
"Hailey." He sighed as he rested the newspaper on his lap. "There's no need for us to have a conversation about—"
"But I need to."
He inhaled deeply with his eyes raised to the ceiling. Whether he was forming a well-worded objection or considering surrendering to her request, she wasn't sure.
"Dad. I only have a few things I'd like to say. Hopefully, we can come to a mutual understanding, then that will be the end of it."
"All right. What about Conner?"
"Well first, he didn't take my virginity. That was a white lie I let you believe."
"Why on earth would you—"
"When I said it, I was really tired of being treated like a young girl instead of an eighteen-year-old young woman."
"You wanted me to believe a lie, knowing full well how I'd react?"
"I'm sorry."
"You wanted me to be angry?" he asked. "You wanted to hurt me, is that it?"
"No, I just—"
"Because lying to me isn't the best way to prove how grown-up you are."
"Dad, you're undermining my motivation."
He folded the paper and set it aside as though it was a delicate artifact. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees.
"I wanted you to take me seriously."
He asked, "What is it that I don't understand?"
"I'm not a little girl anymore. I make my own choices. I have the right to make mistakes without it clouding your judgement of me. I am entitled to an adult conversation. I deserve to be trusted."
"Oh. Now I see." The tightness of his expression weakened. "This isn't only about you. Or Conner. This is also about Jared Smith."
"Yes. I should be able to come to you for anything. When I wanted to talk about Jared, you put up a wall. You and Mom both, actually. And that's not fair."
"What happened to Jared Smith was a terrible, evil thing. It's best to let something like that remain unspoken. Why would you want to give power to it by talking about it?"
Sighing with mild frustration, she stared at a framed family portrait on the wall. "You can try to shelter me from evil in the world, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist."
Her father's pause lingered longer than she'd expected. Finally, he said, "You're right. I apologize."
Focused on him again, she smiled. "Thank you."
"Is that it? Is there more you'd like to discuss?"
"That's it," she said, rising to her feet. "But . . . if Conner, Trevor, and Adam need my help getting through this, I'm going to help. So, don't think the worst of Conner. Or me. Trust me."
"I will trust you."
When Hailey left the sitting room, a genuine sense of satisfaction flowered within her. It was as if she'd planted a seed that suddenly sprouted and blossomed into gloriously colored, silky petals. But she was no fool. Her father's more mature treatment of her would not magically occur overnight. Still, the personal gratification she felt as she walked out of the sitting room was empowering nonetheless.
* * *
As Lou drove back to his hotel, thinking of the next day's interview with Father O'Leary, it occurred to him that he no longer despised Stella. He actually admired her, which in turn persuaded him to consider her a friend. She was ruthless when she needed to be—mostly when it concerned her investigative work—and he couldn't fault her for that. But she had a soft spot, a kind-hearted nature that she'd exposed when dealing with the boys earlier in the evening. He imagined that she'd extend the same kindness when working on the pilot episode with him and Dave.
He was eager to hear Father O'Leary's story. Yet an anxious energy pulsated within him. And he wasn't sure why. On several occasions, he'd conducted important interviews with forthcoming witnesses. Father O'Leary wouldn't be the last. But the anticipation of what Lou might hear was almost too much to bear. The significance of the Father's words could make or break the production deal.
Underneath the underlying anxiety, Lou realized that it wasn't the interview itself he feared, but that Father O'Leary might not divulge anything exciting at all.
TWENTY-THREE
Conner awakened with a trace of a smile. Then his stirring happiness recoiled at the thought of the priest's interview. How could he possibly look forward to something with such a macabre undertone? While he hoped the priest would share vital information on what had happened to Jared, the details he could share—whether minor or revelatory—would still add to the collateral damage of their deteriorated friendship with Jared. Any conclusion that could be drawn wouldn't change the events of the last six months.
A light rain pelted the narrow overhang of roof above Conner's bedroom window. The morning sunlight did little to illuminate his room, only revealing the silvery, gray haze of light that matched his dull mood. Outside, a thick fog hung in the air like swollen, frayed cotton seeping through the tree branches. Across the street, Adam's house appeared as blurred outlines of window frames, angular roof edges, and door trim, the white of the house swallowed by the murky weather.
He envisioned the Smiths' house enveloped by the fog, concealing the façade of a home that had recently acquired a sinister character of its own. Its empty rooms now gutted of life. The cold, bare hardwood floors slick with the polish of exposed family secrets. And the abandoned bed in Jared's room, the only remaining fossil of Jared's existence on Cottage Drive.
Yet there was one final secret left to be revealed. The etching on the floor of Jared's bedroom. What message, if any, awaited to be found?
He glanced at his phone. It was twenty after eight. Lou and Stella were interviewing the priest at nine o'clock.
* * *
Adam arrived soon after Conner had finished eating breakfast. The two sat in the kitchen, each with a cup of coffee. Conner could sense it in himself, the low voltage undercurrent between them, and Adam's slackened posture. Conner didn't want to breathe life into the thoughts that dominated his mind, and it seemed Adam didn't either. A knowing glance between the two was all that was needed.
At nearly nine thirty, Trevor walked through the front door. His coat draped over one arm, he shuddered. "Chilly and foggy. The drive over was a bitch. I bet it snows."
>
Seating himself at the kitchen table, he asked, "You haven't heard anything?"
Conner shook his head.
"How long do you think the interview will take?"
"No idea. Two hours, maybe. Three?"
"And the guy with the key is meeting us at Jared's house at two?"
Jared's house. The words weighed heavily like waterlogged towels hung to drip-dry. "Yeah. Two o'clock."
With a healthy inhale, Adam sat upright. "What should we do until we hear from Lou?"
Conner responded with a shrug, but Trevor jumped to his feet. "We can go downstairs and workout. No basketball and no gym class all week. We can't get lazy and soft."
Upstairs, the three rifled through Conner's dresser for shorts and T-shirts. Then they headed to the basement to lift weights.
* * *
Lou and Stella had decided the best course of action was to let Father O'Leary tell his story from start to finish. If they allowed him to speak without distraction or interruption, he'd likely share a more fully formed story. Whenever needed, they'd press him to continue or steer his narrative back on track.
Father O'Leary had walked into Stella's suite with a cheerful smile and a composition book that documented his time with Jared. As he recited the details of his experience, he periodically glanced at the pages but only briefly as if to be certain that no detail was omitted during his recollection.
He delivered the comprehensive narrative with measured discipline and authority. His story of Jared unfolded like a novel, in three acts: the initial counseling, the possession, and then the exorcism.
Because it was Lou's first investigation involving genuine demonic possession, he listened closely to the priest's account. Once the topic of possession was introduced, he listened with swelling intrigue. When Father O'Leary finally detailed the ten days of exorcism, Lou consumed the priest's words with dread and fascination, then with awe and horror.
Dave and Walter had each set up cameras to document the interview. Aside from filming at the Smiths' house, the two were confident that they had all the footage needed to construct a riveting pilot episode. At the conclusion of Father O'Leary's interview, the two men immediately sat side by side and planned their work.
Lou firmly shook the priest's hand. "Thank you so much for your time and candor. This was an extraordinary opportunity for all of us to hear your story and the details of Jared's possession."
"Yes, thank you," Stella echoed. "It was a fascinating story that you shared with us. I can't express how valuable your participation is to us."
Smiling faintly, Father O'Leary replied, "I was reluctant to talk, but it was the decision of the church that persuaded me. And Mr. Smith's permission afforded me the opportunity to share Jared's experience with you. It's the hope of all of us that his tribulation and death will provide enlightenment."
"I think it will," said Lou.
Stella held Father O'Leary's coat as he slipped his arms through the sleeves. She said, "Like you, we deal with subjects that not everyone believes in. But we present the truth to the best of our ability."
"Faith," the father said, "is not only how we live life, but how we view the world. Sometimes people find it difficult to grasp absolute truth. But without truth, faith is a well that runs dry."
Lou nodded as though he agreed, but he needed more time to mentally replay Father O'Leary's words to determine if he understood the message. "Before you go," he said, "would you mind giving us your thoughts on what happened at the school yesterday?"
"I've been told that the school has been inspected for a variety of possible sources of the outbreak. I believe an additional inspection is taking place today as well."
"A mandatory checklist of possibilities, I assume."
"I'm inclined to believe they won't discover the source."
Stella said, "Lou and I think it was mass hysteria brought on by the rumors."
Father O'Leary appeared to bite his tongue before speaking. Then he replied, "Pareidolia. I think the talk of the devil was so intense that the fear was ingrained in the kids' minds. All it took was for one kid to react to that fear, then the next reacted to the first and so on. All based on the fear that the devil was close."
Lou scratched at his lower lip. "You don't believe something was truly there?"
"No. The kids said they saw the devil. If they'd said the name of the demon that possessed Jared, that would be cause for concern." He wrapped a scarlet scarf around his neck and tightened the strap of his black, double-breasted long coat. "The young are more resilient than most adults. Soon enough, yesterday's incident will be but a memory."
"What about Adam, Conner, and Trevor?" Lou asked.
"This is your investigation," the Father said. "I trust you to make your own judgment about that. If you and Stella would like my assistance, I'd be more than happy to help. Just let me know."
Lou's shoulders raised with an intake of breath that he held. I don't know how they're gonna handle it. Then he exhaled with a nod. "I think we'll be reaching out to you."
"Like I said, just let me know."
"Thanks again," Stella said. "We'll be in touch. And please feel free to contact us if needed."
"I will." Father O'Leary offered a parting smile and turned toward the door. "Enjoy your Thanksgiving."
"Thank you. Same to you."
Lou grabbed his coat. "I'll walk you down."
Father O'Leary flicked his hand in parting at Walter and Dave. "Take care. Enjoy your holidays. God bless."
After wishing Father O'Leary well, Lou strolled through the parking lot as he smoked. He reflected on Father O'Leary's freakish story. The evaluation of a depressed and angry teenaged boy. The banging on the floor of the bedroom as if something beneath the floorboards wanted to communicate—or escape. The cold spots in the house that felt like stepping into a walk-in freezer. The scent of sulfur that traveled from one area of the house to another. The sound of squealing pigs that seemed to be more of a scare tactic. All the introductory details that would certainly entice the interest of a paranormal show viewer.
The additional details were slightly more unsavory, however. The wounds Jared suffered when he scratched words into his skin. The slaps and punches he endured by unseen forces. The shadowy figure that stood in the corner. The deep voice speaking French and Spanish to convey information or to make threats. The demon's taunts that he'd soon walk the earth again. Its promise to torment Adam, Conner, and Trevor.
Back in Stella's suite, Lou eagerly peered over Dave's and Walter's shoulders at their work in progress. On film, Father O'Leary appeared distinguished, and he sounded honorable as he spoke. His presence would only amplify the pilot episode's integrity.
"Looks good," Lou said.
"Better than good," Dave replied. "Honest. We've got great stuff to work with. And with the footage at the house later today . . . the network will be tripping over themselves to sign us."
Lou jutted a thumbs-up between the two and then joined Stella in the sitting area. "What do you think?"
"It's a horrible and heartbreaking story."
He lowered his chin. "What should we do about the boys?"
"Obviously, we need to tell them the details of Father O'Leary's interview."
"I was thinking we should show them some of the footage. Let them hear the priest's words for themselves."
She clasped her hands and fidgeted with her wedding ring. "Yes. That's probably the best choice."
Glancing at his watch, he said, "We have two hours until we meet the guy with the key. I can call them over now."
"That's fine. We can order lunch from room service."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, it's fine. Please, call them. I think they should watch the footage here."
"Okay." He swiped his phone from the coffee table. "What about Jared's house? Are you going?"
She eyed him with an incredulous squint. "Are you kidding? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"
"I wasn't sure." He
chuckled at her facial expression and then looked at his phone. "I had to ask."
"After what Father O'Leary told us, I'm just as curious as everyone to see what's etched into the floor under Jared's bed."
* * *
Conner sat with his hands casually situated on the crown of his head. In the driver's seat, Trevor rested his forearms on the steering wheel. Adam slouched in the back seat, his knees raised and feet on the seat. Silently, they stared straight ahead at the hotel as if each dreaded being the first to speak. What did the priest say that was so important that Lou thought they should watch the video? The question festered like a small open wound begging for attention in order to properly heal.
Once the heat inside the car fogged the windshield's view of the hotel, Conner glanced at his buddies. "Are you guys ready?"
"Uh, huh," Trevor muttered.
Adam wedged himself between the two front seats. "I'm nervous. And kinda scared."
"It's okay." Conner nibbled on his thumb. "Me too."
Trevor swiped his hand across the thin film of moisture on the windshield, then turned off the engine. "Lou said it was important."
"We wanted to hear what the priest had to say,” Conner said. “Now we finally get to."
Trevor twisted his body to the side. "Whatever we find out, we're in this together. No matter what, we'll help each other through this."
He gripped the back of Adam's neck, bringing their heads together. Conner leaned in to meet them. It was reminiscent of their typical huddle before every big game, where silent connection provided encouragement and support.
"Brothers," Trevor said.
Adam and Conner repeated the sentiment. Then they separated and got out of the car.
Conner shook Lou's hand as he entered Stella's suite, shrugging off his coat while he said hello to Dave and Walter with a slight head nod. As he approached the sofa, Stella appeared from the kitchenette.
"The food's here," she said, gesturing to the dining table. "I think we should eat before we watch the footage. We can tell you about Father O'Leary's interview and answer any questions you might have."
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