Condemned by Christopher Renna (best biographies to read txt) 📗

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