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

Jared. When everyone finished eating, he loaded the dishwasher because it was his night. Then he returned to his bedroom to watch TV.

For the next couple of hours, he texted off and on with a girl from school, Mackenzie. They'd been flirting for weeks, and she continued the flirtation in the texts. The conversation had progressed to the point that Conner anticipated the exchange of sexy selfies or planning a date. But when his phone dinged, he was surprised that he'd received a text from Adam, not Mackenzie.

Get over here now!

He immediately called Adam. "What's up?"

"Kayla's coming over."

"What's that gotta do with me? Don't tell me you're hooking up."

"No! Trevor's here. Movie. Pizza. Remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. What about Kayla?"

"Shelby texted Trevor. And she said that Kayla's parents told her all about Jared and what happened to him."

"What do you mean? How he died?"

"Yeah, man. Kayla told Shelby that it's effing crazy."

"Fing-cray!" Trevor yelled in the background.

"So, what happened?" Conner asked.

"Kayla's coming over to tell us. Get your ass over here now."

Conner glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Ten twenty. "Okay. I'll be there in a minute."

He jumped from the bed and grabbed his sneakers. Quietly, he walked out into the darkened hall. As soon as he reached the stairs, his father spoke from behind. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, hey, Dad. I'm going to Adam's really quick."

"In a pair of shorts? It's forty degrees outside. Is it still raining?"

He waved the shoes in his hand. "Just running across the street."

"Why?"

"Not sure. Said he needed me for something. So I'm gonna see what he needs me for, then—"

"Fine. Get your butt back home as soon as you guys are done."

"I will."

"I mean it, Conner. It's getting late. Don't let your mom catch you sneaking back in."

"Okay. Promise."

On the porch, Conner slipped his shoes on and then raced across the street. The frigid temperature and moisture in the air made him instantly regret not putting on a shirt. He strolled into the house and headed straight for the living room where Adam and Trevor were sprawled out on the sofa.

Adam propelled himself from the sofa with a chuckle. "You could have put your clothes on, dude."

"You made it sound urgent."

"Well, yeah."

"You don't know anything yet?"

Adam shook his head.

The doorbell chimed in the foyer.

"Gotta be Kayla," Adam said and walked out of the room. He returned several moments later with her at his side.

The moment Kayla sat on a chair, Adam's mom appeared in the tall archway. Dressed in a black-and-yellow flannel robe, she hugged her torso and eyed the teens suspiciously. "Who's this girl?"

"Hi, Mrs. Wheeler. It's me, Kayla Lansing."

Adam's mother preserved her stony expression. "Do your parents know you're out this late with a bunch of boys?"

"My curfew's at eleven. I'll be heading home in a few minutes."

Mrs. Wheeler stepped away. "I'll be back to check on you in five or ten minutes. You guys need to wind the night down so Kayla can get home on time."

Seated on the sofa again, Adam asked, "What did you hear?"

"This is so crazy." She took a deep breath and leaned back. "But no matter how crazy it sounds, this is what my aunt told my parents."

The boys stared at her, attentive but impatient.

"Okay," Trevor said. "What happened to Jared?"

"Officially," she said, "Jared died of cardiac arrest."

Conner narrowed his eyes. "What? He had a heart attack?"

"It happens," Adam said. "You know that football player over in Harris dropped right there on the field. And he was only sixteen."

Trevor drew in a breath. "Man, a heart attack at eighteen. That's effed up."

"Yeah," Conner said. "But what's so crazy about that? I mean, it doesn't happen that often. But it's not—"

"Officially," Kayla stressed, "he died of cardiac arrest."

"What do you mean?" Adam asked.

She moved to the edge of the chair as if she were about to share a whispered secret. "Unofficially, his parents say he was killed."

"What?" Trevor stood and crossed his arms. "What the hell are they talking about? Killed by who?"

She eyed each face as if reluctant to answer. Then she leaned forward and said, "The devil."

TWO

The moment of silence in the room seemed absurdly dramatic, as if everyone was holding their breath for fear of being the first to make a sound. Then Adam cocked his head and exhaled a snort. "Whatever, Kayla. You came over here to prank us with this crap?"

The devil? Conner shivered, half-convinced it was because he was shirtless, half-certain it was a reaction to the two words.

"I promise I'm not making it up," Kayla replied. "My aunt goes to church with the Smiths . . . well, did . . . and she knows a lot of the clergy. Someone told her that—"

"What do you mean, did?" Conner asked. "She doesn't go to church anymore?"

"Oh, my aunt? Please! She's never missed a day of church in her life. Thankfully, she's not a religious freak, but she—"

Trevor groaned. "Stick to the topic, Kayla."

"Right. Sorry. Anyways, the Smiths left town. I guess they're moving away because they were traumatized by the whole thing."

"Jared's death?"

"Well, yeah. But also, you know . . . the exorcism."

Adam laughed nervously. "Bullshit!"

Conner snatched Trevor's jacket from the arm of the sofa and pulled it on. "Rumors don't mean nothing. People talk crap all the time. We all know that Jared wasn't himself the past year, but to say that he was possessed. That's so stupid."

"Wait, wait, wait." Adam rose and folded his arms. "Possessed. Like, the devil was inside him? Like, that Emily Rose movie. Or The Conjuring?"

"Yes," she said. "I know it's hard to believe, but—"

"You're right," he said. "I don't believe it."

"Who told her?" Conner asked. "Some churchgoer lady that likes to gossip?"

"A priest. And he said it was the real deal."

"Nah," Trevor said. "I don't believe it either."

"I'm only telling you what my aunt said." Kayla leaned back again and sighed. "Apparently the exorcism went on for two weeks. I guess the priests thought they were close to . . . casting