Condemned Christopher Renna (books to read to get smarter .txt) 📖

"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