Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
L eaning on my steering wheel with my eyes tracking a group of kids prancing around with pumpkin-shaped buckets makes me think that the quality of Halloween costumes has certainly gone down this year. Both in creativity and in quality.
Three little girls in the same Hello Kitty costume walk together, their hair fixed with the same exact bows as three identical white tails nearly drag along the ground. Beyond them I see two superheroes, a super villain, and a questionable boy with a blond ponytail who could be anything from a demon to a nun.
“You poor, stunted little gremlins.” I sigh, pining for the old days of Halloween, back when Mom dressed me up as a respectable and recognizable Pikachu .
Complete with my face painted yellow and cheeks stamped with red. It’s a fond memory, though Lou was the one who actually took me trick-or-treating that night. And no matter how much I begged, she refused to carry around an apple to throw at people while yelling “ I choose you!” at every house we got to. I told her she killed my dreams.
She told me they deserved to die.
The same way Dad did. The small voice in my head isn’t so friendly, and I shake my head to clear it before opening my door with my sneaker. It’s unseasonably warm this year for Halloween, and I tend to run hot. That, combined with how much I’d rather be on a date with Cass, in bed with Cass, in a cemetery with Cass, or just with Cass, inspired me to just wear shorts and his hoodie I stole when he was in the shower.
I usually try to look semi-presentable when I babysit. Or rather, when I used to babysit. My pride keeps me from doing it anymore, save for Scott. He has family privilege, and all. Normally on Halloween I’d be getting drunk and passing out, or trying to drown myself in the shower with Mom anywhere but here.
Instead, I’m going back to the job I never quite enjoyed on what’s pretty much my least favorite night of the year.
While the house was easy enough to find, this part of Hayden Field isn’t one I’m too familiar with. My steps take me up to the cracked porch of the small, two-story home, and I glance around the neighborhood while worrying at my lower lip.
It’s not exactly…the great side of town. When I was younger, Lou would never have let me babysit here, I’m sure. Which is definitely why I’ve never really been to this area. I’ve seen worse, sure. But not here in the town I grew up in. The houses have all seen better days, with peeling paint, cracked porches, and chain-link fences that look pretty fragile in some places. Half of the houses have their lights off, showing they either aren’t there or don’t want sugar-hyped children on their porch to froth at the mouth and scream “trick-or-treat!” while slamming the doorbell.
Relatable, honestly. I also keep my light off on Halloween, and I avoid costumed kids like the plague. Absently I knock on the door, foot scuffing over a crack on the porch while I wait and listen for noise inside. Small footsteps that sound rushed meet my ears, and within a few seconds, the door creaks open on its hinges in front of me.
The little girl—in her pumpkin and bat pjs and ponytail—gazes up at me with solemn grey eyes. She can’t be more than eight, though I hadn’t actually thought to ask at seven forty-two this morning. Or at any other point during the day.
But in my defense, I’d been busy.
“Hello,” I greet, giving the girl a little wave. “You must be Sophie, right?” The little girl nods, but stays otherwise silent. “I’m Winnie. I’m your replacement babysitter for the night.”
Sophie continues to just look at me, then glances toward the interior of the house. She seems unsure of something, but finally unlocks the storm door and steps back, letting me walk inside.
My first thought is that this place smells like an ad for scented candles. The second is that under the artificial cookie smell, it’s… musty in here. Swallowing, I remind myself not to judge. I’m just being overly-critical because of how little I want to be here.
“So what are we doing tonight while your parents are out?” I ask, trailing after Sophie as she walks down the hallway. She doesn’t reply, only turns into a room where I can hear the sound of a television and something cooking. “Are you cooking something?” A bolt of surprise goes through me. “I can make…”
When I turn into the kitchen after her, my words die on my lips.
Reagan is standing at the stove, frying up diced potatoes in oil. She ladles out the seasoned cubes as I watch, dumbfounded, before she turns and grins in my direction. “Surprise!” Reagan laughs, eyes dancing with delight.
I, however, am the opposite of delighted. “Reagan, what are you doing here?” I demand, a little curtly. The unhappiness in my tone is enough to make her smile wilt, and she goes back to ladling out potatoes onto a paper-towel covered plate. “You literally told me you had strep, so you needed me to take over for you. Remember ?”
“Yeah, and I did what you said. I got in at urgent care, got a shot, and it kicked in real quick. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I was going to come until about an hour ago,” she admits. Her smile turns apologetic when she looks my way again. “And I figured it was too late to ask you to cancel. You can still have the money, by the way. I just thought we could hang out tonight. Sophie would love the extra company, right?” She turns her look on Sophie, who isn’t looking at her.
Instead, the little girl is looking at me with big doe eyes that seem to be trying to tell me something. Unfortunately, I don’t speak silent child anymore.
I offer her a smile, still trying to decide if I should just turn around and walk out. Sure, Reagan might get upset about it, but it’s not like she really needs me here. Not when she herself looks to be totally fine.
“I had plans tonight, you know.” Striding over to the table, I drop into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs, eyes on Reagan as she cooks. “I know I normally don’t, but I did this time. It’s only a fifteen minute drive from my house to here. You absolutely could’ve called me or texted me that you were doing better.”
“Seventeen.” The mumbled word is low enough that I barely hear her, and I blink up at my so-called friend in surprise.
“Seventeen what ?” I demand. Sophie wanders over to sit down beside me, still looking at me like she’s possessed and silently asking for an exorcism.
God, I don’t miss babysitting. Sure, the diner sucks in its own ways, but I don’t have to figure out what kids really want anymore. Or if they’re about to turn feral. Still, I offer a tiny smile that Sophie doesn’t return, cementing my belief that she’s possessed.
Reagan walks over and sets down the plate of fried potatoes and another plate of grilled chicken doused in marinara and slices of mozzarella cheese. “Doesn’t matter.” Sitting down heavily, she sighs and drops her chin into her hands to gaze apologetically in my direction. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d be mad,” she admits. Her voice is soft and I watch Sophie stab a piece of chicken for herself, then grab a handful of potato chunks with her bare hand.
“Solid choice,” I tell her in a whisper when she squeezes sour cream out of its container onto the potatoes. The smile she gives me is the first I’ve seen from her, and I have to admit that she seems like a cute kid. “I just wish you would’ve told me. Instead of me driving over here for nothing.” Though I can still salvage my night if I leave now, I suppose.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I wrestle it free as Reagan slides a piece of chicken onto my plate. I mumble my thanks and swipe my thumb across my phone, seeing the message from Cass and frown.
Since you’re busy, I’m heading up to Akron for a bit. I’ll be back by the time you are. See you soon.
Suddenly, my main reason for leaving has driven away. Not that I’ll let that stop me. I text him back quickly, updating him but telling him he doesn’t need to rush or cancel his plans. I’ll be here for a few minutes to eat dinner, anyway. Then I can wait at home for him to get back.
“You know, my babysitter never let me text at the table.” Reagan chuckles, her mouth full of chicken.
“Your babysitter is retired and was never very good at following her own rules.” I scan Cass’s return message, silently agreeing with his question of why the hell Reagan hadn’t told me I could stay home.
Don’t know. She’s weird sometimes.
She’s fucking obsessed with you.
I don’t know how to answer that, so I drop my phone onto the table, face down, and move to cut up my chicken. “I’m not going to stay since you’re here,” I inform Reagan, not letting myself phrase it as a question. “Honestly, there are a million places I’d rather be than babysitting.”
Glancing at Sophie, I add, “No offense. You seem cool, and I would’ve killed to have a kid like you with manners back when this was my job.” It’s only partially a lie; I’d absolutely rather have this than a feral, screaming monster who wouldn’t listen to a word I’d say.
Like Reagan.
“Stay for a bit. For one movie. Come on, please?” It’s hard to ignore Reagan’s wide, begging eyes and she thumps her elbows onto the table to clench her fingers together in a pleading gesture. “Just one, then I’ll finish out the night.”
“Why?” Absently I take another bite, noting that Reagan’s food all tastes a little too salty to me. Clearly I should’ve taught her how to cook when we were younger, and it’s a failing that I’m sure will go on my résumé.
“Because I don’t feel great and I miss you? I haven’t seen you in a few days. And I feel guilty. That’s why I made dinner. Plus I rented a movie you like, and I got chocolate-covered raisins. Which are gross, by the way, but I made the sacrifice.” She spits out the words in a ramble as I chew and keeps going when I push to my feet to get a glass of water.
“Why do you feel guilty? We’ve gone a week without seeing each other before.” Coming back to the table, I perch on the edge of the wood, my hand held out for the sour cream Sophie hands over without a word. “Thanks, Soph.”
“I feel guilty about Manic Manor . I freaked out in the slaughterhouse and ran. So I feel responsible for that guy chasing you around with a knife. I should’ve stayed.” Her voice is heavy with conviction, but I just watch her as I eat.
“Not your fault,” I mutter finally. But now I’m the one feeling guilty. I should’ve made more of an effort to make sure she was okay, and to let her know I was fine. Instead of having her worry and giving her half-assed explanations over text for the whole night, then ignoring her completely. “One movie. And it’s a short movie. Hour and a half max,” I bargain, killing off three potato chunks in one go.
“Deal.” Her grin is quick and has the potential to be contagious, but I’m more interested in the relief in her eyes. Is it really such a big deal, I wonder, for me to stay and watch a movie with her? I go through possibilities in my head as to why, and consider that she might be a little freaked out about the neighborhood and being here alone.
Though why take this job if she didn’t love the location?
Or maybe Reagan really is just feeling lonely this year. To my knowledge, it’s the first Halloween she’s had without a boyfriend in years, and with her parents out of town, she’s alone in a big, empty house. Only, she doesn’t love it like I do.
That thought drives my guilt deeper and I settle back in my chair, glaring at my chicken and wondering how fast I can convince them to eat and if I can somehow increase the playback speed of whatever movie she wants to watch to get myself out of here even a few minutes faster. Not that I’ll tell her I’d rather be in my bed, with my cats and a horror movie, than here in this house that smells of musty sugar cookies.
We’re halfway through one of my least favorite Scooby Doo movies and I’m practicing my dissociating skills when Reagan finally says something from the other end of the sofa. Though the words are fuzzy in my brain, so I blink a few times and reluctantly drag myself back to Earth.
“Hmm?” I ask, turning to glance at her. Between us, Sophie is curled up under a giraffe-patterned blanket, with a stuffed giraffe in her arms, and leaning on my shoulder. She hasn’t said a word since the movie started, though as far as I know, she’s still awake and interested in whatever’s happening on screen.
“I was asking about your plans tonight.” Reagan gives me that apologetic, sheepish smile again. “Were they with that guy? The one from Manic Manor ?”
“I didn’t realize you remembered him.” Absently, I pick at a loose string on the arm of the threadbare couch. “Yeah. That was the first time we’d seen each other in a while, and we’ve been sort of reconnecting. It’s nice.” The words are as honest as I’m willing to be with her.
“Was he the one who took you home after what happened in the slaughterhouse?” She isn’t looking at me anymore, and her eyes are fixed on the screen, though her distracted expression makes me wonder if she’s actually paying attention.
“Yeah. He was outside. He’d just gone through and I ran into him.” The partial lie comes easily to my lips, and I turn to look at the TV as well, my hand inching toward my phone. My last message to Cass had gone unanswered, and I definitely don’t want to be the stereotypical, needy girlfriend.
Hopefully he’s having a better night in Akron than I am here.
“He seemed weird.” It takes her a moment to say the words. “I don’t know…he just seemed really off when he was talking to you. You looked sort of nervous of him, too. Hey, wasn’t he there when Lacey was killed?”
Surprised, I glance down at Sophie, who’s very much awake and can hear everything Reagan is saying. “Maybe we can have this conversation another time?” I hint, glaring at Reagan to try to communicate that this is turning into nightmare inducing territory for little kids.
She looks down as well, biting her lip sheepishly, and mumbles an apology to Sophie before fidgeting uncomfortably on her side of the couch.
“Can’t believe you intimidated them off with a hammer you found on the floor,” she says with a snort a few minutes later. But I’m back to dissociating, so the words barely sink in. Reagan getting up gets my attention, though, and I blink up at her. “I’m going to go disrespect the upstairs bathroom,” she says in reply to my questioning look.
“Why upstairs?”
“It’s nicer.” With a mock salute, she disappears into the hallway, her footsteps on the stairs thumping against my eardrums a second later.
Something feels off about what she said, but for some reason my brain isn’t working well enough tonight to figure out what exactly. Though I’m starting to wonder if everything seems suspicious because I’m so frustrated with how my night is going.
“She was acting strange before you got here.” Sophie’s voice is tiny and almost inaudible over the movie, but I look down at her, processing her words.
“What?”
“Reagan wasn’t being nice. She told me I had to get you to come in, that I’d be in trouble if you didn’t. She wasn’t being nice .” Sophie repeats that part, like it’s the most important one. “I’m happy you’re here,” she adds, scooting closer to me and wrapping her arms around mine. “She wasn’t acting okay when you weren’t. Then she kept checking the time and snapping at me. I was scared.”
My stomach twists as I look at her, and suddenly the part of Reagan’s statement that had me confused clicks into place.
“Okay, Sophie,” I say, easing to my feet. “Reagan just gets a little anxious sometimes. Everything’s fine, all right?” Smiling, reach out to tap the back of her hand. “It wasn’t cool of her to make you scared, and I’ll make sure she knows that. Here.” I hand her the remote, and the rest of my box of raisins, which she surprisingly enjoys. “You can totally change this if you want. I’ll go yell at Reagan while she’s trapped in the bathroom.”
Sophie doesn’t return my teasing smile, and I can’t find the words to reassure her as she huddles under the blanket. “Don’t be gone long,” she whispers. “I don’t want to be alone with her tonight if she’s going to get mad and anxious again.”
“Hey, no worries, okay?” It’s hard to maintain my facade of calmness, but I manage. “I won’t leave until your parents come home. Reagan said they’ll be back by eleven, right?” I check my phone, happy to see that it’s already ten forty-one.
“What?” Sophie looks up at me, confused. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, already on my way to the stairs. “Reagan said?—”
“My parents won’t be back until tomorrow morning.” Sophie cuts me off in a small voice. “Reagan knows that, too. She had a check in with them right before you got here, and confirmed they won’t be here until nine in the morning, at least.”
For a few seconds, all I can do is stand there with the movie playing in the background. The stark light shines across Sophie’s face as she stares at me, but I’m trying to not give her any sort of reaction to scare her.
Not until I figure out what’s going on with Reagan, anyway. There’s a chance Sophie’s wrong or lying. Or maybe Reagan misunderstood…something.
Though I’m not sure what could be confusing about when Sophie’s parents are coming home. “I’ll yell at her for you,” I say again, forcing myself to start up the stairs. “Don’t worry, Soph. Everything’s all good.”
Except somehow, I’m really starting to doubt it is.