Losing Hope | {BOOK 4}

43| Len

"Yeah. No Lizzie in the attic," Sam said, joining me back in the room. "But, I did find a homemade EMF generator. Turned that beast off and what do you know? No more signal."

"Shocker," I rolled my eyes. "The, uh, flickering lights? Wired to timers built in the walls."

I held up the timer I'd pulled out of a section of the wall, wires dangling.

"Come on!"

"Oh, and check this out."

Taking a picture of Lizzie Borden off the wall, I showed Sam the speaker system I'd found as well.

"Eh? Covering up our very own speaker system. I, uh, fished this out of the wall."

I pressed play on a tape recorder, which played a crying, moaning sound and Sam scoffed.

"Crying in empty rooms."

"And there's more. Running footsteps. Uh. Creepy whispers you can't make out. One flushing toilet. Not sure what that one's about. The whole place is a hoax, Sam. It's a tourist trap, just like Dean said."

"Yeah, but we still don't know how that couple got axed," Sam pointed out. "I mean, how did the killer get in and out?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Why don't we Sherlock that over a beer or something and a lobster roll? I gotta get out of this doily coffin."

⁘

Mason's mom got ax murdered. After talking to the detective, I found out the name of the guy who I'd seen poking around earlier. While Sam and I were heading to talk to him, the detective called us about another murder in the next county over, so while Sam took the crime scene, I talked to Len. His mobile home was filled with all kinds of Lizzie Borden paraphernalia.

"Well, I didn't expect to see her here," I nodded at a Lizzie cardboard cut-out.

"Well, you gotta live your bliss," Len replied.

"Heh," I chuckled humorlessly. "Boy, you are a Lizzie Borden... I don't think fan covers it."

"That's superfan," Len informed me. "And curator."

"Hm. And is that what you were doing that night at the B&B? Uh, curating?"

"Oh, I- I, uh..."

I looked over, making eye contact with him.

"Len, it's best just to go with the truth here."

"I was trying to get a picture of Lizzie's ghost."

"And is that what I saw you with?" I pointed to an antique camera.

"Yeah," he nodded. "It's a... It's what the Victorians used for spirit photography."

"Uh huh. And have you captured any Casper's on that thing?"

"Well, I've seen Lizzie at her house. She's this wispy, gray shadow. But she never shows up on film. Maybe I should go high-def."

"Why not go inside?"

"I'm not exactly allowed at the inn anymore..."

I raised an eyebrow and he elaborated a bit more.

"There's a minor restraining order. And there's a gag order not to talk about the restraining order. But you're a Federal Agent..."

"Buried the lead there a little, Len," I pointed out. "Why don't you tell me about the restraining order?"

"It was Lizzie's 155th birthday and I couldn't get  Lizzie's room, so I stayed in the basement. For a couple of days. Weeks! I wasn't bothering anybody."

"So, it's safe to say you know the inn pretty well. Let me ask you, did anything about tonight strike you as weird?"

"Just you banging on the window."

Just then, Len's computer beeped with a notification that said 'you're chat room is open'.

"Oh God, no," Len groaned. "I'm supposed to lead a live chat about the ax murders in Fall Rivers. I'm not Lizzie CNN."

"Yeah, I don't know why anyone would think that," I quipped, glancing around at his paraphernalia.

"I'll close it down. Be right back."

"Okay."

As I was continuing to wander around, looking at Len's stuff, I came across a piece of paper on his coffee table with a drawing of the Mark of Cain. Picking it up, I turned to show it to Len.

"Where did you see this?" I demanded.

"Uh, a site on ghosts?" he lied. "The paranormal?"

"Len, you might be the worst liar I've ever met. Tell me where you've seen this symbol. I'd take you down to the station and ask you there. But then we'd have to involve the local police. Your restraining order."

"Okay," he relented. "Okay, uh... I was outside Lizzie's house a couple of nights ago trying to get a picture of her. This, like, twelve-year-old boy was looking in one of the windows. I thought he was lost, so I talked to him. He said he wanted to see where Lizzie axed her folks. When I told him he was looking at at least part of it, he mentioned he'd been reading about her and that her parents sucked.

"I agreed and mentioned her uncle totally had stronger motive and opportunity than Lizzie did. He countered by saying that it was definitely Lizzie, because she had 'serial killer eyes'. I ditched him quick after that."

"And you didn't tell the police?" I asked.

"A, restraining order? B, what am I supposed to say? I was hanging out talking about murder with a little twelve-year-old boy in the middle of the night?"

"Where does the symbol come in?" I asked, nodding at the paper in my hand.

"He had it on his wrist. I don't know if it was a scar or a birthmark."

My heart pounded in my chest, and I willed myself to stay calm as I swallowed hard.

"What did this boy look like?"

"Um. A boy. Amos. That's what he said his name was. You know him?"

"You said he was twelve?"

Len bobbed his head to either side, shrugging.

"Maybe a little younger or older. Who is he?"

"He's a runaway," I lied. "Do you know where Amos is now? Is he still in town?"

"I don't know. Why are you looking for him?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

"You have to tell me," Len cried, getting more frantic. "Please. I need to find him!"

"Why?"

"You won't believe me."

I made a gesture and he sighed.

"He touched me, and this, like... light came out of me and went into him. I don't know what that boy did to me. But I haven't been right since. I can't eat. Or sleep. I don't dream. And all the things I used to love. My Lizzie blog. The ghost conventions. They leave me cold. I put this whole collection on eBay last night. Now it belongs to some machinist in Ohio."

"Well, what about superfan, curator living the bliss?"

"Just playing the part of what I used to be," he shrugged. "You know. Fake it till you make it. Or feel it."

"So, is that what you were doing at the inn tonight? Faking it?" I asked.

"No. I was looking for Amos. I want him to put me back. I've always been odd. And quirky. But I had a life. Friends. And now. I remember how to talk to people. What to say. But I feel like I'm acting. Going through the motions. I'm like a robot puppet man."