Losing Hope | {BOOK 4}

44| Sydney the Killer Babysitter

I stepped outside Len's motor home to call Sam and tell him what Len told me.

"Wait? Amos was here? How?"

"Oh, and the real crazy," I added. "Apparently he's like twelve."

"What?" Sam asked. "How's that even possible?"

"It ain't Wheaties he's eating, I can tell you that much."

"Meaning?"

"Len. He ain't doing so hot. I think Amos sucked out his soul."

"So, Amos is growing like a radioactive weed?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "By stuffing his face with souls."

"Does that mean he's getting more power, too? And for what?"

"I don't know. That tsunami's gonna hit us sooner or later. We'll deal with what we can deal with. All these spent shells Amos is leaving behind."

"You don't think Len's our Lizzie Borden, do you?"

"No. I talked to his neighbors. And except for me seeing him at the B&B he's been here all night. So, we can't kill him because he hasn't done anything yet."

"Ellie, we don't want to kill him," Sam pointed out. "We want to save people. Remember?"

"Right," I snapped my fingers. "The new rules. Why hasn't he offed anybody? I mean, it took Jenna all of walking downstairs to slit her grandmother's throat."

"I don't know. Maybe not everybody that gets their soul sucked out turns into a killer."

"Or maybe he just hasn't gotten around to it yet. Alright. Well. I think the best thing is we stick close until we figure out how to help him out. Which starts by you telling him he's got no soul."

"Me?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Well, because you've been there," I pointed out. "You speak the language. He doesn't even know he's been hoovered yet."

"Well, yeah, but you have a better relationship with him than I do."

"Yeah, but you're better with that whole sensitive verbal massage."

"There is no sensitive way to tell somebody their soul's been sucked out by a prehistoric tween!"

I pulled the phone away from my ear at Sam's outburst, wincing slightly before bringing it back to my ear.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh," I shushed him.

"And even if Len does believe us, is that supposed to make him feel better?"

"Fine. Probably couldn't handle the truth right now anyways," I sighed, glancing back through the window at him. "He's a little fragile right now. Okay. Well, great. Looks like we're babysitting a 30-year-old man."

"There might be someone else Amos got to as well," Sam suggested.

"Our hatchet man."

"Yeah. So the murders started around the time Len saw Amos, right? Well, the wife of the last victim, Donna Pensky, had this bizarre reaction to hearing her husband... like she couldn't care less. It was kind of the way I felt the whole time I was soul-less."

"Oh, yeah," I nodded. "You were one chilly droid."

"Anyways, the detective thinks it's shock. But I think it may be mom lost her soul and picked up an ax."

⁘

Mrs. Pensky wasn't at home, so Sam called the babysitter. She told us Mrs. Pensky was having an affair and then gave Sam an address where they might be. The entire drive over, Len babbled in the backseat of the Impala.

"Kitten videos, chicken and waffles, eucalyptus scent. I don't care for it anymore. Used to swoon for dark, curly hair. Now, not so much. Do you think I had a stroke? Or maybe it's a brain tumor. What's really freaky is all the stuff that used to make my skin crawl now seems... eh."

As we came to a stop in front of the address, I turned to Sam and silently mouthed the words 'shut the hell up' as Len continued babbling.

"I couldn't shake a guy's hand before. God, that wetness. Now I could lick the sweat off a stranger's..."

"Okay!" I cut him off.

"Yeah," Len nodded, completely unphased. "Any body part. I'm serious. I feel weird, man."

"Weird, how?" Sam asked.

"Like, something's hatching inside of me. Something dark. With wings."

Sam and I exchanged a knowing look.

"What?" Len asked, noticing.

"Nothing," I dismissed him.

"But you looked at Sam like you guy's know what's wrong with me!"

Getting out of Baby, I walked around, reaching into the back window and cuffing Len to the car.

"Hey!"

"You don't have a soul," I informed him. "Alright? Amos sucked it out."

"Wha-?!"

"Ellie!" Sam glared over the Impala at me. "You wanna be a little more blunt?"

"How- how is that even possible?" Len asked.

"Look. This is just so you don't get in trouble," I gestured to the handcuffs. "Alright, we'll be back and then we'll figure out what to do with you."

"Well, how do I get it back? My soul."

"Generally, you don't," Sam replied.

"Wh- uh," Len sat back in his seat, a resigned look on his face. "It feels good to finally know."

Rolling my eyes, I led the way up to the house the babysitter sent us to. I rang the doorbell and then Sam knocked on the door.

"Hello!" he called.

"Well, something happened in there," I noted, looking in the window and seeing the furniture in disarray.

"The blue car is the mom's," Sam nodded at a car in the driveway. "I saw it last night."

Taking out my lockpicking set, I got the door opened and we headed inside, guns drawn. We split up, Sam taking upstairs while I made my way into the basement. When I tried the light switch, the light didn't work, so I took out my flashlight and switched it on. As I made my further into the basement, I spotted something behind a rollaway bed. Knocking it aside, I found two dead bodies- one was the man the babysitter said Mrs. Pensky was having an affair with and the other was Mrs. Pensky.

Hearing a noise, I turned around, but before I could react, someone hit me across the face, knocking me unconscious. When I came to, my vision slowly came into focus, finding myself tied in a chair next to Sam.

"Oh, thank God," a young woman said. "I thought you were dead. Huh. I can't believe I bagged both you guys."

"Yeah, so it's Sydney, the killer babysitter," Sam nodded. "Not the mom. So, what's the story? You gonna hack us up like the others?"

"I'm past that," Sydney replied. "You two are an offering for my new friend."

"Let me guess," I said. "Is your new bestie Amos?"

"You know him?"

"Oh, yeah. We're tight. How'd you two meet?"

"A couple of nights ago I got pretty sloshed. This, uh, smug, little trust fund dirt-bag had just dumped me..."