Page 59 of Heartless

His answer is a breathy chuckle against my mouth, as his fingers curl over my hip to keep me pressed to him. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Leaning 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 sameHello Kittycostume 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 recognizablePikachu.

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 meetmy 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 atseven forty-twothis 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…mustyin 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. “Youliterally 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.

“Seventeenwhat?” 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.

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