Five Nights at Freddy's: The Silver Eyes(54)

“Charlie?” John cleared his throat, and repeated her name. “Charlie, you know he didn’t do it, right? Mr. Burke said they knew who did and they had to let him go. He got away with it. Remember?”

Charlie didn’t move, but something like hope stirred inside her.

“It wasn’t him,” John said again, and she looked up.

“Right. Right, of course it wasn’t,” she whispered. “Of course it wasn’t him,” she said at a normal pitch.

“Of course not,” he echoed. She nodded, bobbing her head up and down like she was gathering momentum.

“I want to go back to the house one more time,” she said. “I want you to come with me.”

“Of course,” he said. She nodded again, then turned her face back up to the sky.





Chapter Eight


“Charlie!” Someone was at the door, knocking loud enough to rattle the old hinges. Charlie roused slowly, her eyes sticky with sleep, but this time at least she knew where she was. She had left the window open, and now the air coming in had a fresh, heavy smell: it was the scent of coming rain, mossy and rich. She got up and looked out the window, inhaling deeply. Unlike most of the world, the woods outside looked almost the same in the morning as they had in the dark. Charlie and John had gone back to bed soon after they finished talking. John had looked at her like there was more that he wanted to say, but she had pretended not to notice. She was grateful to him for being there, for giving her what she needed without having to ask, because she would never have asked.

“Charlie!” The banging came again, and she gave in.

“I’m up, Marla,” she shouted back.

“Charlie!” Now Jason was joining in the game, knocking and rattling, and Charlie groaned, and went to the door.

“I said I’m up,” she said, mock-glaring out at them.

“Charlie!” Jason shouted again, and this time Marla shushed him. He grinned up at Charlie and she laughed and shook her head.

“Believe me, I’m awake,” she said. Marla was fully dressed, her hair a little damp from the shower, and her eyes were bright and alert. “Are you always like this?” Charlie said, her grumpiness only half-invented.

“Like what?”

“Chipper at six in the morning,” she said, and rolled her eyes at Jason, who copied her, happy to be included.

Marla smiled brightly. “It’s eight! Come on, there’s been talk of breakfast.”

“Has there been talk of coffee?”

She followed Marla and Jason down the stairs to the kitchen, where she found Lamar and John already seated around a high, modern-looking wood table. Carlton’s father was at the stove, making pancakes.

“It smells like rain,” Charlie said, and Lamar nodded.

“There’s a thunderstorm coming,” he said. “It was on the news earlier, he told us.” He jerked a thumb at Clay.

“It’s a big one!” Clay exclaimed in response.

“We’re supposed to leave today,” Jason said.

“We’ll see,” Marla said.

“Charlie!” Clay cried, not taking his eyes off his work. “One, two, or three?”

“Two,” Charlie said. “Thanks. Is there coffee?”

“Help yourself, mugs in the cupboard,” Clay said, gesturing to a full pot on the counter. Charlie helped herself, waving off offers of milk, cream, half-and-half, sugar, or fake sugar.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, and settled herself beside Lamar, meeting John’s eyes briefly. “Did Carlton come in?”

Lamar shook his head, a tight jerk to the side.

“He hasn’t turned up, yet,” Clay said. “Probably isn’t awake yet, wherever he is.” He placed a full plate in front of Charlie, who dug in, not realizing how hungry she was until she was already chewing. She was about to ask where Carlton was likely to be, when Jessica appeared, yawning, her clothes unrumpled, unlike Charlie’s.

“You’re late,” Marla said, teasing, and Jessica stretched elaborately.

“I don’t get out of bed until the pancakes are ready,” she said, and with impeccable timing Clay slapped one onto a plate, fresh off the pan.

“Well, you were just in time,” he said. Suddenly, his expression changed, wavering somehow between apprehension and relief. Charlie turned in her seat. There was a woman standing behind her, dressed in a grey skirt suit, her blonde hair shellacked against her head as if she were a plastic toy.

“Are we a waffle house now?” She said. She looked around the kitchen briefly.

“Pancakes,” Jessica corrected, but no one responded.

“Betty!” Clay cried. “You remember the boys, and this is Charlie, Jessica, and Marla. And Jason.” He pointed to each in turn, and Carlton’s mother gave each of them a nod, like she was tallying them up.

“Clay, I have to be in court in an hour.”

“Betty’s the D.A. for the county,” Clay went on, as if he had not heard her. “I catch the crooks, she puts ‘em back out on the streets!”

“Yes, our family is a full-service operation,” she said dryly, pouring herself coffee and settling down at the table beside Jessica. “Speaking of which, where’s our young felon-to-be?” Clay hesitated.