“Charlie?” he called softly. He didn’t expect an answer, but he wanted—felt almost compelled—to talk to her. “Charlie, I wish you could hear me,” he went on, going to the bedroom closet and pulling out all two of his other blankets. “I think it’s safer for you to stay where you are than in the bedroom.” He pulled the couch a little farther from the wall, trying to figure out how best to make her more comfortable. At a loss, he grabbed a pillow and leaned down, reaching to remove the blanket that covered her face.
“Sorry I’ve only got the one pillow,” he said, trying not to lose his balance.
“’S okay,” came a muffled murmur from beneath the blanket, and John fell back, tumbling over the seat and barely catching himself before his head hit the floor.
“Charlie?” he cried, then lowered his voice as he climbed back up. “Charlie, are you awake?” There was no answer. This time he did not try to climb into the space behind the couch, and bent over to see. She was stirring, just a little. “Charlie, it’s me, John,” he said, his voice hushed, but urgent. “If you can hear me, hold on to the sound of my voice.” He stopped, as she sat up and pulled the blanket off her face.
He stared down at her, as astonished as the moment when he first saw her. Her face was red, and her hair was sticking to her skin after being under the blanket; her eyes were barely open; she blinked rapidly in the light, looking down and away. John leaped up and rushed to shutter the front window blinds. He closed the bedroom door and pulled the kitchen curtains. The apartment, never bright at its best, was nearly dark. He hurried back to Charlie’s hiding place, grabbed one end of the couch, and pulled it out farther, enough for him to crawl behind with her. She was still sitting, leaning against the wall, but she looked limp, like she wouldn’t be able to do it much longer. He reached out to steady her, but when his hand touched her arm she made a distressed, high-pitched noise, and he drew back instantly. “Sorry. It’s me, John,” he repeated, and she turned her head to see him.
“John,” she said, her voice thin and rasping. “I know.” Her breathing was ragged, and talking seemed to take effort. She reached out feebly with one hand.
“What do you need?” he asked, searching her face. She reached out farther and then he understood; he took her hand.
“I won’t ever let go of you again,” he whispered. She smiled faintly.
“Could get awkward,” she whispered. She opened her mouth as if to go on, then sighed, shuddering. John scooted closer, alarmed.
“What’s—” She took another breath. “Wrong with me?” she finished in a rush. She opened her eyes, looking at him plaintively.
“How do you feel?” he asked, avoiding the question.
“Tired … everything hurts,” she said haltingly, her eyes drifting shut, and he clenched his jaw, trying to keep his face neutral.
“I’m trying to help you,” he said finally. “Look, you have to know—there’s someone, something, out here impersonating you; saying that she is you.” Her eyes snapped open and she squeezed his hand suddenly: she was alert. “She looks just like you. I don’t know why, I don’t know what she’s after, but I’m going to find out. And I’m going to help you.”
“Afton,” she breathed, her voice barely audible, and John quickly reached over the couch to grab the pillow he’d brought.
“Can you lift your head?” he asked, and she did, slightly, letting him slide the pillow into place. “We know it’s Afton,” he said, picking up her hand when she was settled again; she squeezed it lightly. “I have one of the chips. Afton Robotics. Charlie, I’ve got this. Clay’s helping, and Jessica, and we’re getting Marla to help you get better. It’s going to be okay. Okay?”
But Charlie had drifted back into unconsciousness; he had no idea how much she had heard, or understood. Her hand had gone limp in his own.
* * *
Someone that looks like me … Never let go … John? Charlie struggled to order her thoughts: things that had made sense a moment ago were losing their shape, drifting out of reach in a dozen directions like petals on the water. The door …
“It’s going to be okay,” John said, but she didn’t know if he said it in her head or in the world. She felt herself slipping back into the dark; she tried to hold on, but the exhaustion was weightier than she was, pulling her inexorably down with it.
* * *
Charlie glanced at the door again. He’s late, or I’m early. She picked up the fork in front of her and ran her thumb over the smooth metal; the tines hit her water glass with a clear ding! and she smiled at the sound. She hit the glass again. How much does he know?
Charlie struck the glass again, and this time she noticed several other patrons turning to look at her in confusion. She smiled politely, then set her fork down on the table and folded her hands in her lap. Charlie took in a breath and composed herself.
* * *
As John approached the restaurant he could see that Not-Charlie was already there. She had changed her clothes. He hadn’t really registered what she had been wearing before, but now she had on a tight, short red dress—he would have remembered that. He stopped on the sidewalk, just out of her sight, steeling himself. He couldn’t get the other image out of his mind, the painted face with the soldering line splitting it down the middle. Charlie was sitting back in her chair; there was nothing in front of her but a water glass. She had ordered food when they last met here, but John couldn’t picture her actually eating it. He couldn’t remember noticing her not eating, either.
“Stop stalling!” came a crackling voice from his waist, and he jumped. He extricated the walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket and turned away from the restaurant before speaking into it, just in case Not-Charlie looked out.
“I’m not stalling,” he said.
“You shouldn’t be able to hear us,” Jessica’s distorted voice reminded him. “Did you tape the button down?”
“Right, hang on.” John examined the walkie-talkie: The tape he had placed over the button to transmit had come loose. He replaced it, flattening it down against the uneven surface with his fingernail. He slipped the device back in his pocket and went inside.
John glanced briefly around the restaurant as he entered. Jessica and Carlton were huddled together in a high-backed booth, out of Charlie’s sight. “Can you both still hear me?” John whispered. Carlton’s hand raised above the back of the booth momentarily with a triumphant thumbs-up, bringing a real smile to John’s face. John turned his attention back to Charlie, who had not yet noticed him.
She lifted her head abruptly from the menu as he approached the table, as if sensing his presence. She flashed him a bright smile.
“Sorry I’m late,” John said as he sat down.
“That’s usually my line,” Charlie joked, and he grinned uneasily.
“I guess so.” He looked at her for a moment: he had rehearsed things to say, but his mind had gone blank.
“So, I heard you and Jessica visited that old ghost town.” Charlie giggled. “What’s that place called again?” She leaned in and rested her chin on her hand again.
“Ghost town?” John said unevenly, trying to keep his expression neutral. It took everything he had not to turn and look at Jessica and Carlton behind him. Charlie was looking at him expectantly, and he took a sip of water. “You mean Silver Reef?” he said, setting down the glass carefully.
“Yes, I mean Silver Reef.” She was smiling, but her face looked tight, like there was something ravenous waiting just below the surface. “That’s a strange place to go, John.” She cocked her head slightly. “Just out seeing the sights?”
“I’ve always been a … history buff. The, the gold rush—”
“Silver,” Charlie corrected.
“Silver. Yes. That too. Just fascinating times in history.” John was tempted to turn and see if Jessica approved of his reply or if she was scrambling out of her seat to flee the restaurant. “You didn’t know that about me, did you?” He straightened his posture. “I love history: hi
storic towns, places.” He cleared his throat.
Charlie picked up her water glass and drank; she set it down so he could see the red lipstick mark she left. John drew back slightly and looked elsewhere, searching for anything he could lock eyes with but her. “Why were you there?” Charlie asked, recalling his attention.
“I was—” he started, then paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “I was looking for an old friend,” he said, his answer calm. She nodded, then met his eyes. He blinked, but forced himself not to look away. He had seen eyes like those before: not the madness of Springtrap, or the uncanny, living plastic of the other robots, but the stark, brutal gaze of a creature bent on survival. Charlie was looking at him like he was prey.
“Did you find your old friend?” she asked, her tone warm, and out of place.
“Yes. I did,” John said, not flinching from her stare. Charlie’s eyes narrowed, the facade between them growing thinner by the moment. John leaned forward on his crossed arms, resting all his weight on the table between them. “I found her,” he said in a low voice. There was a brief flare of something on Charlie’s face—surprise, maybe, and she leaned in closer across the table, mimicking his pose. John tried not to flinch as Charlie’s arms slid closer to his.
“Where is she?” Charlie asked, her tone as soft as John’s. Her smile was gone.
“I don’t know what it will take to show these people what you really are,” John said. “But I can try all sorts of things before you make it out that door.” He grasped his soda glass, not looking away from her. “I’ll start with this glass of soda, then I’ll try a chair over the back of your head, and we’ll go from there.”
Charlie tilted her head, as though taking in his posture. He knew his hand was twitching, and his face was red. His heart was racing; he could feel his pulse pounding at his throat. Charlie smiled, then stood and gently leaned over the table. John set his jaw, keeping his eyes fixed on her. Charlie kissed his cheek, placing a hand on the side of his neck. She kept it there as she moved away, watching his eyes. Charlie smiled, her fingers resting on his pulse for a scant moment before letting them drift away. John snapped back in his seat as if she’d been holding him in place.
“Thank you for dinner, John,” she said, the words sounding almost giddy. She slowly let her hand recoil, as if relishing the moment. “It’s always so wonderful to see you.” She turned away, not waiting for a response, and went to pay the bill.
* * *
There was a long pause. “She’s gone.” John’s voice came over the walkie-talkie. Jessica looked to Carlton; he seemed slightly in shock, staring after Charlie like he’d been hypnotized. “Carlton!” Jessica hissed. He snapped out of it, shaking his head.
“She looks hot!” Carlton said.
Jessica reared back and slapped Carlton as hard as she could.
“You idiot! You’re supposed to be watching his back, not watching her butt! Besides, she put your father in the hospital!”
“No, no, I know. Very serious …” He trailed off, obviously distracted.
“Why did I even bring you along?” Jessica scooted out of the booth and got to her feet clumsily.
“Where are you going?” Carlton asked.
“I have an idea; stay here.” Jessica sighed. “You take my car.”
Carlton called after, but she didn’t stop to answer, merely threw her car keys behind her. Carlton made his way over to John’s booth.
“Hey. Are you okay?” John didn’t turn at the sound of Carlton’s voice beside him.
“No. Not really okay.” John leaned back in his seat, looking up at the plaster ceiling, then finally turned to look at Carlton. “Where’s Jessica?” John asked instantly.
“I’m not sure, she ran out …” Carlton gestured toward the parking lot, and John turned just in time to see Charlie pull out onto the road and drive away.
“She did something stupid, didn’t she?” John said wearily. Carlton met his eyes, then they both ran for the door.
* * *
Jessica kept low and snuck to the back exit of the restaurant; she could see Charlie was still standing at the front desk taking care of the bill. Jessica slipped out the back door and ran around the perimeter of the building, her high heels clacking on the sidewalk. She yanked them off and threw them into the bushes, then kept running, barefoot.
“Jessica, what are you doing?” she muttered to herself. As she rounded the corner of the building into the parking lot, she spotted Charlie’s car and made a beeline for it. The front door was unlocked. Jessica quickly popped the trunk, shut the door, and slipped inside, not closing the trunk lid all the way.
A minute later there was noise from inside the vehicle, and Jessica strained to listen: it sounded like voices. No, a voice, she realized after a few minutes. Charlie was talking, but there was no one answering her. Jessica concentrated, trying to isolate the sounds, but she could make out nothing: whatever Charlie was saying, it was unintelligible from the trunk. Jessica balanced herself carefully, trying to lay as flat as she could while bracing her arm in the air to hold the latch of the trunk. If she didn’t hold it tight enough, it would visibly bounce and Charlie would notice it. But if she pulled it too close, the trunk might shut, and she would be trapped.
After about ten minutes, the car stopped short; Jessica was thrown back against the wall, almost losing hold of the latch. Regaining her balance, she held very still, listening. The driver’s side door opened; then closed a moment later. Jessica heard the faint sound of Charlie walking away, crunching over gravel, then silence. Jessica sighed in relief, but did not move. She began to count: “One Mississippi … two Mississippi …” she breathed, barely a whisper. There was no sound but her own hushed voice as she counted all the way to sixty, then stopped and scooted closer to the trunk door. She gently eased her grip of the trunk handle, letting the hood rise slowly.
The car was parked in the center of a large parking lot, illuminated impossibly bright by streetlamps. The light was tinged with red, and Jessica turned to see a large neon sign directly overhead, flooding the lot with brilliant reds and pinks and blocking her view of anything beyond. The air buzzed loudly with the noise of what must have been a hundred fluorescent bulbs. Jessica squinted and raised a hand to shade her eyes: the enormous, smiling face of a little girl stared down at her, glowing neon against the night sky. She was made up to look like a clown: her face was painted white, and her cheeks were marked with round, pink circles, her nose a matching triangle. Her bright orange hair was tied up in two pigtails on either side of her head, and beside her were fat, red letters outlined in yellow. Jessica peered at the backward sign for a moment before the letters made sense: CIRCUS BABY’S PIZZA. The glare of the light began to hurt her eyes, and she looked away, then ran toward the dark building at the edge of the lot, blinking to get the afterimage of the neon sign out of her head. She stumbled through a row of hedges to press into a white brick wall, which seemed brand-new. She lowered her hand from her face, her eyes adjusted to the light, and she saw a long row of tall, vertical windows along the face of the wall.
She went to the nearest one and pressed her face to the glass, but the tint was too dark to see even a shadow of what lay behind it. Jessica gave up on the windows and walked quickly to the back of the building, keeping close to the brick wall. The neon whites and reds faded as Jessica made her way around back, sinking into darkness.
There was more parking in the back, though it, too, was unoccupied. A single bulb flickered above a plain metal door, throwing off a sickly yellow color, which seemed to stick to everything. Trash cans lined the wall, and two Dumpsters enclosed the small area, shielding the door from outside view. Jessica crept toward the door, careful not to step on anything. She gave it a gentle pull, but it was sealed shut. She balanced against the frame as she pushed herself up onto her toes, and grinned. She could see inside.
Inside was a dimly lit room. Charlie was there: she was in profile, talking to someone just beyond Jess
ica’s view, though she could not hear either voice. Jessica inched along the ridge, trying to see the other person, but all she could make out was the blur of movement as someone gestured. After a few minutes, her calves began to ache, and she eased herself back down off her toes and flexed her feet. She sighed and pushed herself up on her toes again, then pressed her face closer, cupping a hand over her eyes to block the outside light. It was no use—the room was empty, or at least, the light had gone off. Jessica stepped back and reluctantly turned to find another place to peer inside—then screamed, slapping a hand over her mouth though she was too late to stifle the sound.
Charlie smiled. “Jessica,” she said innocently, “you should have told me you were coming here, you could have ridden with me.”
“Right, well, I ran outside to catch you, but you’d already left.” Jessica stepped back, her heart racing. Every fiber of her being was telling her to run, but she knew she would never make it past the imposter who stood before her.
“Do you want to come in?” Charlie asked, still speaking like they were friends.
“Yeah, I’d love to; I just couldn’t find the door.” Jessica gestured back toward the parking lot. Charlie nodded.
“It’s on the other side,” she said, taking a step closer. Jessica stepped back again.
“What brings you here, anyway?” Jessica asked, trying to sound calm. Does she not know that I know? Will she let me leave if I play along?
“I can show you,” Charlie said. Jessica kept her face blank; her muscles were so tense they were beginning to fatigue, and she breathed in deeply, trying to relax. But Jessica was suddenly aware that Charlie was steering her closer to a wall where she would be pinned.
“It’s late, though; I should get going,” Jessica said, making herself smile.
“It’s not late,” Charlie protested, gazing at the sky. Jessica hesitated, grasping for an excuse, and Charlie’s eyes darted back to Jessica as she took another step forward. She was close enough for Jessica to feel her breath on her skin, but Charlie was not breathing.
The Fourth Closet Page 11