“Where did you find these?” Jessica stepped back. “Where did you find these? What did you do? Why did you … melt them all together?”
“Hand me the scalpel,” the girl said patiently. The surgical implements were laid out in a neat row on the rolling table, on a piece of paper, along with a set of curved needles, already threaded, and a small, kitchen-size propylene torch. The creature on the table tried again to lift its leg, and suddenly Jessica understood how it was able to move.
“They’re still in there!” Jessica screamed. “The children—Michael!” The creature writhed pitifully, as if responding to her voice, and Jessica’s heart wrenched. They’re in there, and they’re in pain.
“I guess I should have kidnapped Marla if I wanted a nurse,” the girl said sardonically. “I told you, he wants you to watch. Look over here.” Jessica obeyed, feeling her head go light as the girl pressed the scalpel into Afton’s skin. Don’t pass out. She drew the blade across his lower abdomen with steady, practiced hands, making a six-inch incision. She held out the scalpel, and Jessica stared for a moment before realizing she was supposed to take it. “He wants you to watch; it’s the only reason you’re alive. If you don’t watch, then there is no reason for you to be here. Do you understand?” Jessica steadied herself. Breathe. Don’t faint. Think about something else.
John, Charlie—no, I’ll start crying. Something else, something else …
Shoes. Black boots, knee high. The kind that look like riding boots. Italian leather. Jessica took the scalpel and set it down where it had been, and the blood dripped onto the paper, seeping into the fibers. Jessica took another deep breath.
The animatronic girl had one of her hands inside the incision, and was pulling it back, peering into the wound she had just made. “Scalpel,” she said again, and Jessica picked up a new one and handed it to her. “Watch,” the girl warned, and Jessica watched as she reached into the incision and cut something inside. Jessica flinched. Shoes. Maroon clogs. Chunky heel, three inches. Patchwork stitching. The girl held out the scalpel, her hand still inside Afton’s body. “Take it; give me clamps.” Jessica took the scalpel and replaced it.
“Clamps?” she asked, starting to panic as she searched among the instruments.
“They look like scissors, with teeth instead of blades. Open them and hand them to me, and do it fast.”
Shoes. Jelly sandals, purple, sparkly. Jessica grabbed the clamps and tried to open them, but they were stuck together, hooked by an odd clasp at the top.
“Hurry up, do you want him to die?”
Yes, I do! Jessica wanted to shout, but held her tongue. She pinched the scissor handles together, and they came free. She handed them to the girl, relieved, and watched as she stuck the pointed end into the opening and pinched whatever she had been holding, clamping it shut. She took her hand slowly out of the wound and looked at Jessica.
“You have to be faster. Scalpel, then I’ll need clamps right away.”
Jessica nodded.
Shoes. Green suede kitten heels with a rhinestone strap at the ankle. She handed the girl the scalpel, then wrestled the clamps open as fast as she could, and was holding them out by the time the bloody blade was returned to her. She watched dizzily as the animatronic girl made another cut, severing something she could not see, and using the last set of clamps to hold it shut.
The table behind them began to hiss more loudly, and the orange glow intensified. Jessica took a step sideways to get away from the heat. The glow spread to the creature on the table, and parts of it seemed to turn from side to side.
“Hold out your hands,” the girl said.
Platform sneakers. Denim. Hideous. Jessica held out her hands for the clamps, but the girl left them in place. Instead, she slid both hands into Afton’s open body and lifted out a bloody object. His kidney, that’s his kidney. Black leather combat boots. Black leather combat boots. Charlie’s black leather combat boots. The animatronic girl held the kidney up in the air for a moment, and blood dripped from it onto her face. Charlie’s boots. Charlie. The girl turned to Jessica, and she shrank back.
“Hold out your hands,” the girl repeated with cold insistence, and Jessica obeyed, fighting not to retch as the warm organ was placed gently in her hands. It’s meat; it’s not part of a person; just think of it as meat. Platform sneakers. Stiletto boots. Penny loafers. She watched in a daze as the girl took a curved needle and black thread and began to sew William Afton back together, starting with his innards, and ending with the first incision, making a row of Xs across the left half of his body. At last she finished, snipping the last thread off with practiced ease.
“What’s next?” Jessica asked, her voice sounding faint against the rushing in her ears. Yellow sneakers with a blue streak on the side. Those brown pumps Mom got me. Oh, Mom—
“The next part is easy,” the girl said, pulling the gloves off and picking the kidney up again with her hand and approaching the table where the mass lay.
“What are you going to do?” Jessica quivered.
“What did you think all of this was for?” the girl said softly. “He told you: piece by piece.”
Jessica looked down at the creature on the table, glowing orange at its core, and dripping fluid from its various parts, the drops landing with a hiss on the hot surface.
“This is a transplant,” she said.
The mass of melted parts for a moment looked human, its demeanor suddenly childlike as it squirmed, and its head turned to face Jessica. For just a moment, Jessica thought she could make out eyes looking back at her. Suddenly, the silence was broken as the animatronic girl clenched her fist around the kidney and slammed it against the creature’s chest, pressing so hard that the metal underneath sank inward, embedding the kidney deep inside where it gurgled and hissed. More fluid seeped out the sides of the creature and burned on the table, as the girl wrenched it back and forth inside.
She pulled her hand from the cavity she had created, her hand charred black, and rested it at her side, extending and retracting her fingers as though making sure they still worked.
“Now, we are done,” she said. She brushed past Jessica and went to the cabinet, and emerged with a long needle. She strode purposefully to William Afton’s side, stopped with her fist raised over her head, then brought the needle down, plunging it into his chest.
A second passed, then he heaved an enormous breath and groaned. The girl pulled the needle from his chest and set it gently on the table beside him. William Afton opened his eyes, and his single eyeball moved back and forth between Jessica and the animatronic girl.
“Is it done?” he asked.
Jessica screamed. The intensity of it roused her from her daze and she screamed again, letting the sound drown out everything else. Her throat went raw, but she screamed again, clinging to the roar of her own voice; for an instant, she felt like if she kept screaming nothing worse could happen.
The air around the girl shimmered, and Jessica’s vision blurred in front of her: something was moving. In a moment, her eyes cleared, and Charlie was standing in front of her.
“Jessica, don’t worry! You can trust me,” Charlie said cheerfully.
A hand was stroking her hair. The sun was going down over a field of grain. A cluster of birds were fluttering overhead, their calls echoing out over the landscape. “I’m so happy to be here with you,” a kind voice said. She looked up and nestled against him; her father smiled down at her, but there were tears in his eyes. Don’t cry, Daddy, she wanted to say, but when she tried to speak, the words did not come. She reached up to touch his face, but her hand passed through empty air: he was gone, and she was alone in the grass. Overhead the birds began to wail, and their calls sounded like human voices, breaking with despair. “Daddy!” Charlie screamed, but there was no answer, only the birds’ lamentation as the sun vanished beyond the horizon.
It was dark, and he had not come back; all the birds were gone but one, and that one sounded more human with every cry. Cha
rlie stood unsteadily; by some trick of time she was no longer a child, but a teenage girl, and the fields around her had turned to rubble; she stood in the midst of a ruined place, but there was a single wall standing in front of her, and a door at the center of it. The birds were silent, but someone was crying on the other side of the door, crying alone in a small, cramped space. She ran to it, banging her fists on the metal surface. “Let me in!” she cried. “Let me in! I have to get inside!”
I have to get inside! Charlie sat bolt upright with a ragged gasp, inhaling like she’d just escaped from drowning. The doors—the closet. She threw off the gray wool blanket and sheets, tangling herself in the process before she managed to get free. She was so hot she could barely stand it, and the wool had been scratching where it touched her chin. She felt strange, more alert: the world was in sharp focus, and it was jarring, as if she had been drifting in some kind of shadowy, half-conscious state for days. Everything hurts, she’d managed to whisper to John, but it had been somehow detached from her, there was some buffer between her body and her mind. Now, her mind clear, the buffer was gone, and she ached all over, a dull, constant pain that seemed to be everywhere at once. She leaned back against the wall. She had not woken to sleepy disorientation—she knew exactly where she was. She was in John’s apartment, behind the couch. She was behind the couch, because …
“Someone is impersonating me,” she said uncertainly, and the sound of her own voice was startling in the empty room.
She got to her knees, not quite trusting her legs, then steadied herself on the back of the couch, getting to her feet with effort. She straightened, and was instantly dizzy, her head swimming as her knees threatened to buckle under her. Charlie gripped the back of the couch determinedly, picking a point on the wall and staring at it, willing the room to stop spinning.
After a moment, it did, and Charlie realized the wall she was staring at was a door. Doors. The thought made her light-headed again, but she kept a firm hand on the couch and made her way around to the front, then sat down on it carefully. She glanced around the room—so far all she had seen was the corner behind the sofa. The shades were pulled down, and she could see that the front door was bolted. Charlie lost interest in the rest of it, her eyes drawn back to the other door. It was scarcely ajar, the room behind it dark, and Charlie shivered, echoes of her dream reverberating in her head. Doors. Someone was on the other side, behind the door, somewhere small and dark; I was drawing them, doors; I had to find the door. Then … She closed her eyes, remembering. They were running, desperate to get away as the building thundered around them, already falling to pieces, when she saw the door. The door called to me; it was hidden in the wall, but I went to it, I knew exactly where it was. As I walked toward it, it was like I was on both sides—walking to it, and trapped behind it. Separated from myself. When I touched it, I could feel the beating of your heart, and then … Charlie’s eyes snapped open. “John pulled me away,” she said, the memory solidifying as she let herself dwell on it. “I didn’t want to go because …” She heard it, suddenly: the hiss and the cracks appearing in the wall. “… because the door had started to open.”
Charlie stood, her eyes glued to the door in John’s living room. She approached it as if propelled by the same instinctive force, her heart picking up its pace. “It’s just the bedroom, right?” she murmured, but still she edged toward it slowly. She stopped in front of the door and reached out tentatively, vaguely surprised when her fingers touched real wood. She pushed it gently and it swung open easily, revealing a girl identical to Charlie.
A mirror.
She looked the same. Her face was pale and strained, but it was her face, and she smiled instinctively. In the haze of the last few … days? Weeks? She had been utterly disoriented, fading in and out of consciousness, pain finding her even in dreams. Charlie had not felt like herself, but there she was. She reached out to touch the mirror girl’s hand. “You, are you,” she said quietly.
Behind her came the unmistakable sound of a lock being turned, and she whirled around in sudden panic, losing her balance and catching herself on John’s dresser. The front door opened and she shrank back, kneeling to let the dresser shield her. A clamor of voices burst in, all talking at once—there were too many to make out the words, until a familiar voice called, “Charlie?”
Charlie didn’t move, waiting to be sure. Footsteps came to the doorway of the bedroom, then the voice again: “Charlie?”
“Marla!” Charlie answered. “I’m here.” She started to get up, but her legs would not take her weight. “I can’t—” she started, tears of frustration pricking her eyes as Marla hurried over.
“It’s okay,” Marla said hurriedly. “It’s okay, I’ll help. It’s amazing you made it this far!” Charlie looked at her flatly, and Marla laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just—glaring at me like that you’re so …”
“What?”
“Charlie.”
“Who else am I supposed to be?” Charlie smiled as Marla took hold of her wrist with medical authority and began to silently count. She looked past Marla to Carlton, who came over quickly. John was standing in the door, but he made no move to join them, not meeting Charlie’s eyes.
“I didn’t want to crowd you,” Carlton said, sitting down beside her and crossing his legs. “Charlie, I’m—” He broke off and swallowed, looking away. “I’m really glad to see you,” he said to the floor.
“I’m glad to see you, too,” Charlie said. She looked back to Marla, who nodded briskly.
“Your pulse is a little slow,” she said. “I want to check it again in a few minutes. I want you to drink some water.” Charlie nodded.
“Okay,” she said bemusedly.
“Let’s get her onto the bed,” Marla said to Carlton, who nodded and, before Charlie could protest, scooped her up into his arms. Charlie glanced around for John, but he had disappeared.
Marla pulled the blankets back. Charlie felt the pull of sleep, like something standing behind her, gently tugging. She blinked rapidly, trying to rouse herself as Carlton set her down. Marla started to pull the blankets over her, and Charlie waved her hands, ineffectually trying to push them away.
“I’m too hot,” she said, and Marla stopped.
“Okay,” she said. “They’re here if you need them.” Charlie nodded. The tugging was growing stronger: if she just closed her eyes, she would slip back into the dark. Marla and Carlton were talking to each other, but it was getting harder to keep track of what they were saying.
A loud bang rattled the small apartment, and Charlie jolted awake, her heart thudding alarmingly. Almost instantly, Marla’s hand was on her shoulder. “It’s just John,” she said.
“I think my heart rate is back up,” Charlie said, attempting to joke, but Marla turned on her with appraising eyes, grabbed her wrist, and started to count again. “Marla, I’m fine,” Charlie said, halfheartedly pulling away. Marla held on for another few seconds, then released her.
In the living room, John set something down on the floor with force. Carlton gave Charlie a concerned glance, then helped her off the bed, giving her an arm to lean on as they went out into the living room to join John. For a moment, the object was obscured, then they all moved aside so she could see the child-size doll. Charlie sat down on the floor, a little apart from the others.
“Ella,” she whispered. Some tight, painful knot inside her chest began to loosen, and she felt herself smile. “John, how did you find her?” she asked. John knelt down behind the doll and looked up at her grimly, and her smile faded. “What’s wrong?” she asked. He didn’t answer her.
“Everyone, keep your eyes on the doll,” he said instead, and took something out of his pocket. He flicked his thumb against the object, a tiny motion, and the air around Ella shimmered for a moment, blurring her. Charlie rubbed her eyes and heard Marla gasp. Ella was gone: standing where she had been was a little girl about three years old, dressed in Ella’s clothes. The knot in Charlie’
s chest started to tighten again.
“What is this, John?” Marla asked sharply. John flicked his thumb again, and the shimmer passed over the girl, then she was a doll again, her vacant eyes staring placidly into eternity. Charlie darted her eyes from one to the next: Marla looked scared, but Carlton was fascinated. John, for some reason, seemed angry. Charlie shifted uneasily. John manipulated the object in his hand again, and the little girl appeared once more. Carlton crouched down to look at her, and Marla bent down to see, keeping her distance.
John stood, leaving them to stare at Ella, and knelt beside Charlie, giving her the same dark look he’d had since he brought in the doll. “What is this?” he asked harshly, and Charlie stared at him, hurt. John looked away with a pained expression, his face flushed. When he looked back at Charlie, the anger in his face had faded, but was not gone. “I need to know what this is.”
“I don’t know,” she said. John nodded, and sat on the floor with her, carefully leaving a wide space between them. He opened his hand: in it was a small, flat disc. Charlie didn’t move to touch it—there was something odd in his manner, something untrusting she had never seen in him before.
“Did you know?”
“No.” Charlie tilted her head, staring at the motionless little girl.
“It’s the same as Afton’s creatures, though, isn’t it?” John said. “Pattern projection, bombarding the mind; overwhelming the senses—”
“This one is different, though,” Charlie cut in. She shivered, though she wasn’t cold, suddenly unable to shake the memory of the twisted bear, his face stripped to the metal staves, the illusion sparking on and off as he loomed over them. “Can I see it?” she said, forcing herself back to the present. John held out the disc, and she took it carefully, watching him warily. He was giving off the sense of a brewing storm, and she was afraid of setting it off. Charlie held the disc up to the light, turning it back and forth, then handed it back.
The Fourth Closet Page 14
