Reviews:
MarimbaBuddy: Wow, things took quite the turn in this chapter, didn't they?
So far, I'm really liking the detail you've given the park. The fact that the setting has been expanded from a single restaurant to an entire theme park is cool. On top of that, the lifelikeness that you've given the animatronics' character is fun to read, too, like they really are an intelligent person. In fact, thinking back to the first game's release, I was always curious to actually see them during the daytime...you know, when everything's well and good...and hear what their voices actually sound like since all we get from them in the game is the death scream. It makes me anxious to see how these animatronics change and become completely different entities at night.
As far as critiques go, I find that it's hard for me to give any complete thoughts too early on in the story since I'm waiting to see how everything turns out before I make judgments, though I will point out a few things. First of all: while there's still time for this to resolve itself, as of right now, the main characters don't really seem suspicious enough. Yeah, they're willing to give the new place a try and are showing a bit of skepticism, but I would've thought they'd be even moreso since this apparently takes place only a year after the third novel. Part of me keeps wanting to think that this is actually an AU taking place after the events of the first novel, where the characters only had one traumatic night in a restaurant. However, since this takes place after the third novel and we've seen not only Freddy's but also the underground pizzeria and Circus Baby's, I guess I would've expected their guard to be up a lot more. But hey, like I said, it's still early on so there's time for this to not wind up being as big of an issue as I think. Secondly: while I'm anxious to see more of Charlie's experiences with her younger self and father, I'm curious as to how this relates to what we've seen in the novels concerning how young Charlie died (Where's Sammy? Is he around anywhere?).
Anyway, those are just my early thoughts. Like I said, I can't really give any complete thoughts until the story's direction and development become more clear. Again, good job on the attention to detail with the new park, and good luck going forward!
Well I'm glad you like the chapter. I have a general idea of how the story is going to go already, well up to the climax at least, but that will be in a while, like several chapters away. Also, about Sammy. Unfortunately, he will not be in this story as a character. He might be referenced, though, but I can't say for certain. However, I have many plans for this story.
awesomesniper86: And thus John stumbles closer and closer to the truth…
I'm not sure how Charlie will salvage the wreck when her friends discover her little secret. It's easier to tell and then ask to be treated normally than to not tell and then ask for forgiveness.
In any case, looking forward to chapter 8!
Well I'm glad you're liking this story so far. I wouldn't say anything else that may spoil the rest of the story, however, Charlie may not realize that it would be easier if she just told John and the others.
A man wearing a white lab coat stood in a semi-darkened room, hunched over, wincing ever so slightly. He had a haggard look. The man seemed to be middle-aged, but his movements were jagged, stiff, and rigid, almost as if he were far older, and it appeared that even the slightest of motion required great effort. He wore a mask that concealed much of his face. There were several scars that ran along his cheek, and these scars appeared deep, yet old.
The only source of light was a red lamp that was tucked away in the corner of the room. The room itself had a white tile floor made of ceramic, and the walls were painted white. The room was small, almost the size of a little office. He leaned over a countertop that stood in the middle of the room, and on that counter were several tools and equipment. There was a doll of a baby that was made of thin metal, having proper joints and limbs. It wore a shirt made of white fabric. There was also a scale, a knife, a spool of thread, a sewing needle, and a small yellow star in the shape of the Star of David on the countertop. The words on the star were faded, there was a kind of black smudge in the middle of the star. It was made of fabric, and it appeared to be very old. Its colors were almost completely washed out. The star had a texture that wouldn't have been made by textiles before the fifties.
The man smiled to himself, picking up the star as well as the needle and spool. He carefully inserted the thread into the tail loop of the needle, and then he attached the star to the shirt on the doll by sewing it in place. He put the needle and spool down once he was finished and he stared at his creation—it appeared like the work of a psychotic maniac. The doll wore the star as if it were an inmate of a 1940s-era concentration camp. And indeed, that was this man's intention. The star itself was worn by a Jewish man who was forced out of his home, named David Żaczek. He had bought it from an auction, and according to the seller, the object was seemingly haunted. Of course, this could be nothing more than nonsense, as the man thought. It wouldn't be probable or even possible for an inanimate and easily-decayed piece of felt to serve as a vessel for a restless spirit.
He reached into his pocket and grabbed a small lighter, and he then brought the lighter up to the star, and then he lit it. The star did not catch fire, but it did heat up, and the heat forced the star to stick to the shirt until the two became one, and then, the shirt became one with the doll. He then closed the lighter, put it away, and stepped back, looking on at the doll.
The doll was motionless, its arms only dangling as the result of him pushing and then sewing the star in place, and then melting it slightly. However, this calmness was short-lived. After around a minute, the doll visibly writhed, and its head twitched as if it were in pain, and the speed and intensity of this writing only increased over time. He smiled, seeing the results of his little experiment. He had given an inanimate object life, or in the very least, something that resembled life, just by merging it with an object that carried with it great pain.
Eventually, as all things did, the doll's motions slowed down, until it ground to a halt, almost as if it were fatigued. This was just as the man expected. He cleared his throat and finally spoke for the first time in ages, directly to the doll, staring into its eyes. "Czy mnie słyszysz?" he asked in Polish, though his accent was far from Polish. It was an Australian accent, specifically a West Australian accent, but it seemed more English than anything else. However, the doll remained still.
He had asked in Polish if the doll could hear him. However, it was evident that the doll could not hear him, or did not care to hear him. "Potrząśnij głową, jeśli mnie rozumiesz," he spoke again in Polish, commanding the doll to shake its head if it could hear him. However, there was still no motion. And then, a few seconds later, the doll twitched again, its limbs violently writhing until the motions calmed down, grinding to an eventual halt. The motions were exactly the same as before, indicating that it did not follow his command.
"Interesting," the man spoke, astonished by what was transpiring. He grasped a pen and started writing on a notepad, recording his observations. "You act, but you do not react. Your motions simply recur over and over until you become debilitated." He compared the observation to a pendulum swinging from one side to another. He continued writing, listing all sorts of theories and hypotheses to explain his experience, however, none were adequate. He sighed, putting the clipboard and pen down and staring at his creation. Indeed, it seemed at rest; dormant.
He had done experiments of this kind before, where metal was possessed, but when metal was possessed by a spirit, they were capable of reacting to stimuli. This was was very different. His creation seemed alive only for a few moments, repeating the exact same writing motions over and over. These bursts of energy were strong and powerful, however, these bursts were short-lived. It appeared almost like an echo that was stuck in time, unable to move forward, always doing the same exact thing over and over again.
"You are not a spirit," the man concluded. He picked up his notebook and pen, writing down his final theory. "You are a living manifestation of the final emotion experienced by the man named David Żaczek right before his death in a gas chamber in 1943," he said. He continued writing, putting his thoughts tediously onto the paper, performing as if these were his final moments of living. To him, it felt as if he had discovered something truly different and unique, and most of all, incredibly. It was like he opened the door to a whole new field of study. "You are..." he began, but he paused, unable to think of a name for whatever had possessed the star. Then, it struck him like a pendulum clock.
"You are agony."
The doll experienced another burst of writhing motions in its head and limbs. The man violently ripped the felt star from the doll, severing the connection between the doll and the star. The motions ceased and the limbs of the dolls slowed down, with there being no more energy applied to them. The man placed the star on the table and brought his lighter to it, and then, he set it ablaze. The star easily caught fire. The residual movements in the doll finally ceased when the star had turned completely to ash. The cycle of agony had been terminated. He grabbed his notebook and wrote down what he had produced, and then, he closed the notebook, placing it down carefully on the counter. He then walked off, his movements jagged, almost as if he felt an internal pain that he had been trying to bury for a long time. Eventually, he got on his feet, and he opened the door to the room, a bright light swallowing it up and illuminating it. However, the door closed shut just moments later. The man was satisfied, having found the answers he was looking for.
The sound of thunder echoed behind him. John sat in the driver's seat of his car. Charlie was driving in her own car, and it was next to his. Large rain droplets splattered against the windshield from the outside, making heavy sounds. There was a dense fog around him that made it difficult to see past ten meters. John glanced to his right, watching as the car drove past several large self-storage units, the entrances lit by large overhead lamps. He then looked forward as he drove the car underneath a bridge. He turned to the left, driving past a small car wash.
He made a sharp right turn, going around a power plant. He drove straight for around a minute before turning to the right again and then left. He drove straight. To the left was a large parking lot, and to the right, a gated field with windmills and pipes. It was difficult to see through the fog, however, it was apparent that he was close to the main road.
He eventually did make a right turn onto the main road. He passed under two bridges before making a sharp right onto the parkway. He continued driving for several minutes, racing past tall electrical towers on his right. The rest of the trip was more of the same.
John sighed to himself, impatient with nearly everything. He had wanted to ask a million questions when he was at the park, but he didn't have the opportunity to. He wanted to talk about how unusual the animatronics were acting, especially Chica. However, all of that paled in comparison to the vision Charlie had—where she saw herself, as a toddler, getting murdered by a shadowy figure. Charlie had previously explained that the voice sounded exactly like the voice of William Afton, having his signature British accent. It struck him as unusual that Charlie didn't actually see William Afton, but rather, a dark figure. If what she saw truly was a dream, then she would have seen Afton herself.
This made him think that whoever or whatever made Charlie see what she saw did not know what William Afton looked like. He was still stuck, though. He couldn't figure out who made her see the things she saw. It was likely a spirit, however, that would mean the spirit was Charlie.
John shook his head in denial. Several minutes passed. He drove by the 'WELCOME TO SANTA CLARA' sign. It was the neighborhood that he moved to last year, two months after he had been fired from his last job. The first thing he ever did was apply for a construction job, in which he got accepted pretty quickly.
He glanced down at his watch. 10:15. Right on time. He opened the door and was met with a cool breeze. The lobby was quite small. There were two narrow hallways on either side and a waiting area. The young man walked towards the front desk which was tended by an elderly woman with a name tag that read 'Samantha.'
The woman adjusted her eyeglasses as she tried to figure out who the young man standing before her was. She eventually gave up. "You haven't been here before. How can I help you?" she asked.
"My name is John. I'm here for my job interview as a construction worker. Where am I supposed to go?"
The woman adjusted her eyeglasses. "Please sit in the waiting area. I'm going to call up management and let them know you are here." She rolled her chair over to the side and grabbed the telephone, dialing the number for management. John nodded and sat down in one of the chairs. He looked at the front desk, watching the old lady. She put the phone to her ear.
"John is ready for his job interview," she said. A voice echoed from the phone, but John couldn't understand or hear it. "I'll tell him" was all she said before she hung up. She rolled back to where she was and called out to John. "The interviewer is ready for you. Go down the hallway on the left and go into the second room on the right." John nodded and got up. He walked down the left hallway and stepped inside the second room on the right.
The room was pretty small. It was an office, and the interviewer was sitting behind his desk. The interviewer wore similar clothes to what John wore. The interviewer stood up and greeted him. "You must be John. I'm Anthony, your interviewer." Anthony extended his hand.
John walked over and shook it. "I am John. It is nice to meet you." Anthony sat down, and then John sat down.
"Of course I have your resume and your job history in front of me here, but I want to hear everything straight from you. Why did you choose to apply for a job here of all places? There are construction companies situated in places much closer to where you live."
John feared this moment, but then he realized he had nothing to lose by telling the truth. "Well, I'm planning on leaving Hurricane," John said.
The interviewer nodded. "I see." He looked at the clock for a quick second, before turning to John again. "So why did you choose to work for us?"
"I mostly like the hours and the pay. I did a little research for your company, and I realized that your company is the one I want to work for," John said.
"Excellent. Now, I want to understand why I should be interested in hiring you. What are your traits?" the interviewer asked.
"Well, working by hand is my specialty, but I work well with machines too. Some people call me a perfectionist as if it's a bad thing, but to me, it seems like a good thing."
"That's great. Do you have any other skills besides construction work?" the interviewer asked.
"Well I have done some carpentry in the past, and I'm a hobby writer. Those are the only other skills I have to offer."
"I understand. Most people don't have a wide variety of talents or skills after all. So why do you want to be a construction worker in particular?"
"Well, the nice thing about being a construction worker or a carpenter is that you get your hands dirty. You really get up close and personal, using your own two hands. Being a writer is nice, but you are really just scribbling ink onto a sheet of paper," John said.
Anthony nodded. "Well spoken. I think you would be a great employee here."
John smiled at this, remembering when he got employed. At the time, it seemed like the Freddy's business was gone. Elizabeth was as good as dead, locked away in the basement of the police station, and William Afton was on the run. He of course was naive, considering the events that took place today. William Afton was definitely involved, he realized, considering the sheer number of the illusion discs necessary to maintain the park. There is no doubt about it.
John drove down the parkway a little while longer before finally exiting and driving onto the service road. He continued for several minutes before making a sharp left at an intersection, and then making a right and driving into a suburban neighborhood. Charlie's car followed close behind. He went by several houses until he parked in the driveway of his own house. It was a small upside-down L-shaped house with a patio that led to the front door. He stopped the car and removed the keys, putting them in his pocket. He climbed out of his car and locked the door. He turned to the road, watching as the red sedan pulled into the driveway next to his car and then parked. Charlie stepped out, meeting his gaze.
"Hey there. Nice house you got," Charlie said, able to see the house much more clearly now that she was outside. The siding of the outer walls of the house was painted pale blue. There was one wide window on the short side of the house, and there were two on the long side.
"Thanks," John said. He walked up to the patio, and Charlie followed. He went past the two windows adjacent to the patio. He then approached the door. He inserted his key and turned it until there was an audible click from inside the lock. Then, he twisted the knob and opened the door for Charlie. She stepped inside.
The living room was quite small. There was one sofa tucked to the side and a large window behind it. A table stood in the middle of the room next to the wall on the side of the front door, and there were two chairs that surrounded it. Charlie placed her bag on the shoulder of the chair, and then she sat down. John sat down in the chair across from it.
"So, um..." he began, choosing his words carefully. "Are you ready to talk about what happened back at the park?" he asked. Charlie's experience had left him and the others shocked. Charlie seeing her own self, albeit her toddler self, get murdered by William Afton, had confused him, but more importantly, it worried him. He started to trust her less and less after that, because he knew for a fact that she was hiding something, seeing as she was reluctant to even tell him what she saw at first.
He couldn't help but feel that when Charlie said that she saw her toddler self, that she wasn't being candid with him. Her confusion seemed superficial and manufactured, however, her fear... that was truly genuine, and he hadn't seen that type of fear since he found her in Aunt Jen's house last year, when she came begging for him to not leave him. Why would she ask me not to leave her? What was she so afraid? However, since the event took place twice, and in similar circumstances, he was finally able to somewhat figure out what she actually was afraid of: him finding out the truth. The truth of what he did not understand, but the more he pressed her last night, the more afraid she got—almost as if he was on the brink of discovering something that Charlie did not want him to know about.
John knew for a fact that something was wrong with Charlie. Her near-photographic memory, the gaps in her head, and her almost-superhuman strength gave it away all too easily. She was able to treat life-threatening wounds with simple medicines, something that shouldn't have been possible. However, there was something he realized that he hadn't noticed before: how sparse the gaps in her head were. She only recalled there being two gaps. These gaps were always after a birthday, and there was always a similar amount of time between the two gaps, which would be around five years. He didn't understand what that meant, but he didn't think these were random gaps anymore, and more like memories of something she did or saw that were so shocking that they were erased or blocked. However, he did not know of any such way to do that to a human being.
Charlie shook her head. "No... I'm still trying to process what happened," she answered. She turned to meet his gaze. She appeared nervous, but that made sense, given her circumstances. She had just gone through a nightmare, and while she at first had no idea what it meant, she did have an idea of what it could be now: the real spirit of Charlie, Henry's actual daughter, communicating with her.
This truly frightened her. Elizabeth felt envy and jealousy when she first woke. She felt that she deserved the attention that Henry gave Charlie, and since she never got it, she went into a rage. She wanted Charlie to suffer solely because of envy because Charlie had it better. The justification of this envy was that Elizabeth had a soul. This was terrifying to Charlie, because she couldn't even imagine how the real Charlie would feel about having been replaced by a machine.
She glanced outside through the window. The rain splattered against the glass, making loud tapping noises. She wasn't ready to tell him. She never even wanted to tell him, but her vision made her think that there will come a time when John, and perhaps the others, will find out the truth, and it wouldn't come from her, but rather, someone else. And the thought of that happening truly scared her, because that would mean that her friends would no longer trust her. They might abandon me, she realized. However, she also realized that they might abandon her even if she does tell them the truth.
Her shoulders dragged down, her arms losing their strength. Her chest caved in as she felt a heaviness in her chest. Her eyebrows pinched together. She looked down, staring at her hands which were trembling. She closed her eyes, but that wouldn't stop the tears from coming. She was terrified, and she wasn't able to hide it anymore. She quickly wiped away her tears and swallowed hard, and she regained her composure.
"Charlie?" John asked, now concerned, seeing how she was hunched forward. "Are you alright?"
Charlie turned around and met his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine." All signs that she was upset or afraid were gone, wiped away.
"Alright. Well, whenever you're ready, we can talk about it," he said. He glanced down at his watch, and his eyes widened in shock by how late it was. 9:02. He then glanced back up. "It's already eight."
"Well, we did travel from New Harmony to Hurricane to drop Carlton and Jessica off at the Mexican place, and then we traveled from Hurricane to here," Charlie said. "That would take quite a long time."
John nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I suppose I didn't consider traffic." He walked over to the fridge and opened it, grabbing a pitcher and pouring some water into a cup he grabbed from a cabinet. He then took a sip. "I haven't had anything to drink in hours," he said.
"Me neither," Charlie said. "I'm thirsty too."
"Well, here." John grabbed another cup and filled it with water from the pitcher, before finally putting the pitcher back into the fridge and closing the door. He handed her the cup, and she took a sip.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome," John said. "So, do you want to check out this house? There's only one floor, so the tour will be quick."
"Sure," Charlie beamed. John smiled, and he walked over to the kitchen, which was almost part of the living room, only separated by a flat counter that two overhead lamps hung above. There was a toaster oven on that counter. On the counter directly parallel to it, against the wall, there was a microwave.
"So this is the kitchen. There isn't much here," John said, jokingly. "I mean there's food, there's cutlery, and ingredients, but nothing really tour-worthy. I don't make gourmet foods," he said.
Charlie nodded. She looked past the kitchen, noticing a small hallway that led out the kitchen. "What's in there?"
"Oh, it's just the pantry and the back door. There's also a staircase that leads to the basement, but the basement is by far the worst part of the house. There are bugs down there, so let's just not go down there."
"Okay," Charlie said. She turned back, walking down the hallway on the right. There was one room on the left side: the bathroom. On the right, there was a bedroom, and straight ahead there was another bedroom. "Oh, I forgot to ask... where will I be sleeping?" she asked.
"There's a guest bedroom in here," John said. He walked to the bedroom straight ahead and stepped inside. There were a bunch of boxes and other items tucked in the corner. "I mostly use this as a storage room."
"Oh, that's cool," Charlie said as she stepped inside. She looked around before sitting down on the foot of the bed. "It's comfy."
"Yeah, both of the beds I got were the same. I wasn't sure which room I was going to go in," John said. "Well, now you know. It's the other room." He then walked out of the guest room and into his bedroom. This room was decorated, but not by much. There was a dresser and a nightstand, which had an alarm clock on it. There was a desk in the corner of the room which had his laptop on it. Charlie glanced at it, and an idea popped into her head.
"Hey, are you writing anything?" she asked out of the blue.
"No..." John said. "Well, not anything original. I'm writing about my experience with Freddy's," he said. He laughed it off. "Yeah, it's not very original, is it?" he asked.
"No, not at all," Charlie said.
"That's good to know," John said. He then stepped out of his bedroom and walked across the hall into the bathroom. "Look, I'm going to take a shower. I'll be in out in like ten minutes."
"Got it," Charlie said. John nodded, and he closed the door behind him and turned on the lights and the vent fan. The room began to cool as the heat in the bathroom began circulating around. John sighed and looked away as he undressed, placing a towel on the floor next to the shower entrance. He placed his clothes inside the laundry basket inside the closet. John then grabbed a washcloth and stepped inside the shower, closing the doors behind him. He turned on the water and tested it to make sure it wasn't too hot or cold.
Carlton and Jessica walked through the heavy rain. They didn't bring coats or jackets as they didn't expect the weather to be like this. They walked across the driveway until they reached the porch of Carlton's house. "Hey, are you sure this is your house?" Jessica asked.
"I'm certain," Carlton said. The wind howled behind them, blowing against their clothes. Carlton almost tripped, but he kept his balance. "This is some really nice weather, isn't it?" Carlton shouted out, barely able to hear himself.
"I think it's awful," Jessica said. "And if I was a botanist, I would hate it even more!" She walked up to the door, knocking on it. "Your dad should be here, right?"
"Yeah, he should," Carlton said. He knocked on the door this time, however, there was no response, even after a good minute. "Well, this is just wonderful," Carlton said. "He should be home."
Jessica furrowed her brows, angered by this. "At this point, we should have stayed at that Mexican place. At least we would be warm and dry!" she shouted over the heavy rain.
Carlton laughed. "I'm not really sure, but here," Carlton said. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a spare key. "I always keep these with me in case I get locked out of the house!" He inserted the key into the door lock and turned it, and then he twisted the knob, opening the door. He and Jessica then stepped inside. Carlton swung the door closed and then locked it, putting the key in his pocket.
"I don't want to do that again," Jessica said. She shivered, her clothes completely damp. She took out her wallet and placed it on the window cill. "Is there a towel here or something?" she asked.
"Actually, there is," Carlton said. He walked into the living room and then went to the bathroom, where he grabbed two towels. He wrapped one around himself to dry his clothes, and then he walked back to the living room, where Jessica was. He handed her the towel. "Here you go."
Jessica quickly tried to dry up her clothes, and then she wrapped the towel tightly around herself. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Carlton then sat down on the sofa, sighing. "My dad is usually here, especially at this time."
"Maybe he's working on a case," Jessica suggested. "I mean, sometimes people work long hours."
"He's not, trust me." He then walked over to the phone and he checked it. There were no messages or missed calls. "This is strange. When he leaves, he usually gives the house a call."
"Maybe he's taking longer than he expected?" Jessica asked. "Look, I don't know. I doubt what's happening is related to the park though."
Carlton shrugged. "What the hell even happened at the park? I mean, Charlie seeing herself as a toddler getting killed by William Afton? I mean, is this some sort of joke?"
"I doubt she's pranking us," Jessica said. She walked up to him, leaning on the coffee table. "But at this point, I don't know anything. Then, suddenly, the phone rang. Jessica ran over and picked up the phone—there was text that read: '1 NEW MESSAGE(S).' When she hovered to see the caller ID of the message, a shiver traveled down her spine. It read 'FREDBEAR'S FUN PARK.'
"Carlton," Jessica called out. He walked over to her and looked at the phone, seeing the message. His heart skipped a beat. He took a deep breath, expecting the worst. "I'll put it on speakers so we can both hear it." He did that, and then he played the message.
"Hey, Carlton," the voice said, and it was immediately clear whose voice it was: Clay's. "You might be wondering why I'm calling from this number. The reason is that I'm investigating a murder that took place at Fredbear's Fun Park last night. According to the police report, an animatronic glitched out and attacked the security guard during the night shift, and then it hid the body inside a springlock animatronic suit. The company found out who did it—it was the technician. The technician was fired and then arrested, but I'm skeptical of this. If you want to speak with me, then come to the theme park, however, a gut feeling tells me that you have already been there. In any case, I'll be home by seven in the morning. I'll see you soon. Goodbye." That was the end of the message.
They exchanged fearful glances. Jessica backed away, putting the phone on the stand. "Your dad's involved with this? Why didn't we know?" she asked.
Carlton sighed. "It's because the murder took place last night," he said. He sat down, burying his head into his hands. "He has no idea what he's getting into."
"What do you mean?" Jessica asked.
"Jessica, look. The animatronics hunted down that security guard. I mean, this is a Fazbear place. The animatronics hunting people down is something that we see all the time, right? I doubt that it's one animatronic," he said.
"What are you suggesting?" Jessica asked.
"I suggest that we both go back to that fun park, and we help him. I doubt he can handle his own against seven animatronics, even if he is a police officer."
"Are you serious?" Jessica asked. "I mean, we just drove for two hours, and now we're gonna go back? That's got to be the craziest thing I've ever heard."
"Jessica, please!" Carlton pleaded. "Forget about Charlie and John. We need to go back to the fun park and figure out what's going on. We need to find your dad, and we need to stick together."
Jessica sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, I think you're crazy." She walked over to the counter. She opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. "Well, before we go, I need a drink. And I need to use the bathroom."
"Okay. Whatever you say," Carlton said. Jessica popped the cap off the water bottle and she took a long sip. She then put the cap back on and placed it on the counter, and then she walked into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her. Carlton glanced out the window, seeing the streak of water running down the glass. I can't leave him at that place. It is irresponsible and wrong. I have to know what's going on.
After a couple of minutes, Jessica came out of the bathroom. "Alright, are you ready?"
"Yeah, but let's get jackets." Carlton went into the closet and grabbed two light jackets. One of them was bigger, and he gave Jessica the bigger one. "Does it fit?"
Jessica put on the jacket. It was a little tight in some places, but she didn't want to waste any time. "Yeah, it fits."
"Good." Carlton put his jacket on, and it fit well. He closed the closet door and he opened the front door. He stepped into the rain, putting his hood over his head. Jessica followed him out and closed the door, making sure to lock it. The two walked over to Carlton's car. He slipped into the driver's seat, and Jessica went into the passenger seat. "So, you have your heavy flashlight, right?"
"Yeah," Jessica said. She opened the glove compartment and inside were the two heavy-duty flashlights that Charlie gave out earlier. "Yours is in here as well."
"Good. Then let's drive because we don't have all day." Carlton inserted his key into the ignition and the engine roared to life. He pulled out of the driveway and drove down the street. The rain sprinkled against the car. He just put his windshield wipers on so he could see.
Here is the sixth chapter. It isn't really as crazy as the last two chapters, but that's normal. This chapter is really just to set the stage for the next chapter, so if you didn't really feel much from this one, that's why.