Five Nights at Freddy's The Silver Eyes

to find a strip from a photo booth, four shots of her parents alone. They smiled at each
other, then made faces at the camera, then laughed, missing the chance to pose and
blurring their faces. Last they smiled into the lens. Her mother was beaming happily at
the camera, her face alight and flushed, but her father was staring into the distance, his
smile fixed on his face as if he had left it there by mistake. His dark eyes were intense,
remote, and Charlie resisted a sudden urge to look behind her, as if she might see
whatever it was he was looking at. She peeled back the cellophane from the album’s
page and took the strip out, then folded it in half, careful to place the crease between
pictures, leaving them intact. She slipped the pictures into her pocket, and looked at
John, who was watching her again, as if she were some kind of unpredictable creature
he needed to be careful around.
“What?” She said.
“Charlie, you know I don’t think he did it, right?”
“You said that.”
“I’m serious, it’s not just what Carlton’s dad said. I knew him, as well as a kid
can know some other kid’s dad—he wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t believe it.” He spoke
with calm certainty, like someone who believed that the world was made out of facts
and tangible things, and that there was such a thing as truth. Charlie nodded.
“I know,” she said. She took her next breath slowly, gathering the words she
would speak with it. “But I might.” His eyes widened, startled, and she looked up at the
ceiling for a minute, briefly trying to remember if all the cracks had been there when she
was a child.
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