Five Nights at Freddy's The Silver Eyes

“I don’t mean I think he did it; I don’t think that,” she said. “I don’t think about
it at all, I can’t. I shut the whole thing off in my mind the day I left Hurricane. I don’t
think about Freddy’s; I don’t think about what happened; and I don’t think about him.”
John was looking at her like she was monstrous, like what she was saying was
the worst thing he had ever heard.
“I don’t understand how you can say things like that,” he said quietly. “You
loved him, how can you even consider the possibility that he would do something so
terrible?”
“Even the people who do terrible things have people who love them.” Charlie
was looking for words. “I don’t think he did it, I’m not saying that,” she said again, and
again the words hit the air as flimsy as paper. “But I remember him dressing up for us in
the yellow Freddy suit, doing the dances, miming along with the songs, it was so much a
part of him. He was the restaurant, there was no one else. And he was always so distant,
like in that picture; there was always something else going on beneath the surface. It was
like he had a real life, and a secret life, you know?”
John nodded and looked about to speak, and Charlie rushed on before he could.
“We were the secret life. His real life was his work; it was what mattered. We
were his guilty pleasure, the thing he got to love and sneak away to have time with,
something he kept hidden away from the dangers of what he did, of his ‘real’ world.
And when he was with us, there was always a part of him that was back in reality,
whatever that was for him.”
Again John opened his mouth, but Charlie snapped the photo album shot, stood
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