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—”