Charlie clawed at the floor with her fingers, unable to move the rest of her body. She gripped the doll with her fingertips and pulled it closer.

“I hate because, even now, I’m still not enough,” Elizabeth whispered. She held out her sleek metallic fingers in front of her face. “Even after this; embodying the one thing Father did love, I’m not enough. Because he can’t duplicate this, he can’t make himself like me.” Her voice began to grow angry again. “He can’t duplicate what happened to me, or maybe he’s too scared to try it on himself. I broke free of my prison, I emerged from the flames and the wreckage of Henry’s last great failure, and I went to my father. I gave myself to him, to study, to use, to learn the secrets of my creation. And still it is you he wants.”

Charlie clambered up onto her hands and knees and dragged herself toward the hallway. Elizabeth didn’t seem concerned, taking slow steps behind her, not trying to catch her, only to keep her in sight.

“You, maybe he can re-create. Henry somehow got a piece of himself into you, and that’s something we haven’t seen before. That’s … unique.”

Charlie kept crawling steadily: She was beginning to feel stronger, but she kept her movements slow and clumsy, getting as much distance as she could between herself and Elizabeth. Charlie looked up and down the hall, searching for something—anything—that might give her an advantage. The door to the next room was open, and she could see a desk: sitting on it was a round stone paperweight. Without picking up her pace, Charlie crawled across the room, dragging her legs as if they pained her, while Elizabeth’s slow, patient steps followed a pace behind.

*  *  *

“Can you get the green for me?” a voice called. Carlton blinked. He was sitting upright but felt only half-present, as if he had been daydreaming. “The green,” the tiny voice repeated. “Please?” Carlton cast his eyes around for something green; the floor was black and white, and they were sitting somewhere a little dark. A little boy was hunched over a piece of paper, drawing. Carlton looked up. We’re under a table. Under the table at Freddy’s. There were drawings scattered in front of him on the floor, and a box of crayons spilled out across the tiles. Carlton spotted a green crayon that had rolled up against the wall, and he grabbed it and handed it to the little boy, who took it without looking up.