Charlie looked at him searchingly. “So, what do you think is the truth? Who do you—” she swallowed, and started again. “Who do you think I am, if I’m not me?”

John sighed. “I’ve thought about it a lot,” he said at last. “Almost constantly, actually.” Charlie nodded slightly, barely moving her head, like she was afraid she would spook him. “I thought about a lot of things, I guess—theories—um …”

“Like what?” Charlie asked gently.

“Well …” John’s face was getting hot. I should never have agreed to see her.

“John?”

“I—I guess maybe I thought you might be Sammy,” he mumbled; she looked puzzled for a moment, like she had not quite heard him, then her eyes widened.

“Sammy’s dead,” she said tightly. John looked up at the ceiling and put his hands to his temples.

“I know,” he said, and met her eyes again. “But, Charlie, look: I don’t know that. Neither do you. The last thing … you remember, of Sammy, what was it?”

“You know the answer to that,” she said in a low, level voice.

“You saw him being taken,” John said after a moment. She made no response, and he took it as license to continue. “You saw him being kidnapped, not killed. By Dave, or Afton—Springtrap. So, what if he wasn’t killed? What if Sammy was raised by William Afton, twisted, and brought up by a murderous madman to replace you—to replace Charlie—after her death? Also, Sammy could be short for Samantha. I forgot that part. Sammy could have been a girl all along.” Charlie was motionless across the table; she scarcely looked like she was breathing. “I know how it sounds when I say it out loud,” John added in a rush. “That’s why I mostly don’t.” Charlie had covered her face with her hand, and her shoulders were shaking. He broke off as she looked up: this time she was laughing. There was a manic edge to it, like it might turn back into crying at any moment, but John tentatively tried to smile.

“Oh, John,” she said at last. “I don’t even—You know that’s crazy, right?”

“Is it crazier than anything else we’ve seen?” he argued without much conviction.

“John, you took me to see the grave yourself, remember?”

John paused and looked confused for a moment, trying to reconcile what he’d just heard.

“You took me yourself, to Sammy’s grave.”

“I took you to the cemetery, but I never saw Sammy’s grave, or your father’s,” John corrected.

“Then go look sometime.” Charlie’s voice was patient. John felt immediately foolish.

“Aunt Jen warned me not to come back to Hurricane.” Charlie looked down at the table. “She’s three for three at this point. Have you heard from her, by the way?”