“John. Good,” he said, and nodded, seeming unsurprised by his presence. He stepped aside to let John in, and ushered him into the study. “Do you want some coffee?” he asked, gesturing at the mug on his desk.

“It’s a little late for me,” John said. “I’ll be up all night.”

Clay nodded. “I’m substituting lesser vices,” was all he said. John glanced around the room. The last time he had been here they’d used the desk as a barricade against an army of angry animatronics.

“You fixed the door,” he observed.

“I fixed the door,” Clay said. “Oak. Reinforced. What brings you here?”

“I saw Charlie.” Clay raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. “She said something: she asked if I’d heard from—” John stopped, seized by a sudden sense that he was being watched. Clay had his head tilted to the side as though sensing something as well.

Silently, Clay made his way to the closed window, positioning himself beside one of the long, pale green drapes, and peered outside. “Everyone is a little on edge with all these weirdos walking around in face paint,” he said, but he kept his voice low. He pulled the drapes together, then walked back toward John. “Have a seat,” Clay offered; there were two dark green upholstered chairs and a matching couch along one wall. John sat on the couch. Clay grabbed his desk chair and dragged it across the rug so they were only a few feet apart.

“What did Charlie ask you?” Clay began. John glanced at the window again; he felt as if waves of dread were emanating from it, rolling into the room like an unseen fog. Clay looked back over his shoulder, but only for a second. John cleared his throat.

“She asked about her aunt Jen. If I’d seen her. I thought you might know something?” he finished uncertainly. Clay looked lost in thought, and John wondered for a moment if he should repeat himself.

“No,” Clay said finally. “Did Charlie say why she was asking?”

John shook his head. “She just said she wanted to know if I’d heard from her. I don’t know why I would hear from her, though,” he said. He was choosing his words carefully, as if saying the right ones in the right order would unlock a door in Clay’s mind, and convince him to tell John what he knew. Clay just nodded thoughtfully. “Did you ever meet her?” John asked.