Page 9 of Johnny

Rustling and clinking drives me forward. I tap the door and it swings open, then pan the flashlight

around the perimeter of the small, concrete room.

A girl.

“Charlotte?” I say, taking a few steps forward.

But it’s not Charlotte. Charlotte looks like a Charlotte. Long, blonde hair. Fair skin, blue eyes. And

this girl, in this condition, doesn’t look anything like a Charlotte.

Which makes no sense, I realize. Not even Charlotte would look like a Charlotte in a place like

this. But it doesn’t matter. She is most definitely not Charlotte.

That’s when I notice the smell. Not death. Filth. All the things that come to mind when one says filth.

“Jesus Christ,” I say, covering my nose with my hand.

Her head swings, eyes still closed. She’s not naked, but her clothes are tattered and dirty, stained

with sweat and other bodily liquids, including blood.

“Fuck,” I say. Not referring to her condition so much, but that she’s here, alive, and I’ve found her.

Because that requires a decision be made.

Leave her? Save her?

I sigh, take a few steps closer and then bend down to lift up her chin. “Hello?”

She tries to shake her head but can’t quite manage it.

“Who are you?” I say. Not that it matters. She’s not Charlotte.

She sucks in a deep breath and I point my flashlight on her face. This makes her squint her eyes

even though they remain closed.

Her lips are cracked and dry. Like she hasn’t taken a sip of water in days.

I stand back up and look around.

So they knew. The Way knew the minute I decided to go hunt down Charlotte.

Something to think about, for sure.

“Help me,” she murmurs. “Please.”

I turn back to the girl.

I will help her. I’m just not sure she’s gonna like my solution.

I can’t take her with me, for fuck’s sake. That’s not going to happen. And I’m not carrying her ass

back up to the surface so she can fend for herself.

That leaves just one other option left.