Finding The Five || FNAF Movie

9 || How Many People Can Fit In Jonah's Car?

(Unedited, 1801 words)
Trigger Warnings: None

I wake up at six, startled into consciousness by a nightmare that fades from my focus too quickly for me to process. Instead of dwelling on it, I roll onto my side and look at the bare living room sprawled out in front of me as silence settles in. Once the house believes I am asleep, residual memories start to crawl across the carpet, shadows dancing on the walls. A mother calls for her children, both of which come scampering out from the bedroom. I can almost feel heat drifting out from the fireplace, the smell of bacon wafting in from the kitchen. In the dead of night— or rather during the first rays of morning— the house comes to life.

I may not be the best at seeing or talking to those stuck in the in-between, but my ability to see memories of a person or a building is immaculate and cannot be compared to anyone else's. It is a point of pride my mother could never claim, and as sad as it is, that's a point of pride in and of itself as well.

My mother was strong, but she wasn't observant enough to see residual energies. Had she closed her eyes and tried, she might've been able to catch something, but she wasn't able to. She couldn't dwell on the past, and every moment something happened, she ignored every second preceding it.

I, on the other hand, can't. Every moment of history in this spot plays out in front of my eyes as I lay quiet. Memories of children laughing, mothers crying, grandparents dying. All the way back to a now-extinct bird watching her eggs hatch for the first time. The longer I sit in silence, the more memories fit into my mind. The more muddled my thoughts become, the easier it is for memories to fight for a spot.

Sometimes I wonder if that's why I hyper-focus. No normal human thinks about money as much as I do, do they? Or at least on average. And before money it was the afterlife, and before that it was going to college, and before that it was art class and the color wheel and Mrs. Patrick with her subtle British accent. I've always been focused on something other than my abilities. And I wonder if it's because I have them, or if that's just how I am.

I end up laying around until after seven, then I get up and start packing all my things into my backpack. 

I slip out of my tee shirt and rough-looking pants and change into my blue pet shop shirt and black cargo pants. I put my coffee shop outfit in my bag along with my toothbrush, toothpaste, and the deodorant after I use them, just in case we're gone for a long time. I grab two water bottles and an apple juice and set them inside the bag as well. Then I sit on top of the counter and have some cereal for a while until I decide to call the coffee shop. 

It doesn't take long for them to answer, but I hear Mason's dreaded voice promptly ask, "Hello, this is Mason from the New Orleans College Coffee Shop speaking. How may I help you?" 

"Hey, Mason, it's Josephine Sterling. I'm calling to let you know that I'm not coming in for my shift this afternoon," I say, trying to stay respectful so as to not get into any more trouble than I know I'm getting into by doing this. 

"Oh, well, we didn't expect you to." He pauses for a moment, and I narrow my eyebrows, thoroughly confused. 

How did he know?

"Since, you know, you don't work here anymore," he deadpans. At first, I'm sure I heard him wrong, but he carries on before I can ask him to repeat himself. "You got fired yesterday, remember?"

"No, I didn't," I reply, looking over my shoulder as lights pierce through the window and scrape across the walls. Jonah's car pulls into my driveway. 

"Boss is sending you your last paycheck. She chose to pay you for today even though you're already fired. You should be thankful," he mumbles. "Vincent had to work for it."