Alone With Them

Chapter 7

"Alright."

"Payday is on Friday and your application has a few more details about that that I scribbled down." They were at the large glass door, the only thing left between Cathryn and freedom. She faced Mr. Whittle, who was looking down at her on her left, so that Sam was left staring at her back. She could feel his sharp eyes drilling a hole into the back of her skull, like he was begging her to turn and see him.

"Thank you," Cathryn said, trying to rush the conversation. She held out her hand and tried not to make a disgusted face when Mr. Whittle's clammy palm touched her own in a handshake. His fingers were twitching.

"No, thank you for considering applying here. I hope to see you here again soon, Cathryn." He was looking deep into her face, his icy blue eyes piercing, as if trying to communicate the sincerity behind his words. Cathryn couldn't bear to stare into them, trying to uncover whatever meaning lay behind them, and instead, focused on his stringy, almost invisible, mustache. But that scared her, too.

Then Mr. Whittle's attention was directed to a panicking janitor, hands squeezing the rough handle of a mop that seemed to be permanently stained gray. The janitor was a middle-aged woman, whose puffy cheeks sat blanched as she watched a young boy kneel over and vomit all his pizza in the Foxy play area. "If you'll excuse me." Mr. Whittle didn't wait for Cathryn's recognition and rushed off to assist the poor woman.

Now was the time she could leave. Cathryn's hand was already on the front door's smooth, black metal handle. It was so cold that it left her fingers feeling sweaty. She was already tugging it open when a voice stopped her.

"Excuse me." It must've been Sam. For being in his early twenties, his voice was surprisingly mature. She barely glanced to her side and made eye contact with the boy. "You're applying for the night guard job?" Her brain hadn't ever registered what he'd asked when she nodded.

"Yep." Why was her voice so squeaky? She turned to face him, squaring her thin shoulders and sucking in a slow, calming breath. He was very tall, and his gentle face almost distracted her from the way his pupils constricted, becoming so small they were barely bigger than the tip of a pin.

"And...you're coming in to work tonight?" Even his calm voice failed to hide the slight tremor in his tone, but the idea of searching for the meaning behind Sam's failing voice left her mind as he leaned closer to her face. Not very much closer, he only scooted up by a few inches.

"Yes?" Did no one want her to work here? Was Fazbear's really desperate enough to hire someone they didn't want? He let out a sigh, one intermingled with a warning.

"Don't work here." Cathryn took a step towards the counter he stood behind. There was a cash register on the side, and it was coated with painted confetti and balloons.

"Why not?" she whispered, peering up into his forestry eyes. The ones that held so much fear and concern. "Do you all think I'll be a bad worker?" He shook his head sadly, but an amused grin expanded on his face.

"No, but you won't like the job. Trust me."

"Why not?" They both kept moving closer to each other, probably by accident. But Cathryn noticed the way the distance between them was closing, at first starting at a foot or two but now they were only inches away from each other's faces. A tingle, probably the nervous energy Cathryn always felt at Freddy's, rushed through her gut.

"I can't talk about it; I signed the leisure." All at once, Sam pulled away.

"I can do it," Cathryn reassured the nervous cashier. No way was he concerned about her hating the job. Whittle had said Sam usually worked the night shift. He was probably afraid of her stealing his job.