Page 6 of Johnny

what I can of the quiet, almost-peaceful atmosphere. Pretending, the way I always do, that things are

cool. Just fine. Just another day in the life of Johnny Boston.

Each bungalow is like the first. No bodies to speak of. Either they evacuated everyone before they

wiped it clean or they’re somewhere burnt and buried under the blackened, charred remains of the

small houses.

No real way to tell without getting my hands dirty and that’s not why I came.

I’m looking for Charlotte, after all. She’s only good to me alive anyway. And if she’s alive, then

she’d be in the hidden facilities underground. Checking the bungalows is just a precaution to avoid an

unnecessary surprise.

Or possibly I’m just trying to put off the inevitable. Because what does my life look like when I’m

done here? Do I really think I’ll earn the fairy-tale ending? Really?

I don’t think that. I know there’s nothing waiting for me even after I get out. But I want Jesse and

Emma to have a chance at a future. I want to give Joey time with all three of his lovers. And right now

this island is my only clue so I’m gonna check it thoroughly.

I don’t like the underground facilities. They creeped me out that day I saw them unfinished and now

that I’m back, they creep me out even more.

All those years I’ve kept that secret.

How many people did they hold down there?

I tried not to think about this island after I went home. Did my best to do as my father asked and

just forget. My sanity depends on forgetting. I’m sure everyone who’s heard of my reputation would

argue that I’m not really sane anymore, but it could be worse. They don’t know that, but I could be a

lot worse if I didn’t learn to forget.

I have deep-rooted coping mechanisms in place. My mind is a building, much like the Bossy. A

maze of convoluted pathways and different floors, and elevators, and hidden stairways. A place that

requires a map to find your way around. Well-guarded with the best security protocols in place.

If I didn’t have that I’d be insane from the seductive secrets I keep. The whole thing would drive

me mad.

But those coping mechanisms are there. Have been there for as long as I can remember. I could

probably put my finger on the day that all those special coping strategies took root but why would I

want to?