Mike Schmidt and the Long Night

by RLeeSmith

After moving back to her hometown, Ana Stark finally has a home (with dark secrets of its own) and friends (albeit animatronic ones) and one last chance at happiness. Until a phone call threatens to destroy what little peace she's found. His name is Mike Schmidt and he has a story to tell… This is Part Two of a 5-part series. Please read Girl on the Edge of Nowhere first.

11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The last time the subject had come up in Foxy's hearing, Ana had mentioned she had to be at work by five in the morning, so when the four o'clock hour rolled around, Foxy picked himself off the deck of his ship where he'd passed the night and headed for the dining room so he wouldn't miss her. He didn't bother turning his eyes on at first, but the East Hall sounded different enough to be unsettling in the dark, so he switched on his lights. She'd cleaned it, scrubbed it maybe. Seemed like a waste to his way of thinking, if she was really planning to pull the roof down in two short weeks, but what did he know about building and un-building? She'd been hard at work, though. That much, anyone could see.

The others were in the dining room already. Bonnie, he expected, and it wasn't so unusual for Chica to stick close to the stage as six o'clock drew nearer, but it surprised him some to see Freddy lurking in the back end of the room. Not patrolling, not passing through, just standing and watching the table where the girl had obviously denned herself down.

Bonnie had not taken his eyes off him since Foxy had stuck his head through the plastic sheets walling off the dining room from the Hall, but at least he'd kept quiet. When Foxy came all the way inside, however, Bon thumped his guitar down and got up to come meet him. "What d-d-d—DO YOU GET WHEN YOU CROSS A—do you want?"

Before Foxy could answer, the sound of a body shifting and then coughing came from under the table.

"Time'zit?" Ana muttered. More movement. Something glowed through the dark curtain she'd strung around the table. "Goddammit." A sigh. "Fine."

The glow blinked off. Another came on, bright enough to throw her silhouette on the fabric walls of her little room and show any wandering eye at all the playful curves of her body as she stripped out of her night-clothes. "I could have sworn I brought more shirts than this," she muttered, pulling fresh ones on. Then she came crawling out on her hands and knees, pushing her lamp ahead of her and pausing only briefly when she saw the set of them arranged around her.

"The gang's all here," was all she said.

Caught unawares by one of his own catch-phrases, Freddy triggered. He let out part of his distinctive laugh, but the effort of suppressing the rest of it was a telling one. One hand hit the restroom door behind him as he convulsed, knocking it open, and Ana, climbing to her feet, immediately dropped to her knees again with both hands over her mouth and nose.

"Shut it!" she called through her fingers. "Jesus tap-dancing Christ, I forgot to cap those pipes! Fuck me! Shut the door!"

"You ok-k-kay?" Bonnie asked, still glaring at Foxy as he went to offer Ana his arm.

She took it, nodding. "Could have used another half-hour's sleep, but whatever. Just means I've got time to go home before work."

"Home?" repeated Foxy, ears forward. "Ye ain't serious!"

"Uh, yeah? Why?"

"I ain't seen ye at-t-t all this go-round! Blast, woman, what do I have t-t-to do?" he asked, laughing but only half-joking. "Carry ye off at the p-p—POINT O' ME SWORD—to get a minute alone with ye?"

"Sorry, Captain. I told you I was working. Poor Bonnie hasn't gotten any alone-time either." She patted Bonnie's arm absently as she rubbed her eyes, then stepped into her boots and did up the laces. "But to be honest, if I've got the chance to grab a real shower at home rather than a two-minute lukewarm drizzle here, you haven't got a hell of a lot that can tempt me away."

"If only ye knew, luv."

Bonnie's ears snapped flat.

"Put 'em up, my man," Ana said evenly, heading into the kitchen. "We talked about this."

The pins in Bonnie's ears creaked as he pushed them up to half-mast and no higher.

Ana rummaged in the cupboards, muttering to herself as she knocked things around. Then she said, "Oh!" and laughed. When she came out soon after, she had a candy bar in one hand—breakfast of warriors, that—and a long-necked bottle in the other. "I got this for you the other day," she announced, holding the bottle out to Foxy. "And then completely forgot. Sorry. I got the best intentions, but my memory is for shit. Took a lot of hits to the head as a kid."

Foxy came to take it, eyepatch flipping up so he could read the label. Kraken-brand spiced rum, it said. With a scrimshaw-style drawing of a giant squid tangling up a sailing ship. "Oh, aye," he said at once and deftly scratched off the plastic seal. He hooked the cork out with a flick of his wrist and pretended to take a deep, savoring breath.

"How long has it been since there was rum in the captain's bottle?" Ana asked.

"C-C-Couldn't tell ye, lass. But th-this here is the end of a long d-d-dry dock for sure." He fit the cork back in and slapped it home with the cuff of his hook. "Though it be a bit wasted-d-d on me, don't ye reckon?"

"I love it when you talk like a pirate."

Bonnie's ears hit the top of his head again.

Without looking back, Ana said, "Something you want to say, Bon?"

Muttering, Bonnie pushed his ears back up, but folded his arms across his chest, looking impressively huge and pissed off for a pastel-colored bunny.

Foxy was not impressed. "Why d-d-don't ye come on by the C-Cove later on, lass?" he offered, looking straight at Bonnie. "Convince me t-t-to share it with ye."

"Sharing isn't very piratey," she pointed out.

"Maybe I j-j-just want ye drunk and disadvantaged." He winked his eyepatch at her. "Don't get-t-t more piratey than that."

Bonnie's fingers scraped on his arm casings as his hands clenched, but he kept quiet.

It was Freddy who said, "FOXY. MIND YOUR MANNERS."

Foxy glanced at him, his ears folding briefly back in an expression of chagrin, although he was a bit too smug to really pull it off. "Aye, well, ye know where I am if ye ch-ch-change yer mind," he said, popping his left thigh open and settling the bottle inside for safe-keeping. "I don't-t-t much leave the Cove, even at night-t-t, but that don't mean I don't want the c-c—COMPANY OF ROGUES AND SINNERS. Eh, sorry about th-th-that, lass. I don't mean it-t-t personally."

"Hey, if the shoe fits, right, Freddy?" Ana tucked her candy bar into the side pocket of her duffel bag and shouldered the strap, fetching up her keys and phone and other humanish geegaws from under the table as she readied herself to leave. "I might swing by now and then, but like I say, I don't usually drink when I'm working and I've got a lot of work to do tonight, so, you know…maybe, maybe not. Pencil me in for a hard maybe."

"Hard's the only-ly-ly way I come, luv," Foxy replied, tapping his hook on his plastic chest casing to pretend that was what he meant by it.

Bonnie's eyes opened up black and slowly, slowly shrank back into their colors.

Ana laughed. "I got a dirty mind," she murmured and turned to Bonnie. "Want to give me a kiss goodbye?"

"No."

"Aw, come on."

"Any k-k-kiss but that one."

She shrugged. "How about a kiss see-you-later?"

"Sure." He limped a few steps toward her, took her arm and pulled her that much further away from Foxy. He bent his head and let Ana press her lips to his muzzle.

Foxy waited politely until they separated, then said, "We all g-g-get a turn now, aye?" putting a particular emphasis on the word 'turn'. It wasn't nice and he knew it, but eh. Pirate.

As expected, it triggered a reaction, but it was Chica, not Bonnie, who twitched hard and blurted out a cheerful, "IT'S MORE FUN WHEN WE ALL TAKE TURNS!"

Ana laughed again, but now Freddy was glaring. Fun was fun, but there was a line and that was over it. Foxy folded his ears back, glancing at Chica who was staring at him without accusation but with dignified hurt across her sunny, frozen features.

"Nope," Ana was saying, unaware of the silent drama playing out all around her. "These lips are a bunny-only playground. Tough break, Chica. Oh, shit, right. Speaking of breaks. Chica?"

"HI THERE, I'M CHICA!"

"Yeah, I know. My Easy-Bake Oven? It won't work without power. So don't mess with it, because you'll break it. A friend of mine gave that to me and, for the immediate future, it's going to be my only source of hot food, so I'm going to be royally pissed if it gets broken before I even get to use it. You hear me?"

Chica tapped her fingertips together, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and finally hung her head and nodded.

Ana made it a few more steps toward the kitchen, then sighed and looked back again. "Chica?"

"HI, I'M CHICA!"

"Uh huh, I remember. Look, once I get the generator going, I'll…show you how to use the Easy-Bake, okay? You can play with it all you want, just not today."

"I LOVE TO COOK! I CAN MAKE THE CUPCAKES! I ALWAYS MAKE ENOUGH TO SHARE WITH MY FRIENDS!"

"You can look at the little recipe book, but don't try to take the oven out of the box. Promise me."

Chica clicked several times and finally said, "A BUNCH OF BANANAS IS CALLED A 'HAND'. A SINGLE FRUIT IS CALLED A 'FINGER'. MY FINGERS LOOK A LOT LIKE BANANAS, DON'T THEY?" She held up her hands, then slowly turned them over and looked at the cracked plastic and bare metal bones. "A STRAWBERRY ISN'T A BERRY," she said as her eyelids slanted back at a sorrowing angle. "IT'S A MEMBER OF THE ROSE FAMILY."

"Uh-huh," said Ana, looking puzzled. She shook her head and turned around. "Bye."

"BYE-BYE! COME BACK SOON!"

Ana went through the plastic, stopped, and came back. "Before I forget, new rule. What are we up to? Number forty?"

"FORTY-ONE," said Freddy, looking at Chica, who was still staring at her hands.

"I'm not counting your stupid no-touching rule. I'll touch Bonnie anytime I goddamn want. Rule number forty," she said as Foxy chuckled and Freddy took in an extra pull of air and blew it slowly out his joints. "If I'm sleeping over, don't wake me up. No singing, no comedy routines, no banging around in the kitchen—"

Foxy glanced at Chica, who sighed and spread her arms in what was either a What? or a Bring it! or possibly something in between.

"—and just in general, no loud noise. Okay? Rule forty…?" Ana prompted.

"NO. NOISE. WHEN. YOU. ARE. SLEEPING," said Freddy.

"Great. I'm going to work. Stay out of my stuff, all of you."

She left.

Freddy grunted, giving Foxy and Bonnie together a hardish stare before he followed her.

Foxy leaned himself up against the back wall next to the animatronic alligator and folded his arms, scratching thoughtfully at his chin with his hook as he listened. The loading dock door opened and shut. Soon, the truck's engine started. Foxy rotated his ears, following it through the building's walls as Ana took herself away. So that was that, then.

Bonnie had been listening, too. Now he swung himself clumsily around with his ears flat to his head and his hands in fists.

"Something on yer mind?" Foxy drawled.

"Quit-t-t flirting-ing-ing with her-r-r!"

"Ye c-c-can, but I can't-t-t?"

"No, ye c-c-can't! D-D-Drop yer bleeding anchor somewhere else!"

Foxy's smile, such as it was given his limited range of expression, snapped shut into a scowl. "Don't make fun of the way I t-t-talk, bucko."

"BE NICE," said Chica, but without much hope. "LET'S BE FRIENDS. PLEASE."

"And leave her out-t-t of it!" Bonnie snapped, pointing at her. "You pull that-t-t shit again just to score p-p—POINTS REDEEMABLE FOR COOL PRIZES AT THE PRIZE COUNTER!—points off me, and I d-d-don't care if Ana's right there watching, I will knock you through a fucking-ing-ing wall!"

He hadn't meant to catch Chica in that net, but damned if he'd apologize to Bonnie for it. "Any time ye want-t-t to try, mate," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "Ye know where t-t-to find me."

Bonnie looked as though he wanted to keep going and God knew, Foxy was willing, but just then, they both heard footsteps in the kitchen, headed back this way.

Soon, Freddy pushed through the plastic into the dining room. He went to Chica first, reaching out to pat her shoulder as she nodded, answering his unspoken concern, but his eyes were already tapping back and forth between Bonnie and Foxy. "WHAT IS THIS?"

"Nothing-ing," Bonnie muttered, slouching over to the table. He put a hand possessively on it and glared at Foxy.

"Can't handle a little healthy c-c-competition, is all," Foxy supplied. And winked at Bonnie. "It be almost-t-t like he knows he wouldn't win, what with the weapon he ain't-t-t got."

"THAT'S. ENOUGH," said Freddy with an immediate point. "MIND YOUR MANNERS."

Foxy raised his hook and open hand in a token gesture of submission, then turned to the East Hall and started walking.

"WAIT. ALL. OF. YOU. STOP. AND. LISTEN. WE…" Freddy clicked, his eyes skipping back and forth minutely as if he were reading from a list of available vocabulary words. As he hunted it out, he took his hat off and scrubbed his fist across his brow in an absent-minded gesture. Little things like that had a way of coming out in all of them when they were distracted, but Freddy was not often distracted. This was serious.

"WE'RE. IN. TROUBLE," Freddy finished finally. He put his hat back on, giving it an extra push to secure it to the worn-out Velcro tab up there, and looked at them, all of them, including Chica, who did not as a rule make trouble. "AN-N-A."

"What about-t-t her?" Bonnie asked, still sullen and looking for a fight.

"SHE'S. MOVING. IN." Freddy raised both arms in a heaving gesture and let them bang down against his sides again. "SHE. DOESN'T. CALL. IT. THAT. BUT. THAT'S. WHAT. SHE'S. DOING. AND. WE. HAVE. TO. BE. BEAVER DAM. SURE. WE'RE. READY. FOR. IT."

"We'll watch her," Bonnie said at once and Chica chimed in with an urgently cheerful, "YOU CAN DO ANYTHING WITH HELP FROM YOUR FRIENDS. I LIKE TO HELP MY FRIENDS. LET'S BE FRIENDS."

Freddy nodded, patting at Chica's arm, but his expression lost none of its severity. "SHE. WANTS. TO. BE. OUR. FRIEND. I'M. WILLING. TO. LET. HER. BUT." He stopped again, clicking as he looked around the newly-mopped and still rotting room, and finally just had to point over at the gym. "I. THOUGHT. THIS. PLACE. WAS. CLEAN," he said. "FOXY. AND. I. HAVE. BOTH. GONE. OVER. IT. BUT. I. FORGOT. ALL. ABOUT. THAT. ROOM. AND. SHE'S. RIGHT. THERE'S. A. MESS. IN. THERE. SOME. WHERE. WE'VE. GOT. TO. CLEAN. IT. UP. BEFORE. SHE. GETS. BACK." His eyes flashed briefly, underlining his next words. "WE'VE. GOT. TO. BE. SURE. WE'VE. GOT. EVERY. THING. THIS. TIME. WE. MAY. NOT. GET. ANOTHER. CHANCE."

"Yeah, okay," said Bonnie, but he was frowning. "But…you know, I'm not-t-t a hundred percent sure she'd c-c-call the cops, even if she found a b-b-b—BUDDY!—body."

"KNEE. THERE. AM. I. BUT. I'M. NOT. TAKING. A. CHANCE. LISTEN. TO. ME. BONNIE," Freddy said suddenly, raking his gaze across them. "LISTEN. TO. ME. ALL. OF. YOU. SHE. CAN'T. KNOW. THE. TRUTH. ABOUT. US."

"LET'S BE FRIENDS," Chica said again, tapping her fingertips together. "SAFETY FIRST! SOMETIMES WE HAVE GOOD SECRETS, LIKE SURPRISE PARTIES, AND SOMETIMES IT FEELS GOOD TO TELL SECRETS WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND, BUT SOME SECRETS HURT IF YOU KEEP THEM."

"SHE. CAN'T. KNOW," Freddy said again, staring hard at Chica. "WE. CAN. ONLY. LET. HER. LEAVE. IF. SHE. CAN'T. HURT. US."

"Not sure I like what yer not-t-t quite saying," Foxy remarked.

Freddy glanced at him, then turned all the way around again to face him fully and said, "I'M. SAYING. I. WILL. K-K-KILL. HER. IF. SHE. GIVES. ME. A. REASON. AND. YOU. DON'T. HAVE. TO. LIKE. IT." He paused a moment, staring down each of them in turn in silent challenge, but silent or not, none of them had the capacity to challenge Freddy and he knew it. So he waited, but the time he gave them only acted to further emphasize his absolute authority, an authority given to him by the very man contained below the pizzeria, and he knew that too.

"What do ye want-t-t us to do?" Foxy asked quietly.

"WE. HAVE. TO. BE. CAREFUL. WHAT. SHE. SEES. WHAT. SHE. HEARS. AND. ESPECIALLY. WHAT. SHE. KNOWS. NO. MORE. TALKING." Now Freddy looked at Bonnie. "NO. MORE. TOUCHING."

"You c-c-can't be serious! She already knows we-e-eeeee—" Bonnie gave his speaker a smack. "—talk!"

"And t-t-touch," remarked Foxy. "The rate yer g-g-going, she'll know there's some of us what fuck-k-k before long."

Freddy growled warningly, but Bonnie did not back down. Instead, he stepped right up, snarling, "You shut-t-t up! It wasn't-t-t like that!"

"Ah, ye don't need-d-d to tell me what it were like, lad. Ye need me to tell ye. Now, fucking's a lot harder-r-r—ARR!—than it looks," he began in his educating voice, "and humans are a breakable lot. I realize ye ain't-t-t got the equipment to get in there and d-d-do a proper job-b of it, but there's still plenty ye can do to get a right sh-sh—SHIVER ME TIMBERS—shiver out o' her. So c-c-come on by the Cove sometime, eh? I'll tell ye just-t-t what to do to curl them pink little t-t-toes."

Freddy covered his eyes and heaved a short, impatient sigh.

"I said-d-d, shut up! You d-d-don't know anything about it!"

Bonnie had always been the sort to let his emotions lead him, down good paths or bad, but over the years, his moods had become more erratic and ever since that medical chatter had starting splicing itself into his speech, his self-control had eroded even further. Foxy knew better than to provoke him when he was already this angry, and maybe if Bonnie had just told him to fuck off again, he could have laughed and let cooler minds prevail, but he didn't know what he talking about? After six years at Mulholland, he could say that to him? Foxy honestly didn't know whether that was funnier than it was infuriating, but he couldn't ignore it.

"I know more about women than ye ever will," he said, not quite laughing. "I know fucking them's hard-d-d on the hip bearings, for one. And ye, with yer whole f-f-f—FIVE FATHOMS DOWN—five minutes experience stealing kisses in a d-d-dark room, what is it ye think ye know b-b-better than me, who's fucked-d-d 'em by the bleeding hundreds?"

Bonnie lowered his head, less like a bunny than a bull. "I know she did-d-dn't pay to be with-th me."

'Well, I had that coming,' thought Foxy, so clearly that he genuinely believed he was calm, right before he swung.

Chica caught his hook. "PLEASE DON'T FIGHT," she said. "PLEASE."

He looked at her, but it was hard to see her. In spite of the fact that her eyes were on, the room was dark. But no, the room wasn't dark; he was. He might not be all the way in the black, not yet, but he was for certain tipping that way.

Dimly, even more dimly than he saw the room, he could hear Freddy telling Bonnie to be calm, to open his eyes. It helped. He focused on the sound of that voice, letting it speak to him, making his programming shore up his self-control for a change instead of fraying at it.

He came out of it before Bonnie and at last could see him. Freddy had him pinned to the wall, his hands on Bonnie's shoulders and his face so close, it had to be all Bonnie could see. He wasn't struggling at the moment, but he was twitching. His ears tapped and skittered across the back of Freddy's head; his hands spasmed as they clutched Freddy's wrists; his eyes were shut, which was a good sign. If they were all the way black, Bonnie wouldn't be able to close them.

Foxy retreated to the show stage and sat to wait. Chica came to stand beside him, close enough that he could feel her pressing against some of his sensor plates. Her presence was abrasive at first, but gradually grew comforting.

"Ye shouldn't gr-gr-grab at me, lass," he said at length. "I'll hurt-t-t ye one o' these days."

"I LIKE TO HELP MY FRIENDS," Chica replied. And then, with just a hint of reproach around her eyes, she added, "STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK YOUR BONES, BUT WORDS CAN HURT FOREVER. BULLYING IS NEVER COOL."

"Aye, I know, I know. What-t-t can I tell ye? I ain't a nice g-g-guy."

"WE ALL DO BAD THINGS SOMETIMES, BUT IT HELPS TO SAY I'M SORRY."

"Never in a million years, luv."

Across the room, Freddy finally released Bonnie and stepped back. Bonnie's pupils might have fluxed when his eyes met Foxy's, but maybe not; it was a fair distance and the room wasn't well lit.

"ARE. YOU. CALM," Freddy asked.

It wasn't clear which of them he addressed; they both nodded.

"GOOD." Freddy looked back and forth between them, then pointed at Bonnie, maybe just because he was closer. "DO. THAT. AGAIN. AND. I. WON'T. LET. HER. COME. BACK. AT. ALL. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I. AM. TIRED. OF. THIS."

"Yeah," said Bonnie sullenly.

Freddy grunted and turned a narrow stare on Foxy.

He tried to shrug, but Chica gave him a not entirely undeserved smack to the back of the head, so he said, "I'll keep me d-d-distance," without waiting to be threatened. "It's easy for m-m-me, ain't it? But how l-l-l—LONG JOHN SILVER—long do ye really think ye c-c-can pretend to be a machine and not lose yer d-d-damn mind? And what d-d-do we do when she t-t-talks to us as she's b-b-been doing, eh? Ignore her? How will th-th-that make her less suspicious?"

Freddy thought that over with a sour expression, then relented, sort of. "IF. SHE. TALKS. TO. YOU. THEN. YOU. ANSWER. BUT," he warned, holding up one finger. "JUST. BE. FRIENDLY. ENTERTAINING. AND. BRIEF. IF. MORE. NEEDS. TO. BE. SAID. I'LL. SAY. IT."

"Aye. But th-th-that's going to get d-d-damned annoying after a week or t-t-two."

"SHE. MAY. NOT. STAY. IT'S. A. LOT. OF. WORK. FOR. ONE. PERSON. I. CAN'T." He stopped, clicking, and finally scraped up, "IMAGINATION! SHE. CAN DO IT ALL BY MYSELF. HERSELF," he corrected, looking annoyed.

"YOU CAN DO ANYTHING WITH HELP FROM YOUR FRIENDS!" Chica insisted.

Freddy uttered a low, bearish snort. "SHE. DOESN'T. WANT. HELP," he said with just a hint of Freddy-ish disapproval. Perhaps he heard it in his voice. His expression betrayed a moment's exasperation and then he said, so neutrally, it would have been funny if not for the words themselves, "AND. EVEN. IF. SHE. DOES. WE. ARE. ANIMATRONICS. WE. SING. THE HELPING HANDS SONG! AND. WE. WALK. AWAY."

Foxy couldn't exactly say he approved, but he held his judgment for the moment, waiting to see where this odd edict had come from and where it was going before he decided whether or not to stand up for the girl, unlike Bonnie and Chica, who were both blatting out protests, talking over one another so that neither one of them could be heard.

Freddy gave them a few seconds to vent, then raised his open hand and silenced them with a simple, "ENOUGH."

Chica obeyed, looking unhappy. Bonnie tremored himself silent, but his eyes were fluxing again. Foxy caught Chica by the arm and pulled her a little closer, putting her on his hook-side to keep himself between her and Bonnie if he went all the way black.

Freddy saw it too. He put a hand on Bonnie's shoulder and made an effort to gentle his tone, although the force behind it never wavered. "IT. HAS. TO. BE. THIS. WAY. THERE. IS. TOO. MUCH. AT." He clicked, his head drooping in frustration. "TAKE," he said finally, shaking his head.

"Stake," Foxy murmured.

"You can t-tr-trust her!" Bonnie insisted. "I trust-t-t her!"

"I. DON'T," Freddy said simply. "AN-N-A. LIKES. US. AND. WANTS. US. TO. BE. SAFE. THAT'S FINE. BUT. AN-N-A. GETS. HI! AND. MAKES. BAD. CHOICES. LISTEN. TO. ME. BONNIE. IF. SHE. SAYS. SOME. THING. TO. THE. WRONG. PERSON—"

"Or the right one," Foxy inserted.

Freddy nodded again, relentlessly seeking Bonnie's gaze until he had it. "IF. THEY. KNEW. WE. WERE. HERE. YOU. KNOW. THEY. WOULD. COME," he said, meaning, of course, all the bleeding kids in this entertainment-starved little town. "YOU. KNOW. HOW. IT. WAS. YOU. KNOW. WHAT. WE. WOULD. HAVE. TO. DO. BECAUSE. IF. THEY. EVER. FOUND. A. WAY. DOWN. TO. HIM. IF. THEY. LET. HIM. OUT. IT. WILL. ALL. START. AGAIN. LOOK. AT. ME. BONNIE."

Ears low, shoulders slumped, Bonnie obeyed.

"I. CAN. NOT. LET. THAT. HAPPEN," said Freddy. "I. WILL. NOT."

"She'd n-n-never hurt us."

"SHE. MAY. NOT. WANT. TO." Freddy shrugged and shook his head while his eyes stayed locked with Bonnie's. "I. DON'T. ALWAYS. WANT. TO. HURT. PEOPLE. BUT. I. DO. LOOK. AT. ME. LISTEN. TO. ME. I. WANT. TO. LET. YOU. HAVE. THIS. BUT. I. WILL. K-K-K-KILL HER. IF. I. HAVE. TO. AND. IF. SHE. KNOWS. WHAT. WE. ARE. THEN. I. HAVE. TO."

"Can I s-s-say something?" Bonnie asked angrily, because he had to ask and what was worse, Freddy didn't have to allow it.

But Freddy nodded, although he visibly resigned himself first.

"You know she g-g-grew up in this town. She knows all ab-b-bout us. She b-b-blamed Foxy for her f-f-friend's disappearance," Bonnie snapped, flinging out one arm to indicate Foxy. "Not R-R-Reardon, not some rand-d-dom creep, Foxy! She knows everything-ing about us already! She c-c-could say anything to anyone at any t-t-t—TIME TO ROCK!—time! And even if she says nothing, you c-c-can point at the next dumbshit who b-b-breaks in here as p-p-proof that she did! So y-y-you can st-st—STEREOGNOSIS SEVERELY LIMITED—stand there and s-s-say 'if' as m-m-many times as you want-t-t, but you d-d-don't mean it. You're al-al-already hunting-ing her, you j-j-just want something from her first—"

"Easy," murmured Foxy, looking uncertainly at Freddy, but Freddy merely listened, ears low but gaze steady.

"—and th-th-that makes you no b-b-better than him!" Bonnie finished in a staticky rush and then had to turn away, covering his eyes to shut everything out until he could bring himself away from the edge of the black.

"Right," Foxy said heavily. "Now me. If she stays here for any length of t-t-time, she'll be bound to stumble on something, b-b-because we can't h-hi-hi—HIGH WINDS AND ROUGH SEAS—hide everything. Have ye seen her map? She d-d-drew it up from idle memory, and she's already got K-K-Kiddie Cove blocked out, even if she ain't-t-t found the door yet! She's talking about-t-t taking measurements. She's going to know to the bleeding inch how b-b-big these rooms are and how big they ain't! If she ever g-g-gets a good look at that office—"

"SHE. CAN'T," Freddy interrupted. "THE. DOOR. IS. CLOSED. SHE. AGREED. IT. IS. OFF-LIMITS."

"There's a d-d-damned window, Fred! She ain't going to need more than a g-g-glance! She'll know that room ain't-t-t big enough by half! And ye heard her t'other night-t-t! Foundation-bone connected to this and such. Is she g-g-going to look at the foundation and know there's a b-b-basement? She already-dy-dy knows that ain't right!" He pointed his hook up at the crawlway snaking across the dining room ceiling. "It be j-j-just a matter o' time before she wants to pull it down or c-c-climb inside it!"

Freddy sighed and rubbed at his brows. "I. KNOW."

"Then ye know d-d-doing nothing's not an option here!"

Freddy was quiet a long time, but at last, he nodded. "I. KNOW."

Odd, that Foxy felt no victory, none at all, only a growing sense of unease. "So yer g-g-going to tell her," he said, but although it didn't sound like a question, it was one.

Bonnie looked around, his ears slowly shifting forward and tensely quivering at the tips.

"NO," said Freddy.

"You c-c-can't d-d-do th-this!" Bonnie burst out, his speakers spitting and squealing feedback. "She'll b-b-be-e-eeeeeee—BE SAFE OUT THERE, KIDS!—be k-k-killed-d-d!"

"NO. SHE. WON'T," said Freddy and sighed. "BECAUSE. SHE—" He glanced pointedly up at the crawlway and returned his level stare to Foxy. "WON'T. BE. THERE."

"Why not?" Foxy asked, just like he didn't know what Freddy was saying.

Freddy's expression shifted, showing weariness but no lack of resolve. "DON'T. MAKE. THIS. HARDER. FOR. ME."

"Well, I sure as hell ain't-t-t-t making it easier, bucko."

"SHE. CAN'T. BE. FIXED."

"Not like a r-r-roof, eh?"

Freddy looked up as if that incautious word might bring the whole thing down, and Mangle chose that moment to pounce on something in the crawlway. She hit with a muffled bang and a shrill squeal of pain crunched silent in a split-second, then soon came scraping and thumping heavily across the dining room ceiling, carrying her prey to her nest backstage. When she passed directly overhead, he could hear her—all static and electronic feedback, broken into what was nearly words, nearly a melody. She was singing to herself. The Ballad of the Flying Fox, just the way he'd taught it to her the first day she'd come alive.

"It ain't-t-t her fault," he said, because someone ought to, and lord knew, no one else would. Even he didn't want to.

"IT'S. NOT. ABOUT." Freddy clicked, humming quietly in frustration as he picked through his sound files, then gave up and settled for, "FALL." He clicked some more, then said, too heartily but still with a tone of warning, "SOMEONE COULD BE SERIOUSLY HURT." More clicking. "SHE. CAN'T. BE. FIXED. SHE. CAN'T. BE. CALM. SHE. CAN'T. BE. KEPT. WHERE. SHE. IS."

"We'll move her then. We can put-t-t her…"

"The f-fr-freezer," said Bonnie and Chica nodded. "It's solid-d-d enough and there's no w-w-way to open it from the inside. If it c-c-can hold me, it can hold-d-d her."

Freddy was already shaking his head. "SOONER. OR. LATER. AN-N-A. WILL. OPEN. IT."

"Then we c-c-can…" And now Bonnie trailed off, ears low and avoiding Foxy's eyes, because there really was nowhere else, no place the girl couldn't find and no door the girl wouldn't open.

"Yer asking m-m-me to choose between-n-n them," Foxy said finally.

"NO." Freddy sighed, but did not flinch. He reached out and rested his hand on Foxy's undamaged shoulder, metal fingers lightly scratching at old plastic. "I'M. TELLING. YOU. I. ALREADY. HAVE."

Foxy looked away.

"CAN. YOU. GET. HER. OUT?"

"Aye." The word was a scratch through his speakers. He tapped at his throat like that was the problem and said it again, louder. "Aye. I'll g-g-get her out."

"NOW. IT. HAS. TO. BE. OVER. AND. DONE. BEFORE. THE. RESTAURANT. OPENS. AN-N-A. WILL. BE. BACK. BEFORE. CLOSING. TIME."

"Aye." He would have liked more time, but he didn't argue. Not because Freddy was Freddy, but just because sooner or later, Ana would find a way up into those ducts. Had to clear them while the opportunity was there, because it might not come again before the girl stuck her squirrely head into the crawlway…and Mangle bit it off. He had only one question and he wasn't sure how to ask.

Chica asked for him, bless her: "AND THEN WHAT HAPPENED?"

Freddy did not speak or move until Foxy looked at him again.

"I. WON'T. MAKE. YOU. DO. IT," Freddy said, as gently as possible with the sound files available to him. "JUST. BRING. HER. TO. ME."

"No. I'll d-d-do it. She don't know ye." Foxy scratched his hook over the side of his muzzle and turned away. "It ought to b-b-be someone she knows, at least."

"DO YOU NEED HELP?" chirped Chica, touching Foxy's arm once in sympathy. "I CAN HELP! I LIKE TO HELP MY FRIENDS!"

He patted her hand and kept walking. "It's all r-r-right, lass. We all knew this d-d-day had to come, sooner or later-r-r."

"YOU CAN HELP ME," Freddy grumbled, glaring over his shoulder at the door to the gym. "I. NEED. A." He clicked, gesturing vaguely. "THING. TO. GET. THE. MESS. OUT. AND. A. BUCKET. OR. SOMETHING. TO. PUT. IT. IN."

"ARE WE GOING SWIMMING?" Chica asked, following him into the kitchen and on through to the store room where Ana kept the cleaning supplies.

"GOD. I. HOPE. NOT. BUT. IF. I. HAVE. TO. CAN. YOU. LIFT. ME. IN. AND. OUT."

Foxy left the question and Chica's answer behind him and went to Pirate Cove. He considered briefly going to his cabin, to put the rum away and maybe get his sword, but his heart knew that for the weak delay it was. The minute or two it would take to tuck up the rum and buckle on his belt would find some way to stretch out and out until it got too close to six to go chasing after Mangle. That might spare Foxy the job of it, but it wouldn't spare Mangle. Freddy would go up after her himself if he had to. He wasn't as quick or dexterous as Foxy, so it would be a bad job, but he'd go and he'd probably get her down eventually. And she'd be taken by a stranger, pulled from her den into a place she wouldn't know by hands that had never once held her gently. She had to die; she didn't have to die like that.

As Foxy began to shift the props blocking off the door, he heard the East Hall door creak open. He didn't need help and he didn't want company, but in all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to be alone either, so when the footsteps approached, Foxy made room for Freddy.

But they were Bonnie's hands that reached for the first barrel beside him.

They worked without speaking for some time. The props weren't authentic replicas, but they were real wood, heavy enough in their own right, and any of them that could be opened and filled had been, with rocks and sand if nothing else. Even those that weren't loaded were too unwieldy to be shifted any way but one by one, not so much to keep Mangle in—the door alone did that—as to keep those out who might remember this room being here. And there had been a few over the years, but it was slow-going and not quiet work, and Foxy had always gotten to them before they'd gotten to the door.

Memories. He shouldn't be thinking such things before a job like this. Or should he? Somehow, it seemed just as wrong to think of better days, early days, him and her at Mulholland…or earlier yet, in the basement at his house. Foxy, still uneasy in the new hard plastic skin he'd been given and unsure about the strange new device that had been installed behind the new sliding panel under his abdomen, watching the two of them build the body that would be Foxanne, both of them laughing as they talked about nipples and nethercheeks and silicone sleeves—one because he thought it was just a joke, ill-humored but harmless, and the other because he knew it wasn't. Memories.

Foxy moved props and tried not to think at all.

In a short time, the door was cleared. It had rounded corners and a wheel-latch, with a porthole made of thick glass set high up. The glass was cracked from the inside, but not broken. Foxy lit his eyes and cupped them, his muzzle tapping right up against the door in an effort to try and see something inside. Beyond the blackness and the wreckage, more sensed than seen, there was nothing. It wasn't very likely that Mangle—Foxanne—could have dragged herself all the way back here in the short time it had taken to expose the door, at least not without him hearing, but moving the cargo made a bit of noise itself and she could be quiet when she wanted to be.

"Watch the d-d-door," said Foxy, gripping the wheel. It gave him a moment's resistance, rusted tight, then reluctantly spun. The hinges shuddered as he forced them to move. The noise was tremendous. If she was anywhere on this end of the building, she had to have heard it. "If she c-c-comes, don't ye wait for a j-j-jump, slam it. She d-d-don't move quick on the g-g-ground, but if she g-g-gets the leverage, she'll lunge and if she g-g-gets a bite on ye, she won't g-g-give it up easy."

"I'm s-s-sorry about th-this, Foxy."

Foxy nodded without taking his eyes off the dark opening where the ventilation shaft had once been covered. "Just keep w-w-w—WEATHER EYE OUT—watch and don't blink."

"Foxy—"

"I know yer sorry," Foxy said, a bit more harshly than perhaps he ought to. "I know it-t-t had to happen anyway-ay-ay and I know why it has to b-b-be now. I don't b-b-blame ye, but I'm k-k-killing a girl and she'll stay d-d-dead long after Ana's moved-d-d on, so just shut it with yer sorries, would ye? I don't want-t-t to hear it!"

Bonnie's ears lowered, but not with anger. He said nothing.

"Watch-ch-ch," ordered Foxy and went inside.

It was all torn apart and thrown around now, but at the time of the Grand Opening, this version of Kiddie Cove had been a great improvement on the original model at Mulholland Drive. It was fully enclosed, for one thing, which enabled it to have fully padded walls and floor so little knees and elbows couldn't bruise if a child fell or, as was more common with the ruthless wee blighters, got pushed. The toys were made for toddlers—giant foam blocks for the building of seaside fortresses and pedal-power pirate ships to plunder them, plastic spring-powered cannons that fired sponge-soft balls, ride-upon sea serpents, giant plushie krakens and eels, and a reading nook with dozens of books catering to those too young to read. All this, but the star of the show was Polly Pull-A-Part, as she was known for that short time this restaurant had been open.

Nothing was blocking the vent that led to the crawlway, but looking around at the thick fuzz of dust laying over the room, Foxy didn't think she'd been back. She'd been the first of Mulholland's creatures and the worst of them in a lot of ways, not the least of which being her mental state. Confusion, fear and rage seemed to be the only things she could feel, rage most of all, but clearly she did have memories. The bad ones, anyway.

Foxy picked his way across the ripped pads, shredded toys and scattered books to dig his hook as high in the wall as he could reach. From this height, he grabbed the edge of the vent opening, and carefully chinned up to peer inside. He saw nothing but dust and scratches.

He went in.

The crawlway had been made mainly for Rumble and Tumble, whose long bodies and short limbs could easily navigate these passageways. Mangle had also been pathed for it, although Foxy suspected her inclusion had been more of an aesthetic thing; he'd known the Purple Man would enjoy the thought of her up here, in pieces, and especially how those pieces would look lurching closer out of the dark and into the camera's limited view. None of the others had ever been meant to use the crawlways, but they hadn't been prohibited from entering either. Foxy's man-shaped dimensions made him a more awkward fit than the twins would have been, but being small had its advantages and he could move just fine on hands and knees.

What he couldn't do was remember where to go. This wasn't one of his killzones and he hadn't been programmed with the layout. He'd been up here before, but not from this end and for damn sure, not since Mangle had been shut up here. He had no internal compass and all the twists and turns looked the same to him. The crawlway seemed simple enough from the rooms below, but up here, it was a maze of many levels. No passage led directly anywhere. What would be the fun of that? You had to see the danger coming, let the fear and the panic build as they drew nearer, try and fail to predict where they'd go next, close off the wrong passage and then plead with the system to charge faster, hitting that button right as Death popped out of the hatch and fell on you, jaws open for the bite.

He couldn't just hunker here and wait for her to find him. Foxy started slowly forward, ears in constant motion, trying to listen beyond the noise he made. Not that there was much noise. The bottom of the crawlway was heavily reinforced and coated on the inside with a thin layer of canvas padding. His weight alone would never buckle out the sides of the duct and even his metal parts never made more than a dull scratch or thump as he crawled along, but even the slightest sound rolled out in echoes. And Mangle was used to the quiet. Keyed to it. She'd hear him coming long before he heard her.

He had to find a way to use that to his advantage before she made it her own.

Foxy crawled as far as the first crossways, where the duct opened into the upper level of the maze and split off into four passageways and a narrow shaft continuing up. Too narrow for him to climb, but skin-less Mangle might be able to squeeze through. He stood cautiously, listening down each dark tunnel around him and especially the shaft overhead, but all he heard was his own servos whining as his ears turned.

"Come ye, lads and lasses," he sang, and at once caught a pulse of static in answer, but from where? Fighting the ears that wanted to flatten, Foxy aimed his microphones down each passageway in turn, singing, "Down where the waves hit the docks. Come sit with me by the shore of the sea—"

She was coming, still on one of the levels above, so that the noise of her broken speaker and broken mind had no clear direction yet, but he could tell it was coming closer and coming fast.

He didn't want to leave and risk losing himself in the maze, but if she dropped down on him from above, he was done.

"—And hear the ballad of the Flying Fox," he finished, boosting himself up into the tunnel where her scratchy, screamy voice seemed loudest. He crawled on, faster now, wanting to get to another wide point in the crawlway, one without a dropshaft. "Her captain was a sailing man, a pirate proud and free. And there weren't no maid, be she precious as jade, he loved like he loved the sea."

The crawlway shuddered as something heavy fell into the level of the maze just above him and no more than a body's length ahead of him. He heard her scratching and biting, ripping at the canvas as she tried to dig through to him, and then she wheeled herself noisily about and crashed away.

"The Flying Fox be his ship, for the uncharted deeps she's bound. And there's chests of gold locked up in the hold, such be the treasures he's found."

His eyelight caught a glint of metal where it ought not to be, far ahead where the tunnel came to a T-end. Low to the ground and off to one side. She was hiding, waiting for him, ready to pounce. Foxy hesitated, singing mechanically as his eyes darted around to every other opening. Any one of them might loop around and give him a way to come at her from behind. Any one of them might come to a sudden end—a dead end, once Mangle cornered him there.

He crawled forward on the tips of his toes and the fingers of one hand, keeping his hook up and ready, singing softer the nearer he came to that twist of metal and cloth and wire, hoping to disguise his distance. "Adventure be the song he sings," he crooned, flexing his shoulders and his hips, preparing to spring. "And cannons…set the tune…"

He leapt.

His hook slammed down between the metal bones of whatever appendage this had once been—an arm, a leg, a tail—and hooked her. He pulled it to him and knew at once the thing moved too freely. It flew up and back at him, shedding dry leaves and bones and bits of plastic before it hit him in the snout. Not Mangle at all, just the limb, dropped off years ago and forgotten here. Loose wires tangled up around his teeth; bloodstained twists of cloth slapped over his eyes. He fumbled with it, swearing, and got it away just in time to see one yellow eye flicker in the dark as she lunged.

He threw himself back, folding himself flat to the floor of the crawlway with his knees and legs both bent beneath him, and grabbed at her blindly as she fell over him. Her jaws snapped open and shut, their screeching hingepins and her roaring voice deafening against his microphones, and yet he could still hear the brittle crunch and playful clatter as she broke away chunks of his casing and swallowed them to spill out through her skinless throat.

She still had the bleeding parrot, he thought dazedly, seeing the mass of metal bones and wires bobbing back and forth behind her howling head. She'd torn out one of its eyes and tried to fit it into her own socket. The surviving eye still glowed through the layers of filth and blood that coated it. It winked at him over Mangle's shoulder as she snapped and screamed and clawed.

Foxy bucked to jostle her and free his hips, then rocked to loosen his shoulders. It was all the better leverage he was ever going to have in this position. Ramping up the volume on his speaker, he let out a screech of his own, hoping to startle her. She recoiled and in that split-second of indecision, he seized her by the framework of her muzzle and one flailing limb and rolled. He pushed her down beneath him, his limbs twining and thrashing with hers in a horrible mockery of the time they'd shared in Mulholland, and at last his reflexes and lucky chance put his hand around her jaws just as she snapped them shut and he had her.

She pitched and heaved and howled, twisting her head back and forth and bucking him against the crawlway's sides, but he rode it out and slowly, her struggles died. At last, she slumped, sprawling herself out like a starfish, her voice fading to a mere scratch of static and a few pops and pings.

"Hello, luv," whispered Foxy, stroking the curved side of his hook along the top of her head where the plastic still covered part of the frame. "Hello, me pretty girl."

"Hi, Foxy." She squirmed a little, pulling her mangled body open where she'd managed to crudely wrap it in old shirts and bits of curtain. Through these dry wounds, strange blood dripped out—bedraggled feathers, snips of wire, plushie stuffing, human hair. "Why…Why…Why does it take p-p-pirates so long to learn the alphabet?"

"Because they only know I, I, R and the seven Cs," he replied.

She shivered.

He held her, but he held her jaws tightest.

"I don't like this place," Mangle said. "It's d-d-dark."

"I know. I've c-c-come to take ye out."

"I'm hurt."

"I know."

"I'm bleeding."

He closed his eyes.

"I taste it-t-t," she said. "In…my mouth."

"Hush, luv. Hold on t-t-to me now. Ar—ARRR!—Are ye holding me?"

She twitched a foot crookedly inward. One of her limbs lifted and dropped again. The parrot's eye rolled and blinked. Her head moved in his hand, trying to nod.

"All right-t-t. Come on, pretty girl. Lay yer head-d-d on me shoulder and I'll carry ye to bed-d-d."

He gathered her up the best he could with all her bits coming loose, and she trembled quiet in his arms as he crawled on his knees back through the maze to Kiddie Cove, but when the room opened up, she heard it or sensed it somehow. She thrashed, screaming and spitting static, struggling to pull herself back into the hatch as Foxy unhooked her many limbs one by one and pinned them to her ruined body. It took a long time. He could see Bonnie through the discolored porthole glass as a blob of purple around the pale glow that were his eyes, so it stood to reason Bonnie could see him, but he didn't open the door and come blundering in to help, and for that, Foxy was grateful.

At last, he got Mangle on the ground again and kept her there, singing softly and keeping his grip tight on her muzzle until she calmed. Then and only then, did the hatch-wheel turn and the door creak open.

"Don't t-t-talk," said Foxy calmly. "Don't ye say a word-d-d."

Mangle heaved, moaned, and crashed back to Earth. Static swelled and faded, swelled and faded, steady as the tide.

"There ought-t-t to be something out there—FULL O' DOUBLOONS!—big enough t-t-to fit her in. Bring it in here. Not too c-cl-close. She can't see ye—"

"Bleeding," Mangle moaned. Her hand flung out, slapped weakly along the walls and floor, struck an oversized plushie whale, and disemboweled it in a single vicious slash. "Out…my eyes!"

"—but she can hear ye fine," Foxy continued, stroking the cracked curve of her head. "Be just-t-t as quiet as ye can and k-k-keep clear o' her. I ain't-t-t sure how many o' these bits are still working or how many are j-j-just tied on, but there's enough o' her still t-t-together to take ye right apart, and that's a p-p-promise."

Bonnie shut the door when he went to look through the props, proving that while he might be a fool where Ana was concerned, he was no idiot.

Foxy lay with Mangle and hummed into her ear, stroking her body where she still had it and her bones where she didn't. He waited.

The door opened again, opened wide. Bonnie limped in, carrying a wooden trunk with a high domed lid, much like the one he kept in the cabin for birthday boys and girls to dip themselves out a special prize. Paper hats. Plastic jewels. Joke books and eyepatches and little walking wind-up sea monsters. A treasure trove of cheap shit.

"Oh, me pretty girl, that-t-t it's come to this," he whispered, and held her straining jaws tighter.

Bonnie put the trunk down just beyond Mangle's grasping, rolling arm and opened it. Foxy folded her gently up and put her inside. She screamed, but only until the lid came down and the lockplate clicked tight. Perhaps the confinement was soothing to her, after so many years in the crawlway. She bumped around some, but didn't rightly struggle and only had a half-inch or so to wriggle anyway. Her fingers and teeth and toes scratched along the sides wherever they could reach, but then even that little sound stopped.

Foxy and Bonnie watched the motionless trunk as minutes passed in silence. At last, she began to sing.

Servos whined briefly as tense joints relaxed.

"That was way t-t-too easy," whispered Bonnie.

Foxy nodded. "Been t-t-t—TEN TICKLES!—ten years for her, too, ain't it? We ain't-t-t none of us at our best. And a g-g-good thing."

"Why…um…" Bonnie raked a hand through the scruff of fur between his ears.

"Why d-d-didn't I bash in her battery case when I had-d-d her pinned?" Foxy asked for him, but couldn't put much fire in it. He sighed, his ears lowering. "Thought I'd t-t-take her outside, is all."

"Why? I mean…ok-k-kay, that's a nice thought-t-t, but—"

"I said, I'm taking her out-t-t," interrupted Foxy calmly. "She's d-d-done her time, mate, harder time than ye have."

The trunk rocked slightly as Mangle bumped around inside it. The tarnished brass banding the old wooden boards together protested the strain, but held. For now.

"How long is that going-ing to hold her?"

Foxy's fan revved. He scratched his hook along the hole in his casing nearest his heart. "All the rest-t-t of her life."

With that, he bent, fit his hook around one corner of the trunk's broad bottom and worked his fingers beneath the other, and lifted her back into his arms.

Bonnie went ahead of him through the building to open doors. Ana had already cleared the way. It was easy walking, easier than it should have been, to take his pretty girl to her grave. He left Bonnie on the loading dock and walked out across the lot under a greyish sky where a few stars still stubbornly insisted on night. He met Freddy in the desert, coming back from the quarry with his head down and an empty bucket dangling from one hand, thick black clots sticking to its sides. Freddy clasped his shoulder without speaking as they passed and both continued on, each carrying their respective burdens.

At the quarry, Foxy stopped. The pit opened up below him. At this in-between hour, no light reflected off the water he knew was there. He stood at the mouth of Hell itself, as Hell truly was—not a place of fire and leaping demons, but emptiness and silence.

In the trunk, Mangle shifted.

Time to do it, Foxy thought. Time and indeed, well past time. Open the lid and tip her out, smash through the glass case that housed her battery before she knew where to bite, then just get back and wait for her to power down. Shouldn't take long. The other-Freddy at Mulholland had been immobile in less than a minute and the last mechanisms silenced just a few minutes after that. If that was death for them, he'd been dead that fast. Foxy couldn't swear it was painless, but it was fairly quick.

He set the chest down, touched his thumb to the release-tab on the lockplate, and Mangle said, clear as the Devil's bell, "Foxy?"

"Aye, luv. It's me."

"I c-c-can't see you. I th-thought…I thought-t-t you left-t-t me."

"No," said Foxy, touching the lockplate. "No, I'm right-t-t here, luv."

"It's quiet-t-t, isn't it?" She shifted within her coffin. "Is…Is…Is the show over?"

"Aye. Restaurant's closed-d-d."

"Was I…Was I…" Static surged into a squeal of feedback. Metal bumped hard against the lid, teeth scraping along the wooden boards for a moment before she settled back. "Was I all right-t-t?" she asked weakly. "I d-d-don't remem-m-m-ber. Somet-t-times…I'm not all right-t-t."

"Ye were fine, luv."

She hummed a little, just static in the rhythm of song. Sail on, little hearties, sail on.

He couldn't do this. After all the death he'd dealt out, all the blood and tears and last breaths he'd seen with his eyes wide open, he could not open this damned box and stop a machine.

Foxy rolled off his knees and sat beside the softly humming chest, staring into the quarry. If he waited here long enough, Freddy would be back and do it for him, but he wasn't sure he wanted that either. Freddy had lived out his time at Mulholland in the parts room. She was not Foxanne to him and never had been, not even as she'd been playing the Purple Man's game; she was Mangle. That was how Freddy saw her, that was how he'd kept her all these years, and that would be how he'd kill her.

Foxy gouged at himself with these thoughts a little while, but could not scrape up resentment. Dangerous as Mangle was, Freddy had kept her and would have gone right on keeping her, had not Ana wrote herself into their story. And Foxy didn't blame her either, not exactly, but still the thought came back on him that someday, Ana would leave. Even Bonnie, love-stupid as he was, knew that. Soon as she'd found whatever she was looking for in this Godforsaken place, she'd move on, and Foxy wished her well, but Ana would be away and alive and his pretty girl would be dead and buried at the bottom of this stinking pit. Maybe there was justice in that, considering how many bones she'd be lying aside that bore the marks of her own teeth, but just or not, Foxy couldn't do it.

He got up and lifted the trunk back into his arms. He did not then know what he was doing—he would have sworn to that—but on a deeper level, he must have had some idea, because he knew that Freddy would be back eventually to empty another pail of people-slop, that all he had to do was wait. He didn't wait. He started walking back to the bluff, telling himself that if…when he met Freddy on the way, he'd pass the responsibility over to him what had been built and programmed to carry it.

But as Fate would have it, he didn't meet Freddy, and if that was Fate's hand in the matter, who was Foxy to act against it?

When he reached the foot of the trail that led to the paved lot, he did not start up, but just kept walking, circling the base of the bluff and reminding himself with every step that Freddy had never ordered him to kill Mangle. It was just that there was nowhere in the pizzeria safe enough to keep her at the moment, nowhere he could swear that Ana wouldn't go until she was done tearing the place down and building it up again. So Foxy would put Mangle somewhere else, somewhere close enough that Foxy could keep an eye on her, not so close that Ana found her.

There was a rockpile at the lea-side of the bluff left over from the scraping and paving. He could easily hollow out a place for her, cover her over so that the trunk was reinforced and hidden from view. As places went, it wasn't the best, but it would do until he thought of a better one.

And no one else had to know, Foxy told himself grimly, painting over that faint voice of doubt with the vibrant colors of this fact. Ana would stay her small while, safe as houses, and be on her way. Freddy would be mad as hell when Foxy brought Mangle back, but he would let her in again, because it was never about killing the one as much as it was keeping the other safe. Foxy would see her safe, all right, both of them.

Mangle sang as he carried her like a bridegroom to her new home. She sang as he lay her down in her secret bed. When he covered her over with sand and stone, she quieted and perhaps—he prayed—she slept.