Monday, November 7, 1993
Mike walked up to his apartment, keys in one hand, thermos in the other, and ready to crawl into bed and be done with today. The night and its weirdness drained a lot out of him, and while he was convinced that damn phone call was a joke, everything about the previous night set him on edge.
"Hey, Mike!"
Mike winced when he heard his name, completely snapped out of his thoughts for a moment. He looked up to see a tall Amazon of a woman approaching him, and gave a weary smile to his next-door neighbor - and best friend - who was getting in at the same time.
Vanna Belrose had her hand up in a wave, her long fingernails almost brushing against the ceiling. The overhead lights caught her strange yellow skin, giving it the dull sheen of antique gold that reverted to olive the moment she stepped out from directly under the light. Bright purple lips grinned at him. She had her long black hair pulled up into a ponytail, with the front of it teased on top. Her open red coat showed black clothes that blurred together from her top to her boots. As she got closer, he noted the words, "The Sanctuary" in white gothic text over her robust chest.
Mike returned her smile, forgetting the weariness of the previous night for a moment.
"Hey, Vanna. How was the club?"
"Eh, same old. Ran out of glassware halfway through; Felix actually had to run out and buy plastic cups so we could keep serving drinks."
She teasingly set her elbow on his shoulder as she looked him over. At 6'1", Vanna towered over him, even without the two-inch boost from her boots. Mike shook his head, letting her have her fun. If it were anyone else, he would have slugged them. Vanna noticed his outfit, and her grin somehow got bigger.
"Say, did you get a new job?"
Mike slipped out from under her and quickly fumbled for his front door key.
"I-it's nothing special," he said, wanting to drop the subject. "Night guard. Tired. Gotta go."
"Whoa, hold on there." Vanna leaned against his doorway, her green eyes looking right into his. "This is big news! Come on, Mike, details! Where are you stationed at?"
"Just...some place downtown."
Vanna pouted as she put her hands on her hips.
"Party pooper," she said, before she caught a small glint of gold at his chest...and a familiar logo.
Vanna reached to grip his shoulder and gave him a gentle push to turn his body so she could see it better. Mike realized half a second too late what she was doing. He reached up to cover the badge with his hand, but his friend already caught the familiar face of Freddy Fazbear embossed on it.
"Freddy Fazbear's Pizza?" she asked. "Aww, that's so cute! Never actually been there, though."
Her expression softened as she leveled her face to his.
"Surprised you took it, considering..."
Mike ignored her. He turned away as he got the front door open.
"It's work," he muttered, trying to head inside.
"Mike! Hey!"
Vanna moved in front of the door to block him. Merely shifting her hips to one side of the door frame kept him from passing her.
"I'm pretty sure you have your reasons," she said softly. "...Just be careful, okay?"
Mike turned away. He gave a quick, curt nod to acknowledge, and dropped the subject. Vanna nodded back, and when he looked up again, she gave him what she presumed to be an encouraging smile. She stepped towards him and put an arm around his shoulders.
"Come on, let's go get some coffee and donuts. My treat. I'll even let you get out of uniform first."
Mike smirked a bit, even let out a small laugh. After the night he had...that actually sounded amazing.
"All right," he said. "Meet you back in ten minutes?"
"Deal."
Vanna dug out her own keys. She gave him a small wave as she went inside to change herself. Mike waited until her door shut, then let out a deep breath. The only thing he knew he'd tell her was he watched some cameras. Nothing special. Just go out and enjoy the morning with his best friend, then try to get some rest for tonight.
A little before 7:30am at the Dainty Donut Cafe, Mike snagged the coveted corner booth in the back as a small family left, while Vanna ordered a variety box and two lattes. The little shop bore a turn-of-the-century charm, with cream walls and brown accents. The large red booths tucked into the walls gave the place a pop of color, like a cherry on a sundae. A few wooden tables were scattered around the room, over the light wood floors leading up to the donut-filled display counter.
Most other customers came in to grab breakfast and go, but enough patrons filled the booths and small tables to make the place feel lived in and warm as they settled down for breakfast before eight and nine o'clock shifts. The baristas behind the counter quickly got donuts, breakfast items, and coffee together, and the sweet smells of sugar, cream, and coffee beans permeated the whole shop.
Vanna returned with the donut box, then went back to collect the large mugs holding their lattes. She returned after a moment and set one down before Mike, then took her seat with her own mug in the soft leather booth. The warmth of the sun gently hit Mike's hands as he reached for a donut, the shade from the red awning outside and Vanna's form in front of him protecting his eyes. He hardly noticed how chilled his fingers had become on the walk over until he touched the hot ceramic.
"...So it's really just sitting there for six hours and watching a camera feed?" Vanna asked, having asked about his job as they walked over. "Bummer."
Mike sipped his coffee, appreciating the care this particular shop put into their lattes. He now wore old jeans and a soft, comfortable faded black T-shirt with a light jacket over it.
"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "Haven't found anything worthwhile there yet."
"Not to pry," Vanna said, "but I thought it was just work?"
Mike just continued to drink his coffee. Vanna frowned, but took the hint and dropped the subject. She dipped her jelly donut into her own latte - a cardinal sin in Mike's book - and bit into it. She had changed from her own work clothes into a pair of jeans, an overly-large purple sweater that almost perfectly matched her wild lipstick, and a pair of silver Doc Martens that shone with rainbows in the light. Mike always wondered where she found them.
"In the meantime," Vanna said, "you get a free show every night."
She took a slug of her donut-tainted coffee.
"Shame it's always the same episode where nothing happens, though."
Mike had been halfway through another sip. He choked out something he hoped to pass off as a laugh as he tried not to spit it out.
"Y-yeah," he managed after a moment. "Just watching Freddy and friends walk around in the dark. Not gonna lie; it's kind of creepy."
"I'll bet," Vanna said, shoving the last of her donut in her mouth.
She practically swallowed the donut piece whole before continuing.
"I thought they didn't walk since that incident a few years ago. Where he...?"
Vanna deliberately trailed off, giving Mike the choice of whether to continue or end that subject. He went quiet, not wanting to talk about it, and less so after the weird phone call last night. Mike briefly nodded to confirm before directing the conversation away from the horror.
"...Different location," he said, taking a sudden interest in the swirls of his coffee, "not the one I'm at now. But I guess they wanted to be sure it-"
Mike carefully picked up the cup. He held it in his hands to let the residual heat warm them.
"-Didn't happen again."
He hardly noticed his friend sobered herself, or the sudden silence between them.
"...Makes sense," Vanna said, noting his sudden discomfort.
She cleared her throat.
"I've always wanted to go," she said, "but my mother refused. A little girl disappeared near there. She was always really paranoid after that."
Mike frowned.
"Understandable," he said. "Mom and Dad took me all the time, before their accident. Mom was better at the games than I was, but I liked beating them myself. It always felt more rewarding after I finally had enough tickets to trade in."
Vanna nodded.
"Anyway," Mike said, wanting off the subject, "anything fun happen last night?"
"Aside from running out of glassware?" Vanna asked. "Nah, except this one guy who wouldn't leave me alone. Asshole looked right at my crotch and asked if I was just as big 'in there' as I was outside. I looked him straight in the eye and told him his little needle would get lost an inch in."
Mike set his coffee down solely so he wouldn't choke on it. Vanna took a sip of her own before she continued.
"Fucker looked crushed, but he still wouldn't quit. So I slammed my hands on the bar. The whole damn thing shook. Everyone's looking, and I told him if he came onto me again, I'd take him outside and snap it like the twig it was. He called me an uptight dyke, and I nearly creamed him then and there, but Paul stepped in and told him to cut it out."
"Wait, who's Paul?" Mike asked.
"Remember the big, bald biker I turned down?" Vanna said. "The one I was kind of nervous about saying no to, but he was really chill about it?"
"Right," Mike said, nodding. "Cool guy."
"I know," Vanna said with a grin. "He's kind of become my bodyguard against creeps when he's in. Felix should really hire him on."
She took a sip of her coffee.
"Anyway," she said, "once Paul got involved, he finally slunk away. Fucker should have just listened the first time, but I gave Paul his next beer on the house, so it worked out."
"Sorry," Mike said, not sure what else to say to that.
"Eh, I'm used to it," Vanna said. "Normally, guys are intimidated by me and don't bother. I mean, I get my share of creeps, but I found guys just don't like girls who tower over them."
"I don't mind," Mike said.
"You're also not trying to get in my pants."
Vanna sipped her coffee.
"I kinda thank my freak genetics for that," she said. "If I scare them off first, I don't have to bother with explaining that I'm not interested in that kind of thing at all, no matter which side of the fence."
Mike smirked a bit.
"I like having you as a friend," he said. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
"You too," Vanna said. "Even if you are a little shrimp."
Mike snorted.
"That's a lot coming from the Eiffel Tower."
"How are the worms down there?" Vanna teased.
"Wondering if you're a walking mountain," Mike shot back.
"Yeah, well, rumor has it you like visiting them."
Vanna smirked and mussed his hair. Mike grimaced as he fixed it. After another sip of coffee, Vanna set the joking aside.
"...You're sure you're okay with this job, Mike?" she asked. "After...well…"
She trailed off, once more letting him choose how to broach the subject. Mike sipped at his coffee, not facing her.
"...I'm handling it," he said at last.
Vanna nodded.
"If it gets to be too much, you can come to me," she said.
"I know."
"And if you don't come to me," she warned, "I'll come to you."
Mike just nodded. A wistful look crossed Vanna's face.
"...Can you believe it's almost been five years?" she asked.
"Since when?"
"Since we met," Vanna said. "It was towards the end of this month. I went to get the mail, and came back to crash into some poor sap who mistook his apartment for the one next door."
Mike faltered a little, but quickly pulled up a smirk.
"You wouldn't let me leave until I had two cups of coffee."
"You needed it," Vanna said, smiling fondly.
"And then you adopted me like some kind of lost puppy."
"You needed a friend too," Vanna said, lifting her mug to her lips, "and I damn well wasn't going to let you mope about."
Mike pushed back the sudden pang of sadness with a shake of his head as he grabbed another donut.
"Stubborn bitch," he muttered, a small smile on his lips.
"Damn right." Vanna offered her mug to Mike. "To five years of me strong-arming my way into your life."
"And to five more of me putting up with it," Mike said, clinking his mug against hers. They both laughed before they both polished off what was left of their coffee. Mike set the mug down and started to stand.
"I'm going to go get a refill," he said.
Vanna was already out of her seat and holding his empty mug.
"Don't you dare, Michael Schmidt. This is my treat; you keep your ass parked right there, and I'll go get a refill."
"Fine," Mike said, sitting back down.
He actually managed a laugh.
"But we're coming back, and I'm covering when I get paid this week."
Vanna smirked and picked up her own mug to take to the counter.
"Deal."
She turned from the booth then, her long ponytail swaying behind her, her bright shoes shimmering with each step as they caught the light.
The morning with Vanna went pretty smoothly once they both refueled with caffeine. Mike kept the conversation away from Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, and instead they talked about music, gossip from the Sanctuary, and whether or not they wanted to see that new Tim Burton film with the freaky Christmas toys that came out the previous month. By the time they finished their coffee and got up to leave, the entire booth felt warm in the morning sun, swept away by November gust the second they opened the door.
Mike lazily zipped up his jacket, the old thing providing only slightly more warmth than his work uniform, not that he ever truly noticed the chill. Vanna pulled her sweater tighter against her body as they walked. The little shop was hardly three blocks away from their building. On the way, they passed a newspaper stand where Mike took a small detour just to grab the day's paper.
It never hurt to check, after all.
They reached the apartment building not long after, and headed up the stairs to the fourth floor.
"Thanks for breakfast," Mike said, getting the door leading into the apartment hallway.
"No problem!" Vanna said cheerfully.
She reached up in a stretch, holding the pose for a few seconds before stepping through. Mike followed her. Dim lights lit up the spaces between the apartment doors, some of them flickering and sputtering with a longing to be replaced. Faded green carpet sank under their feet, and the graying walls became yellow right where the hall lights jutted out. Something about them felt oddly homey and lived in as they passed their neighbor's doors.
"Any plans for today?" Mike asked Vanna as they approached their own.
"I'm gonna hit the gym and work off some of this energy," Vanna replied. "Then it's a shower and bedtime for this night owl."
"Long night ahead?" Mike asked.
"Yeah," Vanna replied. "Maybe we should switch jobs for a night. Give my feet a break."
"Bore you to death while you're at it."
That got her to laugh, and he laughed with her, the joyful sounds filling the hallway as they reached their respective apartments and bid each other goodbye.
As soon as Vanna disappeared into her home, Mike's smile faded. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how he felt about going to work tonight, but he knew some of that caffeine-fueled energy would be spent washing and ironing his work clothes, tidying up his apartment, and looking through the bills he'd been ignoring. But first, he needed to check the day's paper for job listings. Freddy's was a start, and the first thing he found in a long time, but it wouldn't hurt to get a second job if he could.
Mike settled back into the couch. He quick glanced to the small stack of envelopes on the old coffee table before him. A pink envelope sat on top of the stack, covering less important bills. He mentally reminded himself to give it to Vanna later. On the bottom, the corner of an envelope poked out from under the bills, showing the name, "Moira" and part of a return address. Mike pulled it out from under the stack. The postmark showed it was sent almost three weeks ago.
Normally, he welcomed and even looked forward to his foster mother's letters. Though she and her husband, Ronan, only lived on the other side of town, Moira enjoyed writing to him at least once a month.
His chest panged with guilt as he realized he hadn't written back, visited, or even called in about a month. Despite it, Mike knew he would fall into his usual pattern of ignoring them until he came by for Christmas, when the pain faded enough that he could sweep the past under a bittersweet rug of holiday cheer. Moira and Ronan would then accept his return with warm smiles, open arms, and an unspoken agreement to resume their relationship as if there was never any long silence between Halloween and Christmas.
It was how their family survived the last five years.
Mike shoved the letter under the stack of envelopes to hide it, then grabbed the cigarette pack and lighter sitting beside the stack. He lit up a smoke, then opened the paper, immediately flipping over to the job listings. There was still an ad for the night shift at the pizzeria. That combined with Moira's letter jogged his memory. Mike pushed himself from the couch and headed into his bedroom.
Much like the rest of his apartment, his bedroom barely held more than what he needed. His bed was shoved in the back corner just under the window, with a bedside table holding a lamp. On the other side of the room, a large dresser sat against the wall. The closet hung open, showing the boxes, his sneakers, and a few clothing items shoved on hangers. Above the bed and bedside table, morning light made it beyond the slivers of the shades. The only other real signs of life were the boombox on the dresser, the stacks of cassette tapes beside it, and two band posters.
Mike trudged over to the closet and got down on his knees. He glanced over the boxes, none of them properly labeled, but he knew by the size, shape, and logos which one held the contents he needed. After a bit of shifting, he located an old beer box and pulled it open.
Bright yellow caught his eye first. Mike smiled a little as he grabbed for it. He pulled out an old Chica toy, still practically brand new. Her purple plastic eyes shone brightly, and a warm smile lit up her beak. A plump pink cupcake was sewn onto her right hand. Around her middle and hidden under her bib, some of her plush started to sink in from being tightly snuggled. Mike's lower lip trembled a bit. He made Chica face the wall as he set her aside. This wasn't what he was looking for.
A few more items joined her: an old tape recorder and some spare tapes, a few framed pictures which he set facedown to avoid looking at the subjects, a few small childhood toys, some old books and papers. In the bottom of the box, he struck gold, and pulled out the treasure he sought:
A leather journal, old and worn.
Mike's hands trembled as he held it, the leather cool under his touch. He started to pull the cover back. On the first aged crick, he quickly shut it again. Mike took a breath. He had no right to look.
What if he came back?
Yet the journal warmed in his grip, almost inviting him to try again.
Mike closed his eyes to mentally prepare himself for what he might find. The journal crackled open in his hands. Indents of a pen sunk under his fingertips, and the smell of paper and ink gently caressed his nose. Mike barely dared to open his eyes, to see what entry awaited him.
-reminds me too much of that dark closet Richie locked me in. Those hot, heavy coats and god knows what else that fell on me, and how I couldn't move or breathe for...I don't know, honestly. Long enough that it's never left me. I really thought I was going to die that night. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for it. I can barely sleep with a blanket over my shoulders. Anything further than that, and I can't breathe-
Mike slammed the journal shut again, unable to take in any more of the handwriting. His entire body shook as he shoved it back in the box and hastily packed it back up again.
Even after six years, he wasn't ready for this. Those private thoughts should have remained such.
Mike threw the Chica toy back on top of the knick-knack pile and pushed the still-open box into the back of the closet. He then scrambled to his feet. His household chores suddenly became more appealing.