A long hallway stretched out before him. Mike looked to either side. The walls were dark, with just enough light to pick out a speckled pattern.
Hadn't he just left that place?
He kept walking, his feet echoing off the checkered tile, the sound bouncing off the walls on either side. These walls held very few drawings, all of them documentation of the enjoyment of young visitors. Mike kept an eye on them as he walked back, expecting them to move or change.
They always did, eventually.
At the end of the long hall stood a door. Mike picked up his pace, but the door never seemed to get any closer. Only an endless hallway extended out into eternity, the door mocking him with every attempt to reach it. The floor seemed to angle up a bit, each step simultaneously climbing on the tile and propelling him forward.
For a moment, the floor flattened, no longer at a slight upward angle. Mike heard a sound behind him, heard something call his name. He glanced over his shoulder to see who called for him. Behind him, the hallway disappeared into the shadows. From the dark reaches of the abyss, he saw four sets of eyes staring back at him.
Mike turned back around and ran, his feet digging into the floor that now angled up again. The walls ahead of him changed, lighter now, the speckled pattern closer to white than gray. The checkered dividers on the wall also changed color, fading from black and white with red lining, to purple and blue-green.
Like the Puppet's box.
The walls and floor kept stretching. Mike passed drawings and posters and resin pizzas, all of them seen in the corners of his eyes, but the door ahead never got any closer. He dared to look behind him again. He picked out forms now, one with long ears, another with a top hat, a third holding a cupcake, and the last with sharp teeth.
He knew who they were. He heard them calling his name.
When he turned around again, the drawings started to change. No more smiling children. No more balloons or presents. Not even a single animatronic.
Only purple.
Blocks of purple scribbles and frowning, crying faces. Black circles colored in, with white letter Vs where the point touched the center, all of them showing different angles.
Like clocks.
Time? Was he running out of it?
A third time, the floor leveled out. A third time, he glanced behind his shoulder.
Bonnie reached for him, but something about him seemed...off. Not only his indistinguishable color in the shadows, but he seemed smaller than usual, his eyes bigger. Freddy looked bulkier and Chica's upper torso and arms looked much thinner. Foxy's head hovered over them all.
Face forward. Keep running. You're almost there.
The floor angled up again, the effect almost dizzying. On either side, the posters were too dark to see. Golden rabbits with empty eyes stared at him from the drawings. Golden badges with Freddy's face drawn on in childlike wonder also became favored subjects of the drawings. Mike's lungs burned, but he knew he had to keep going, to keep running. He heard them all right behind him, just as the floor leveled out once more.
For the final time, he looked over his shoulder.
He saw now that Bonnie's bright blue color caught some light from the shadows. Freddy had two buttons just under his bowtie. Chica's bib now read, "LET'S PARTY!" and her normally yellow pelvis turned pink. Foxy's once-red fur became white, the snout now as pink as Chica's shorts. And all of them had bright cheek circles, and what little light caught their bodies from the darkness shone like plastic instead of cloth.
Mike yelped and ran forward. To his right, he briefly glimpsed two doors with stick figure signs beside them, and more resin pizzas. On the left were individual animatronic posters, only colored blurs that he barely glimpsed as he ran by. The door ahead, the one he had been trying to reach, finally came closer with each step, a sign on it now in clear view.
"Parts and Service."
He reached to open it, his fingers barely grazing the knob. The door opened for him, revealing only more darkness waiting to swallow him whole.
Mike slowed down, hesitating to go inside. He only had seconds to make a choice.
It was this or the monsters.
He took a breath and leaped inside the room. The door slammed shut behind him. Faintly, he heard them all still calling his name from behind the door, their fingers clawing against the barrier. Mike reached a hand to his throat, massaging the pain from his ragged breaths. A light flickered to his left, revealing only a single sketch when it brightened.
A gray figure.
The smiling man.
Mike picked up his pace, not wanting to look at it. On either side of him, he saw lights, some of them flickering, some still. This looked...felt...familiar.
Something shot out from the darkness and wrapped around his wrists. Whatever now held him pulled him forward. Mike stumbled ahead, knowing this feeling.
The Puppet?
The strings tightened, catching him before he fell, then yanked him around like a ragdoll to face the door from whence he came. Mike tried to maintain his balance. He tripped over his own feet and slammed back into the floor, his head throbbing with pain. One of the lights shone from just above him.
As his vision faded, he saw a silhouette.
A silhouette of a rabbit with one broken ear.
Friday, November 12, 1993
Their encounter yesterday morning never left Vanna's mind. Even now, it bothered her as she pulled into the apartment complex. Mike insisted that bruise was nothing, and maybe it wasn't. But the way he acted, how he shifted his body and tried to play off that nothing was wrong, hadn't even called or come to her door all week…
...Was he avoiding her?
Vanna grabbed her purse and coat and stepped out of her car. She pulled the red coat around her body, not bothering to zip it, and shut the door behind her. She started to walk inside, and noticed a figure stepping into the apartment entrance ahead of her. She didn't see his face, but she knew that distinct purple color of his uniform.
For once, Mike got home before she did. Vanna picked up her pace, trying to keep him in sight.
The Freddy's night guard moved like a ghost as he wandered to the door leading into the stairwell. Vanna called for him.
"Mike?"
He didn't seem to hear her. She started to run after him, catching up just before he reached the top of the first set of stairs.
"Mike!"
He turned around to look. Vanna noticed then that he no longer wore his security hat, but what caught her off-guard the most was his face. Exhaustion crept over all of his features, a weariness beyond the five o'clock shadow and heavy purple bags under his eyes. More than the weariness, she picked out...terror. Fear. His eyes stared straight ahead, darting down, then up over her.
Like he saw something else behind her.
Vanna looked over her shoulder, but saw nothing. The sound of hasty footsteps caught her attention, and when she turned around, Mike was already darting up the next flight of stairs. Vanna hurried after him, taking the steps two at a time to try to catch up.
"Mike, wait!"
He reached the top of the next staircase. When she called his name again, Mike turned around.
The fear better overtook his weariness now, and once more, he seemed to see her, but not see her. Vanna grabbed the handrails on either side and used them to propel herself up to get closer to him. Mike let out a startled gasp, and made his way up the next flight of stairs.
Again, Vanna chased him. Again, she called out his name. Again, he turned around with that distinct look of fear.
Vanna only made it halfway up the next set of stairs, but even from here, she saw he stopped. She took a second to catch her breath, watching him. Mike held the fourth floor door open. He stood there and stared down into the hallway leading to their respective apartments. From the stairs, Vanna took in his hesitation. A second later, he made a decision.
He didn't run again.
He jumped inside, pulling the door shut behind him.
"Mike!"
Vanna cleared the rest of the stairs and grabbed the door at the end. She yanked it open to follow him.
Mike still walked ahead of her. In the dim, flickering lights of the hallway, he stumbled forward, barely on his feet anymore. Vanna called for him. Mike tried to turn around upon hearing his name, but he tripped over his own feet, stumbling back into the wall beside him.
"Mike!"
Vanna made it to his side just as he hit the floor, lying just under the hallway light. She dropped to her knees, gently grasping his shoulders. He closed his eyes, and they remained closed, even with the few gentle shakes of his body. Vanna quickly put her ear to his chest, feeling a bit of relief to hear a heartbeat, then checked his breathing.
Still alive, just freaked out.
Vanna gripped his shoulders again, gently trying to wake him.
"Mike, please," she said, forcing herself to keep calm. "Mike!"
She needed to be when he came to.
"Wake up!"
He groaned, but slowly opened his eyes. Vanna shifted a bit, moving a hand along his cheek. Bits of black stubble scratched at her flesh, and his skin underneath felt hot to the touch. Mike didn't appear to register her for a few seconds, but when he did, his eyes widened, and he let out a choked, startled scream as he pulled away from her.
Vanna gasped and pulled her hands away, holding them up to her shoulders to show she meant no harm. Mike scrambled back into the wall. He blinked a few times, his breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. A few seconds later, he seemed to take her in, to really see her.
His lips trembled as he managed to speak.
"V-Vanna?"
She nodded at him, kept her hands right where he could see them.
"Mike," she said, trying not to set him off again. "It's-it's okay!"
Vanna carefully reached for him, gauging his reaction. When he remained still and didn't try to pull away, she gently set her hands on his shoulders again.
"It's okay," she said again, looking him over as he sat under the hallway light. "It's me."
Under the soft glow, she better picked out the sweat glistening on his forehead, his dark hair falling into his face. Lines of stress started to etch themselves into his features, and Vanna tried to remember if they had been there yesterday or not. Mike made it a point yesterday morning to not let her look at anything too closely. Even when she made him show her the bruise on his throat, he pulled away as soon as he could.
His wrinkled shirt was unbuttoned, better revealing that the horrible bruise started to heal. His tie and badge were missing along with his guard hat. Dark bags hung under his wide and terrified eyes. His eyes practically glowed under the hall light, his pupils so shrunk they almost looked completely blue. Vanna ignored the sweat stains under his neck and arms, and even more, the distinct funk of deodorant wearing off.
She gave him another moment, and let Mike take her in as much as she did him.
Not that she had anything unusual for him to see, just her leggings and Sanctuary shirt, her open coat, and the her fading make-up after a long night at the bar. Her purse now hung at her elbow, having fallen off when she tried to wake him. Vanna tried to smile, to fix her face into something friendlier, but her brows remained raised. She felt her own lips tremble a little.
"Mike, what happened? You ran away on the stairs, and now..."
Vanna reached to feel his forehead, a little shocked that it felt cool in comparison to the warmth of his cheek. Mike just stared at her, his ragged breathing slowly getting more even.
"...Are you okay?"
Mike tried to answer her. He took a deep breath and tried to speak, but choked again. Vanna backed off a little, giving him a bit more space. For a long while, neither of them moved. Mike blinked at her a few times. Each time he did, he seemed to see her better.
What was going on inside his mind?
What did he think he saw?
"Vanna, I-I…"
Mike choked on any further explanation. He reached for her, and Vanna nodded, opening her arms. Mike practically fell into her, and she felt his hands at her back, his fingers desperately clinging for something to hold onto. She held him tightly, and felt her heart sink at how he trembled in her grasp. Whatever was going on, whatever frightened him like that...
Mike sobbed on her shoulder. Vanna just ran a hand down his back, trying not to join him.
"Shh...shh...I'm here."
His shaking hands clung tighter. He just needed something to hold onto, she realized.
Just needed her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm...I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry, I'm..."
Vanna didn't answer him at first, just held him almost as tightly as he did her. She listened to his continued whispering in her ear, felt his tears against her neck. His voice quieted until it choked, ending each breath in a long, silent sob.
"Mike…"
Vanna kept running her hand over his back, coaxing him to let it out.
"It's okay," she said softly. "I'm here."
Mike nodded, rubbing his eyes to dry them on her coat. He dug his fingers further into the thick fabric of her coat as if he feared he'd fall again if he let go of her. It took several moments before he stopped shaking in her arms. She held him to her for as long as he needed to.
The moment he loosened his grip, Vanna loosened hers. She carefully slid her hands down his arms, urging them to unwind from her body so she could take his hands into her own. Vanna ran her thumbs over the backs of his hands to help ease him, then shifted her weight off her knees, standing and pulling him up with her. Mike let her, his hands trembling in hers, his legs shaky as she helped him stand.
"It's okay," she said again. "Whatever just happened, I'm here now."
Mike just nodded as he tried to stay on his feet. He tried to say something else, but only a weak, choked noise managed to pass his lips. Vanna put an arm around him to keep him standing, then dug her keys out of her pocket.
"You're coming home with me."
He started to protest. Vanna refused to let him. She gripped his waist, holding him to her. Mike gradually did the same, one arm around her waist as if clinging for dear life, his other hand pressed tightly against the wall. His smaller size let him comfortably rest his head in the crook of her shoulder as they walked.
They passed graying walls and fading green carpets. A baby cried from one of the apartments across the way. Lights flickered on either side of them, and looking to the right, at the first door they passed...Mike had almost been home before he collapsed.
Vanna carefully pulled him with her, and Mike let her direct him. They walked down one more door to hers. Down the hall ahead, one of the doors opened. She felt Mike wince in her grasp, and glanced down at him. His attention immediately went to the source of the noise, his body now tense. Vanna followed his gaze down the hall, where a woman stepped out of her apartment. Mike watched her, taking in every detail: her blonde hair in a loose braid, her pink coat, her large handbag hanging from her shoulder. Only when he seemed to have verified what he saw did he let out a long breath, and his tension became shudders again.
Vanna gently squeezed his waist in assurance. Just Magda on her way to work. Nothing unusual. Nothing to be concerned with.
She dug into her coat pocket for her keys. Mike kept watching their neighbor, his paranoia strong enough to seep through her as well. She looked up for a second at Magda, then went back to her keys. Vanna quickly sorted them until she found the correct one.
The click of the key in the lock brought Mike back to reality for a moment. Vanna pushed the door in and led him inside.
Mike wandered beside her, but stopped when he saw her kitchen table. Vanna followed his gaze to her latest project: Mickey Mouse made his way out of one of her parts boxes, and was partway disassembled on the table, with Teddy Ruxpin waiting his turn on a nearby chair.
With his workplace in mind, Vanna quickly led him over to her couch, which was so covered in throws and pillows that the original color was a mystery. She got Mike situated on one end and let him sink back into it. He looked so drained and ready to crash, so out of it that it was almost like he hadn't realized he moved at all. Vanna watched him move his arms over his chest.
Like he needed to protect himself from something.
She set a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. When Mike looked up, Vanna gave him a small smile, trying to assure him that he was safe, that things would be okay. Mike didn't return it, but he didn't need to. The nod of acknowledgement said enough. She let him go, then shed her coat and purse, throwing them over onto the lounge chair for the moment.
"I'll be right back, okay?"
Mike barely managed a nod for her. Vanna returned it with another smile. She left him there on the couch and headed into the kitchen. The moment she turned her back, her smile dropped.
Vanna quickly busied herself with filling the coffee pot, giving herself a moment to think. Seeing him scared like that, finding him passed out in the hallway...it frightened her. Less than a week passed, and he went from joking about his new job to outright terrified of it.
The suddenness of this change scared her almost as much as his distant, unseeing look of fear.
She took a breath and let her mind go blank, watching the pot fill up with water to give herself some focus. Vanna then busied herself with filling the coffee maker and setting it up to brew. The bubbling sound that filled the kitchen after a few moments gave her something else to think about as she rummaged through her cupboards for mugs and sugar.
As the coffee brewed, Vanna stole a glance over her shoulder to check on her best friend. Mike still hadn't moved. Even from here, she noted the dots of cold sweat on the back of his neck, sandwiched between his hunched purple shoulders and mop of black hair. Tremors still rippled through his body, though not as strongly as before.
Vanna opened the silverware drawer to grab two spoons, and checked the fridge for creamer. A distraction, and he probably knew it well as she did. It allowed them both some space away from each other to collect their thoughts. Vanna set the creamer on the counter beside the mugs, better able to focus after giving herself a moment. She needed to figure out how to ask him why he ran from her until she found him passed out in the hallway. And Mike undoubtedly needed to determine how to answer that question.
The smell of fresh coffee started to fill the apartment. Vanna left Mike alone while the pot filled. She took a moment to pull off her boots and toss them by the front door, before she busied herself with tidying her cluttered kitchen. Only when the coffee maker beeped did she look up again.
Another minute to pour and prepare the two mugs. A long, deep breath as she clutched a handle in each hand and turned around to head into her living room.
Mike still hadn't moved as she rounded the couch to sit beside him. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers burrowing into his purple uniform sleeves. His shoes practically dug into the colorful throw rug under her glass coffee table, and he kept his gaze on the stacks of pop culture magazines, ashtray, and tissue box before him. At least he'd stopped shaking, for the most part.
Vanna set his mug in his direct line of sight. That he didn't touch it further concerned her, but she didn't press it. She carefully took her seat beside him. She shifted a few of her throw pillows to be closer to him, but made sure to keep a comfortable distance between them. Vanna took a long sip of her own coffee, then held the hot mug in her hands.
"...What happened back there?" she asked, after giving him another moment.
Mike remained still for a little longer, then perked, as if he only just registered the question. He started to look up, then turned away again.
"I just...stumbled," he said.
Vanna frowned, but watched him. Mike finally uncrossed his arms, gazing down at his hands. They shook again, and Vanna noticed his gaze wasn't so much on his hands, but on his wrists. He shifted and moved them, examining the pale flesh closely
Like...he saw something attached to them.
Satisfied but wary, Mike rested his arms over his knees, looking back down at the coffee table where his own mug waited for him. He stared at it, determining if he wanted it or not.
"I'm...I'll be…"
Vanna didn't believe him. If he was fine, he would have touched that coffee by now.
"Mike," she said, firmly. "Don't lie to me."
She clutched her mug tighter, staring into the abyss of milky brown cream and sugar. Her mind went to yesterday morning, where he tried to avoid her, and how she suspected trouble the moment she saw that horrible bruise. And she meant it when she said he could come to her about anything, that if he didn't, she'd to come to him. Vanna just wished he took the invitation instead of forcing her hand.
"...I knew something was off yesterday," she confessed. "I let it go for your sake. I shouldn't have. I won't do that again."
Mike started to say something. Vanna turned in time to see him glance up, then quickly lower his head again as though thinking better of it. Slowly, he nodded, still unable to face her. She gave him another moment, then carefully reached to set her hand on his shoulder. Mike flinched a bit, but otherwise made no attempt to pull away. The clamminess of his skin seeped through his shirt, and this close to him, Vanna once more caught the distinct pungence of sweat mingled with residual amounts of fading deodorant.
"Tell me what's going on," she said, once again firm.
Not demanding, but not letting him hide from her again, either.
Mike gave her a brief nod, though he remained silent for several moments. He reached up to run his fingers over the bruise in a soothing motion. His furrowed brow gave away his fearful thoughts, and a small bite of his lower lip told her he hesitated to give her any information.
Vanna let go of his shoulder to take his hand. Mike let her, his hand limp and almost lifeless in her grip. She still felt a chill on his flesh, though not nearly as noticeable as his shoulder had been. Less from fear, and more from slowly regaining warmth from the cold outside. Vanna ran her thumb over the back of his hand to try to coax him, and kept her other fingers gripped around her mug.
"What happened back there?" she asked again, her tone careful. "Why did you run from me?"
He hesitated, chewing on his lip again. Mike suddenly gripped her hand, running the tips of his fingers over her warmer flesh. It took another moment before he answered her.
"I didn't...I didn't recognize you. I-I thought..."
His eyes did that thing again, where he saw, but didn't see. Mike's fingers stopped moving, and he winced, before he seemed to abruptly come out of it. Vanna tried to keep her face neutral, though she felt her brows curving in with worry.
"...Mike?"
He blinked again. Vanna noted the slowness of his lids, the faint red tint at the rims of his eyes, and how the bags sagged a little more. He needed to sleep, and badly, but she wondered if he even could right now.
"S-sorry," he managed. "I d-didn't...I saw them."
Vanna quirked a brow, wondering what he meant.
"Them?" she asked, prodding gently.
"The-the animatronics. Only they...they were different."
Vanna instinctively found her eyes on his upturned purple collar. He seemed nervous about that yesterday too, and today, he was missing other pieces of his uniform.
"Did they hurt you?"
Mike vehemently shook his head.
"N-no," he managed. "They were...chasing me. C-calling my name…"
He reached his free hand up, resting his fingers over his forehead. Mike shook head, though now it was more trying to banish away a thought than outright denial. He blinked again, taking a few deeper, longer breaths as his thoughts settled.
"...I don't know h-how...how to explain it. I really thought I was...I was there."
Mike looked back to her, his eyes shifting quickly, taking in her every detail to verify to himself that what he saw before him was, indeed, real. Vanna felt her face shift into worry again. This time, she found it difficult to keep it back. Her mind kept going to his face when she chased him, the hard lines that fear carved into it, his terrified eyes that stared at things only he could see.
Vanna ran her thumb over his hand, her fingers curled protectively around his. She glimpsed down at their hands and felt her heart jolt a little. His flesh looked so ashen and pale, almost dead compared to the olive-gold color of her own skin.
Maybe he got a similar thought, because Mike gasped and suddenly winced out of her grip. He curled his hand against his chest as though he pulled it away from a cobra. Vanna jolted a bit in surprise, recoiling her own hand away from him. Some of her coffee splashed over her hand and onto her leggings. She hissed a bit in pain and set the mug down on her coffee table.
Mike looked up at her, and whatever blood he previously regained in his face quickly drained.
"O-oh my god!" he exclaimed, reaching for her. "I-I...I'm sorry!"
Vanna held up her other hand to show she was fine. She shifted her wet hand to keep the coffee from dripping onto the throw rug.
"Don't worry about it," she said, heading back to the kitchen.
Mike nodded, turning around to watch her from the couch. Vanna quickly rinsed off the coffee in the sink. She glanced to him, shot him a small smile to try to assure him she wasn't really hurt, then turned to grab her dishcloth. She wetted the cloth and used the moment to both clean her leggings and to think.
The blanking out, the tense posture, all his senses on high alert and on edge, the dark bags under his eyes and distinct lines of fear she kept seeing...Vanna hated to admit that this strange behavior scared her. The recurring thought that it took less than a week for his job to do this to him concerned her even more.
What was going on at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza?
Vanna used a dry part of the dishcloth to dab at her pants, then walked back over to the couch, the towel still in hand. Mike still watched her, his eyes following her every move. He looked almost as worried as she felt. As she sat beside him again, Vanna briefly wondered if she should try to get him to the hospital. He practically teetered on the edge of a mental break.
For a moment, they sat quietly as Vanna used the dishcloth to clean up the coffee that formed a ring on the coffee table and left long spill streaks over the side of her mug. Finally, she turned back to him.
"It doesn't really hurt," she assured him.
Mike nodded, still shaken. He started to reach for her again, but stopped as his fingers brushed against her hand. A few red splotches marked where the coffee hit. He settled for gripping the edge of the couch instead, his hunched posture and inability to face her speaking enough of his shame.
Vanna carefully put her hand over his.
"Mike?" she asked. "It's okay. It was an accident."
His body trembled again. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from her.
"I-I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's not...god, I thought…"
Mike reached up to bury his face in his hands, then slid his fingers up over his forehead and into his hair. He grabbed at the roots solely to have something to hold onto, to try to stop shaking. Mike set his elbows back on his knees, his focus now only on the scratches of his shoes and parts of the colorful throw rug. Soft, muffled noises escaped his throat.
Vanna rested her hand over his back, ran her fingers over his spine to try to soothe him.
"Mike, it's okay."
"No, it's not!"
He pulled his hands from his hair, his eyes going to what little of his wrists he saw under his uniform. Like before, he seemed to be looking for something. Vanna leaned over to get a better look. She glimpsed no scars or injuries on his wrists, only smooth, unharmed flesh. She hated that a faint breath of relief passed her lips. She hated even more that her mind went to that potential conclusion.
Mike kept staring at his wrists. He then reached up to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.
"I just…it happened again. It's not...fuck, this never h-happens here."
Vanna slipped her fingers under his chin, urging him to look at her. Mike obeyed, and the tears he tried to hold back started to spill over. She ran her thumb over his stubbled cheek, trying to wipe them away.
"...What did you see?" Vanna asked, gently.
Mike carefully reached to put his hand over hers. His shaking fingers barely gripped her own.
"...Gold," he whispered after a moment. "Just...gold."
Vanna looked down at her injured hand, then back up at him.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I saw…f-felt…"
He closed his eyes and took a breath. When he opened them again, he managed to finish answering her.
"...It looked animatronic," he said, quietly. "Th-there's a new one...for a second…"
Mike gripped her hand tighter.
"I saw m-metal joints," he continued, "felt old-old cloth and dust. And my hands..."
He let her go, held his wrists up for her to see.
"Strings. It s-said it saw strings."
Vanna let go of his cheek to take his hands into hers. Gently, she examined them, turning them over and running her fingers over his palms and wrists. His hands still retained a bit of chill, warmer now, and beginning to regain their color again. She felt his rapid pulse just beyond his flesh.
"There aren't any strings, Mike," she said, looking back up to him. "And I promise, I'm a human being."
She offered what she hoped to be an assuring smile. Mike simply nodded.
"I know," he said quietly. "It wasn't l-like this a few days ago. I...I-I had nightmares, but…"
He let go of one hand to rub his eyes, exhaustion and fatigue finally starting to chip away at the last dregs of his adrenaline. Mike examined his hands again afterwards, still looking for the strings.
"...Nothing like this. I was n-never...awake for it."
Vanna nodded and set her hands in her lap, making sure to keep the injured one on top. She kept a close eye on him, unsure of what to think about these strong, vivid hallucinations, and how he kept going back to his hands.
"You mentioned 'it' saw strings," she said.
"The Puppet," Mike clarified. "We talked a lot last night."
He finally reached over to take his coffee. Mike held the mug in his hands, but didn't sip from it. Even at a glance, Vanna saw the dark liquid slosh inside against the sides from the faint tremors in his hands. He gripped it tightly, afraid of dropping it.
"...About strings?" she offered.
A nod.
"Among other things."
Mike started to pull the mug to his lips, but stopped. He rested his elbows on his knees to grant his hands a little more stability.
"It...t-told me a lot of things," he continued. "About...what happened. Those...kids that disappeared. They're st-still there. Ghosts. And then…a 'Smiling Man' that h-hurt them."
Vanna started to say something, but stopped. Mike's gaze remained downward. He closed his eyes, trying once more to still his body. Carefully, he set his mug back on the coffee table, before he buried his face in his hands.
"I m-must look like...like I'm f-fucking crazy."
Vanna shifted closer to him and carefully wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to her. She rested her head over his, trying to push back her own worry and uncertainty. He really believed what he was saying.
"You're not," Vanna said, mostly to try to assure him. "Mike, it sounds like this job is really getting to you. Maybe you should-"
"I can't."
She frowned.
"Why not?"
"I just…"
Mike lowered his hands from his face until they gripped both of hers. Vanna held still, once more sensing his need to hold onto something.
"...They need me, Vanna," Mike whispered. "I c-can't...I-I don't..."
She moved her head just enough to look at his face again. Just the sight of the tired purple flesh around his reddening eyes threatened to break her into joining him, but he needed her to be strong right now. Vanna released one hand to touch his face again. She took a long, cleansing breath before offering him the same advice.
"Breathe."
Mike nodded. He closed his eyes as he tightly grasped her other hand, taking in her warmth as though her very touch healed him. He sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. Mike remained quiet and still. When he finally looked up again, he was calmer, but still on edge.
"...I need you to believe me," he whispered, "no matter how...how f-fucking insane it sounds."
Vanna started to look away from him, but stopped, pondering something. Slowly, she forced up a smile and turned back to him.
"I told you to come to me if something was going on, didn't I?"
In truth, all of it sounded unfathomable. Mike had no reason to lie to her, and his tone and body language matched every word he spoke, but...talking animatronics and dead children? And what about the bruise on his neck, his missing items? More was happening than what he let on, but for now, she let him speak.
"I actually...did need to talk to you about something," Mike told her. "I was on my way before..."
He pulled her hand from his face, then made a quick gesture. Vanna nodded in understanding. Before he hallucinated being chased down the hallway, he meant.
"...I saw you there," Mike said. "Last-last night."
Vanna's smile faded as she caught on.
"Like you saw the animatronics chasing you?"
Mike shook his head.
"This was...different."
He shifted out of her embrace and pushed himself up from the couch, just enough to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket. Mike opened it and flipped through the billfolds as he spoke.
"The pictures change sometimes."
"What pictures?" Vanna asked.
"You know those drawings they put everywhere?" Mike replied. "They change."
He found the picture and pulled it out. Vanna saw the colors and the subject of the photo. She tried to keep her face neutral, but she immediately guessed where he was going with this.
"And one of them turned into me?" she asked.
Mike nodded as he bent over to set his wallet on the coffee table beside his mug of untouched coffee. The back of the photo caught her attention as he moved, his hand tilting up a little. She saw some writing, letters mostly, but nothing legible from the angle he held it at.
"What's that?"
Mike turned back to her and held out the photo for her to take.
"I promise, this-this isn't a joke."
Vanna gave him a curious look, but took the photo from him. She briefly glanced at herself, looking at that blue cocktail dress and drinks on the table, trying to find anything strange. Upon finding nothing unusual, she flipped it over to read the back.
Her blood froze in her veins upon the sight of, "I MisS HEr" in black wax scribbles, just under where Mike once penned her name and birthdate. Something about the writing called out to her, but it left as quickly as it came.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and winced, blinking a few times as if waking from a dream. Vanna turned to Mike, whose fear and uncertainty just seconds ago turned into concern.
"...Vanna…?"
"I'm okay," she whispered, forcing another smile over her trembling lips.
"You're crying."
Vanna slowly reached up to touch her face, realizing he was right. She quickly brushed her cheeks, then looked back to the picture in her suddenly shaking hand. She stilled it, and wondered if this was the kind of thing he kept seeing. Kept experiencing. She tilted the photo in her hand to see if the writing changed or disappeared, but the words remained where they were. Running her thumb over the wax only further proved its reality.
"...I don't know why I'm crying," she whispered.
Vanna carefully turned the picture in her hands, looking over the black wax, his penmanship, the memory of her twenty-fifth birthday party two years ago.
"What does this mean?"
"I don't know," Mike said, quietly.
He carefully reached to take the picture back. As soon as he retrieved it, Mike looked over the club colors and matted surface.
"A few nights ago, my wallet disappeared," he explained. "Puppet gave it back without the pictures."
Vanna stared at him, not wanting to believe the animatronic was capable of doing something so deliberate. That it could even leave its box.
"Mike, it can't-"
"It did," Mike said, as though reading her mind.
He turned the picture in his hand to read the back.
"Puppet gave it back like this," he continued, "and I...I think it knows you. Somehow."
Vanna went quiet for a moment, before she slowly shook her head.
"...How?" she asked. "I've never been there before."
Mike looked at the picture again with a frown, noting that she had a point. He stared at it, pondering it for a moment, then flipped it to the back to read it again.
"...Mike?" Vanna prodded, after a moment of silence.
He looked up to her, shaking his head.
"I don't know how it knows," he replied. "I just know it wrote this."
Mike carefully set the photo on the coffee table for the both of them to look at. The black crayon faced the ceiling, the words, "I MisS HEr" in both of their lines of sight. He picked up the coffee mug, clutching it in both hands. After he finally took a long sip from it, his posture loosened, and he looked a lot calmer.
Vanna retrieved her own mug, still wary about Puppet, but relieved that Mike started to act like his old self again. The beverage was still hot enough to be drinkable, but had cooled significantly as they talked. And truthfully, both of them needed another moment to think and gather their bearings again.
Mike set his mug down first, though his eyes went to the unopened pink envelope lying not far from it. He reached for it, turning it around to read the address in Bailey Belrose's clean penmanship:
Vesper Belrose
1331 Windwalker Ave, Apt 5
Booker, Colorado 80999
Vanna had been mid-drink when he picked up the envelope. And when she lowered her mug and noticed it in his hands, she quickly snatched it away from him, ignoring the startled gasp that followed. In the corner of her eye, she saw Mike looking from the envelope to her, his guilt palpable. She turned to him, fighting back the small bubble of hurt that began to form in her chest. He started to say something, an apology maybe, but quickly lowered his gaze as his hands awkwardly shifted in his lap.
Maybe the card reminded him of something important. Maybe he saw a connection that she hadn't. Maybe she should have shoved the damn thing in a less obvious place than the coffee table, or thrown it away while she was thinking about it. Vanna stared at the envelope she held in her now-trembling hand, at the faint pink color and the still-sealed seam.
The seam began to blur. Vanna reached up and touched her cheek, knowing she was crying again.
Why was she crying?
She felt a human hand on hers and turned back to Mike. He still kept his gaze downcast, but unlike before where he barely kept himself together, now he looked...focused.
Determined.
Trying to piece something together.
Vanna gently squeezed his hand. It was her turn to need something to hold onto.
"...Please don't be mad," Mike whispered.
She sniffled a little, then set the envelope back on the coffee table. Vanna grabbed a tissue from the small box nearby. She then turned to him once she finished blowing her nose and cleaning her face.
"I'm not," she said. "I'm...I'm sorry, Mike. I don't kn-know what came over me."
"That's not what I mean."
Mike squeezed her hand again.
"Vanna..." he started.
She felt her stomach sink. The bubble of hurt threatened to burst. She knew what question would follow her name...and that this was what his apology referred to.
"...What happened to Vesper?"