Vanna looked away from Mike. She tossed her used tissue on the coffee table and grabbed a fresh one, holding it up over her mouth and nose in fear that she might choke or scream. It wasn't about the envelope, not really. It was the name written on it, the writing on the back of Mike's picture...

Her mind tried to prevent her from putting those pieces together.

"You never...talk about her," Mike said, softly.

"Yeah," she whispered. "For the same reasons you don't talk about him."

She felt his grip loosen, and in the corner of her eye, she watched him pick up his coffee mug, suddenly interested in it again. Vanna quickly retrieved her own and stared into it, then forced herself to take a sip. When she lowered the mug again, her eyes went to the envelope that bore her sister's name.

She and Mike had more in common than he realized. He didn't know her story, but she knew his. It was big news six years ago, and part of the reason he moved all the way to this side of town, far away from that old place.

They long ago entered an unspoken agreement that neither brought up the subject of the other's personal tragedy.

Vanna glanced up to her entertainment center. It took a long time to display it, but one of the pictures among the trinkets and VHS tapes showed two twin girls in white ballet shoes, crowns, and tutus. Both looked about four or five, with olive-gold skin and black hair tied up in buns, bright smiles and angular green eyes as they posed in the fourth ballet position for the picture.

She turned back to the picture on the table, gently setting her tissue down to pick it up. Vanna looked between the crayon writing and the photo of herself and her twin as little girls. She set down her coffee and held Mike's photo in both of her hands. As she ran her fingers over the writing, her chest panged again.

Mike hadn't said a word or even lowered his cup. He broke their silent contract, and yet…

Vanna closed her eyes. This whole morning with him had not been anything she expected. Then again, she wasn't sure what she expected to begin with. Work stress, maybe a lie about that bruise on his neck. But not weird dreams and hallucinations, or creepy animatronics or ghosts that had something to do with her.

With Vesper.

She opened her eyes and turned back to Mike. He held his mug in his lap again, but still didn't face her. Vanna turned away from him, glancing once more at the childish scrawl in black crayon. Like before, her mind flashed for a brief second. This time, she heard a child, though if it was laughter or crying, she couldn't be certain.

In that moment, Vanna made up her mind.

"...It was called Fredbear's."

She didn't face Mike, but she heard him shift among her blankets and throw pillows. Mike perked a little. That was the name he read on the folder, and in the articles he found.

"Fredbear's?" he asked, carefully.

Vanna nodded, still staring at the writing.

A part of her wanted to see or hear something again. Another part wanted to be rid of the weirdness and be done.

"It was...kind of like Freddy's," she continued, closing her eyes for a moment to imagine herself there, "but with only two characters and a lot more gold and purple."

She opened her eyes again, deliberately flipping the photograph over to stop looking at the crayon writing anymore.

"That's most of what I remember," she said. "We stopped going when I was four."

Vanna set the photo down again and picked up her coffee.

"...What happened?" Mike asked, carefully.

Cake. She specifically remembered cake, and a lot of other kids getting upset. And then...

"Accidents," Vanna said, her breath hitching a little. "People getting hurt. It's why we stopped going."

"What kind of-?"

"Just accidents."

Vanna deliberately took another sip of her coffee to avoid further explanation. She saw Mike back down in the corner of her eye, then awkwardly sip at his own. The distinct scent of strawberry frosting entered her nose, and she pulled her mug away from her face, half-expecting to see pink icing globs.

Only coffee diluted with creamer.

After mentally confirming she held ceramic, and not cake, Vanna took a deep breath and grabbed the unused tissue from the coffee table. She closed her eyes as she wiped them again, then brought her mug into both hands.

"...They closed down," she quietly continued, "and Freddy Fazbear's opened about two years later."

Vanna paused a moment, mentally calculating the time.

"That was...1973 when Freddy's first opened. Same building, I think."

"Maybe that's how Puppet knows you," Mike suggested.

Vanna shook her head.

"It wasn't there," she said. "And even if it was, how would it know me now? I'm all grown up."

Mike frowned, conceding her point. He was slightly more comfortable now that she seemed willing to talk.

"Well, it knows both of us somehow," he said.

The alertness in his eyes returned as he mulled it over.

"My family went to Freddy's the first day it opened," Mike said. "I was five."

"We were five when Fredbear's shut down," Vanna mused. "So...'71."

She paused for a moment, then corrected herself.

"No, wait, we were four. I had my birthday after that, but...still '71."

Vanna glanced back down at her mug. Her coffee was almost gone.

"So we were never there at the same time," Mike said.

His best friend shook her head. Vanna slowly sipped at the remains of her coffee.

"...I didn't really understand everything that happened at Fredbear's," she continued. "There was a lot of chaos, something about an accident, and then..."

She drained what was left. Her lips tightened, and she clutched her mug so hard, she felt she might break it. More than the damn cake, the confusion of that night lingered in her mind, her back and head hurting, her parents trying to keep her calm in the aftermath.

"...Vesper never came home."

Vanna never heard Mike's mug clink against the coffee table, or the shifting of throw blankets and pillows as he moved closer to her. She simply felt tight, warm arms around her, his head on her shoulder, and the softness of his hair against her neck. Vanna sat still for a moment, blinking in shock, but when she registered him, she carefully returned the embrace.

Her fingers loosened their grip on her mug, and she heard the small thud of it landing safely on her throw carpet. As tightly as he held her, she returned it in kind, resting her head on his shoulder and drying her eyes on his uniform shirt.

He didn't need to say a word.

He understood perfectly.

Vanna clung to him until her eyes finally ran dry. Her back ached from bending down to his level. Long breaths occasionally choked with silent sobs entered and exited her lungs. His arms around her, their shared pain, helped her to ease.

"...Thanks," she whispered, when she felt she had control again.

Vanna let him go, straightening up and sinking back into the couch. She reached up to wipe her eyes. Mike grabbed a tissue and handed it to her. Vanna took it to wipe her face and blow her nose, then balled it up in her hand. Her fist hovered near her mouth as she took a long breath.

"It got...worse after that," Vanna said.

She tossed the used tissue beside the other one, then grabbed another, playing with the fresh one as she spoke.

"My parents wouldn't talk about Fredbear's, and neither would anyone else in my family. It was like a curse to speak of it, and if it got brought up, they scolded me and acted like it never existed. They wanted me to forget it was a thing."

"But you didn't," Mike said, quietly.

"My mom kept trying to tell me it was all a bad dream," Vanna explained. "Made up some bullshit about angels taking Vesper away while we slept, and then scolded me for making up stories based on the new Freddy Fazbear's place. I almost believed it, too. I did, actually, for a few years."

She pointed up to her entertainment center.

"But then I found that."

It took Mike a moment to notice what she pointed at. Unlike the ballerina picture, which held some prominence on the shelf, this one was strategically placed among several of the ballerina trinkets to be hidden unless one specifically looked for it. He barely saw two little faces poking out from behind them.

"That was behind my mom's entertainment center," Vanna explained. "I was seven or eight when I was getting a book and knocked some of them down behind it. I found it covered in dust when I went to get the books, so Mom obviously forgot it existed. And then I knew I wasn't making it all up like she told me. That Fredbear's was real, and that something about it had to do with why Vesper went missing."

She moved a hand to her head.

"And then I'd just get flashes of things I thought I'd forgotten."

"Like what?" Mike asked.

"Like the toys Vesper and I had of the characters," Vanna said. "After she disappeared, I kept them both safe, thinking she'd come back, and we'd play with them again. Then one day, they disappeared too, just like her. I went crying to my mom, who just told me to stop lying, that I never had them."

Vanna crossed her arms and glared down at the coffee table.

"I was playing outside, and I saw one of their legs poking out of the trash can. I tried to get them back. Mom caught me, and made sure I stayed inside until the garbage men came. I watched them dump the trash, Mike. It's a moment I'll never forget. I was crying. If Vesper ever came back, we wouldn't play with them anymore. Then she told me that never happened either, that I must have had a nightmare."

A helpless laugh escaped her lips.

"Isn't that fucked up?" she asked. "They were our favorite toys. We had the idea in our heads that they were made just for us. I don't remember why; I just remember they were very special."

Mike hated how his stomach dropped.

"...Maybe your parents didn't want reminders," he said.

"I used to believe that," Vanna said. "I wish I still could."

She crossed her arms in her lap and leaned on them.

"They were just toys," she continued, "but losing them felt like losing my sister all over again. And that's not even the worst part."

Mike stayed quiet, allowing her to collect her thoughts. He caught the tremor in her lips, the glimmer in her eyes that she barely pushed back.

"My dad couldn't handle it and left a few months after Vesper disappeared," she said after a moment. "We don't really talk anymore because of it. I needed him, and he left me behind with my crazy mother. After Dad left, Vesper...became this weird deity in our house. This perfect child who was taken by angels, because Mom had to erase Fredbear's somehow, and make it seem like a good thing she was gone. Maybe at first, that's what she was trying to do. What actually happened was I grew up in her shadow."

Vanna gestured to the envelope on the table.

"That damn card is a yearly reminder of my place," she explained. "That I'll never live up to being the perfect little angel that made my mom so proud."

Mike nodded.

"Is that why you don't talk?" he asked.

"Among other things," Vanna said.

She sighed.

"I tried, Mike. I tried for years to live up to that. Nothing was ever good enough for her, so I eventually stopped giving a damn what she thought."

She reached for a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, slipping one out before offering him the pack. Mike frowned, but took one after he realized how long he'd gone without one. Vanna lit her own, puffed it twice, then continued to speak.

"Vesper's perfect because she never got a chance to be otherwise," she said, bitterly. "Me? I'm a sinful failure with a tramp stamp who smokes, wears short skirts, and works in a bar."

She sucked on her cigarette as she sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly.

"I played nice for a bit to go to college after high school," Vanna continued, "but the moment she cut my funding, I cut her off. In a way, I'm glad she did. She couldn't use that or Vesper to control me anymore."

She closed her eyes. Mike gently reached to set a hand on hers.

"...I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

Vanna gripped his hand as she took another drag. Mike tightened his own grip when he noticed the faint tremors coursing through her fingers.

"...It's kind of funny," Vanna whispered.

"What?" he asked.

"Your timing."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, before taking a drag himself.

"When we first met," Vanna said, "I was actually only recently in a good place."

She pointed up to the picture of herself and Vesper in their tutus.

"I'd only been displaying that picture for a few months before you showed up. Before that, I hated Vesper and everything she stood for."

Vanna took one last puff of her cigarette before she snuffed it in the ashtray.

"Well...not her her, but the idea of her that my mom planted in my head. I had to get away from my mother and that house. I had to get away from the perfect angel, and all my stupid relatives that fed into Mom's delusional bullshit."

She pulled her hand from Mike's and crossed her arms, leaning forward to balance them on her knees.

"...It hurt, losing all those people," Vanna confessed, "and especially my mom, but I felt a lot better after. Kind of like taking a breath after being underwater."

She sighed, her breath hitching a little.

"In time," she continued, "I realized it wasn't really Vesper's fault that our mom is fucking crazy, and that all the angel shit wasn't...wasn't really her. And slowly, I began putting our things up."

"You mean the picture?" Mike asked.

Vanna gestured around the room, at the all ballet memorabilia cluttering the shelves.

"I've added to it since, but a lot of this stuff was in our room. Because it wasn't related to Fredbear's, I was allowed to have it."

She pointed up to the shelf where the mostly-hidden picture stood, and specifically, the white, doll-like figurine beside it. The figure stood on her tiptoes with her arms raised over her head, her shoes, hair, and tutu all a brilliant shade of blue.

"That one there was Vesper's favorite."

Mike got up to get a closer look at it, but something in the photograph right behind it caught his eye. He gently moved the ballerina figurine and some ceramic ballet shoes to access it. Upon first glance, he saw Vanna and Vesper at a birthday party. Judging by the candles on the cake, they were turning four, with both of them leaned over to blow them out together. In the background, he picked out what initially caught his eye: golden arms just barely caught in the frame on either side of the twins.

Golden arms with five fingers on each hand.

Mike's heart jolted as his mind went to the animatronic sitting in the back room. Was this why the Puppet wanted him to find it? Why he saw Vanna on the walls and on the sketch inside its box?

"Neat, isn't it?" Vanna asked.

Mike glanced back to her, pulled from his thoughts.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"I thought about confronting Mom about it," Vanna explained, "then...chickened out when I thought about how she'd take it. So I kept it hidden until I moved. It's got our names, birthday, and the location written on the back."

Mike stared at the Fredbear photograph for another moment, before he gave a delayed nod in response.

"I really wish I knew more than that," Vanna whispered, "but I don't, and...n-no one in my family will...will tell me more about it."

Mike quietly nodded as he returned to the couch. He took a seat and tightly gripped her hand, wanting to help her.

Wanting to make it right.

Vanna rubbed her face on his shoulder again. Oddly enough, she found his scent of sweat and deodorant comforting.

"My parents looked everywhere," she whispered. "She was just...gone."

Her eyes fell upon the envelope on the table. Vanna carefully pulled away from him. Mike followed her lead.

"And to make it worse, my stupid mother does this shit every year," she continued, reaching over to pick up the envelope. "I used to think she was just mixing us up, but I learned long ago that it's all just an act."

Vanna turned the pink envelope in her hands. With each turn, her hands shook, and she considered tearing it apart then and there. She found another well of tears to pull from as she clutched the envelope and stared at her sister's name.

"...She wants me to r-remember that I'll never live up to Vesper," she whispered. "That she was...perfect, and I'm not."

Vanna narrowed her eyes at the envelope, on the verge of giving into the temptation of ripping it to shreds. Thinking better of it, she turned to Mike and handed it to him, not wanting to deal with the envelope anymore, or her mother's cruelty about her sister's memory. She should have told him to trash it days ago, along with anything else that "accidentally" got sent to him. Then she wouldn't have to deal with it at all, or the sudden pain that surged through her now. Vanna felt a gentle tug on the envelope and let go as Mike took it away from her. He set it down on the coffee table, and grabbed a tissue to hand to her.

"I wish you told me," he said quietly. "I wouldn't have-"

"It's done," Vanna said, taking the tissue to wipe her eyes. "And...god, you're right."

"About what?"

"That this is all fucking crazy."

Vanna took a few minutes to compose herself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never wanted you to know."

"Vanna."

Warm fingers curled around her hand. Vanna looked over at Mike. He blinked a few times in an attempt to keep his face calm and tried to lift the corners of his mouth into a smile. Both attempts failed, giving way to his own nervousness and sorrow.

"...I didn't mean for it to get to this," he said quietly.

Vanna nodded.

"You didn't know."

She forced up a smile for both of them.

"And truthfully? It felt...good, to talk about for once. Like I said, no one will tell me anything."

Mike nodded, then glanced down at the pink envelope in his hands. He read the name on it a few times, his mouth a grim line as he lost himself in thought.

"...Vanna?" he said after a moment.

She leaned down to pick up the empty coffee cup she dropped. Vanna perked upon hearing her name.

"Hmm?"

"...What if I could...find out?"

"Find out what?"

"What happened."

Vanna sat up again, clutching her mug in both hands once more. In all this talk about her family, the original talk of the strange happenings at Freddy's and the weird hallucinations he kept having fell to the wayside. Her chest panged again, and she took a moment to think it over.

"...I don't know," she admitted. "All of this...these visions and-and whatever the hell else that goes on in that place...it's a lot to take in as it is."

She looked back to the picture on the coffee table, then up to the one of herself and Vesper as children.

"And I don't think the Puppet, if it is talking to you, knows what happened."

Mike simply nodded, not questioning her skepticism. As she pointed out herself, he already accepted how this sounded to a normal person.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"It didn't exist at Fredbear's," she answered. "Only two characters, remember? A yellow bear, Fredbear."

"...And a yellow rabbit?" Mike whispered, hardly daring to ask.

Vanna gave him a strange look.

"Yeah," she said. "How did you know?

She watched the color suddenly drain from Mike's face, though he tried to quickly regain composure. He managed a nod, though he shrunk back a bit. Vanna saw the gears moving in his head as he pieced a few things together.

"...Mike?"

"The new one," he whispered. "The-the suit they found. It's a goddamn yellow rabbit."

Mike let a few more pieces click into place.

"You said it was the same location?"

"Yeah," Vanna replied, trying to figure out his train of logic. "Mind filling me in?"

"It was found behind one of the walls the other day," Mike explained. "But...I played games there as a kid. Like, where it was found, by the bathrooms. It had to have been put there sometime after I stopped going."

He perked a bit, then looked back up at the Fredbear photo.

At the evidence of golden animatronics with five fingers on their hands. Mike winced a bit, a hand going to his right arm. Vanna perked up, certain she knew where he was going with this.

"You think it's the same rabbit."

"Yeah," he confirmed.

Mike looked back to the envelope in his hands.

"And this…" he said looking it over again, "I don't know how it fits, either. But Puppet knows something, and it knows you, somehow."

Vanna glanced over to the coffee table, then reached over to pick up Mike's photograph. She flipped it to the back to read the crayon message. After examining it for a moment, something caught her eye.

"...I think I just figured it out."

Mike leaned over to look at the writing, curious now.

"How?"

Vanna pointed to his handwriting, where he once wrote, "Vanna, 10/22/91".

"How many girls in this city are named 'Vanna'?" she asked. "It's not common. And we share a birthdate."

Mike caught on quickly.

"Then she'd compare you as a child to you as an adult."

"Right. And if...a-and if..."

Vanna choked up a little. She turned the picture around to show her own smiling face again. Mike looked up at her, finishing what she dared to say.

"...It's her?" he whispered.

She nodded as she moved a hand to her mouth. Vanna handed the photograph back to him, not wanting to look at it anymore. Mike took it from her, setting down the envelope long enough to retrieve his wallet. He opened it with a single, solemn nod, then put the photograph back in its rightful place.

Vanna gently picked up the envelope again. Once Mike had situated himself, she offered it to him.

"You open it."

"What?"

"Please."

She saw her best friend's hesitation, but he slowly nodded and took the envelope. Vanna turned away as she listened to him gently tearing at the seam, not wanting to see the contents. The sound of paper sliding against paper told her he held it in his hand.

"It's a ballerina," Vanna said, refusing to look at the card. She didn't attempt to hide the note of bitterness in her voice.

"...Yeah."

"And if you open it...five dollars, and a note to her 'perfect daughter'?"

Mike's silence spoke enough. Vanna looked over at him.

"Keep the money," she told him. "I don't want it."

"...You sure?"

"Yeah. I don't want that bitch's tainted cash."

"What about the card?"

Vanna glanced down at it. The front showed a young, curtsying ballerina in a blue tutu, with dark hair and porcelain skin tinted with rosy pink. Glitter covered the shoes and tutu, and the whole picture held a doll-like quality to it. Once upon a time, she and Vesper would have loved it.

And that gave her an idea.

Vanna took the card back, then stood up, walking over to her entertainment center. On one shelf, a cup filled with pens and other items stood, and from here, she retrieved a pair of scissors. After making sure none of her mother's horrible message tainted the side with the ballerina, she meticulously cut the card in half, then set the ballerina piece on the coffee table.

Within seconds of setting it down, Vanna gave into her earlier temptation to tear the other half to shreds, each quick rip satisfyingly musical in her ears. Only when the pieces became too small to tear properly did she grab the envelope and shove them inside.

How she wished she did that years ago, but no time like the present.

She then held out the envelope to Mike, who took it with care as to not spill the pieces.

"Mind taking care of this for me?"

Mike smiled, taking some residual satisfaction from her prior ferocity.

"Sure," he said, pushing himself up to stand.

"There's more coffee," Vanna said, turning back to the entertainment center.

"Want any more while I'm up?" he asked.

"Load it."

She dug through the pen cup to find a working one. Behind her, she listened to the familiar, calming sound of liquid filling ceramic mugs and the rummaging for cream and sugar. Like before, each of them used the time as relative privacy.

Vanna found the pen, clicked it open, and scribbled a bit just under her right thumb to make sure it worked. A glance behind her showed Mike got the creamer from the fridge, and was dumping it into her mug like she preferred. The sight made her smile a little as she knelt down in front of the coffee table.

The ballerina made her smile fade. Vanna flipped it over to the back, her left hand hovering over it with the pen.

This is crazy, she thought. She's not...but what if...?

Vanna glanced up again, craning her neck over the couch until she saw Mike in the kitchen. His back was to her as he scooped out sugar for one of the mugs. Her eyes focused on his back pocket, to the wallet that contained her picture and crayon scribbles. She remembered, quite clearly, the strong emotional connection she felt when she first read those words. The innocent sounds of laughter or crying echoed in her mind again. Vanna glanced up over her shoulder to the picture of her and her sister in their tutus.

It pushed her to create the first pen stroke of her message.

Maybe this was pointless. Maybe...Mike just had nightmares. Thought he saw or heard something.

She kept writing.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he had a way to get her answers. At worst, nothing happened. At best...

Vanna flipped the card over when she finished. She pushed herself back up and took what had been his seat on the couch, laying back against the armrest. He came back a moment later, both mugs in hand, prepared to their respective preferences.

"Got my coffee?" she asked.

Mike gave her a little smirk and handed it to her. He still looked exhausted, he still bore traces of terror in his face and posture, and he probably had more horror stories to tell, but he looked a lot more like himself again. Mike took the seat she had prior.

"Do me a favor?" Vanna asked.

He turned to her.

"What is it?"

She pointed to the card.

"Take it with you tonight," she said, "and give it to Puppet."

Mike glanced over to where she pointed, and nodded.

"It's a promise."

Vanna gave him another smile.

"Now, since neither of us is getting any sleep anytime soon," she said, "you might as well tell me more."

Mike finished another sip of his coffee, then turned to her.

"Fuck, where to start..."

"How about from the beginning?"

He gave her a nod, and Vanna settled back against her throw pillows as he started the story of the week's horrors.