Friday, November 13, 1987
As he turned the corner to enter the small shopping center, red and blue flashing lights caught his attention. Several black and white cars filled the parking lot, with an ambulance just pulling in. Mike stopped his bike for a moment, taking in the scene: the flashing lights and vehicles, the concerned, gathering crowd, the officers trying to keep the peace. He took it all in, only then realizing the source of all the commotion.
No.
Of all the places on this block, in this shopping center, why there?
Mike took a breath and propelled the bike forward again, steering toward the new Freddy Fazbear's Pizza with only one thing, one person on his mind. Several cars crowded the parking lot, leaving almost no space for the emergency vehicles, let alone anyone else trying to get in. Still, he kept his attention near the front entrance.
There, not far from the front door, he caught a familiar light blue color. Mike's heart raced upon seeing it.
And it stopped long enough to identify it as a blue '83 Suzuki FX.
He pedaled faster, his lungs already bursting from the trip up here. As he got closer to the crowd, he dismounted his bike, abandoning it on the sidewalk. His shoes dug into the asphalt as he ran, bolting toward the new Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.
The white building loomed over him as he ran over. A purple and blue-green checkered ribbon circled the top, with the welcome sign in the middle. A newly-designed Freddy looked down at him as he got closer, with a blue Bonnie and a cuter Chica on either side of him. All three had cheek circles and bright eyes and smiles that normally looked welcoming. Now the red and blue lights made them all disconcerting.
Several officers kept back the gathering crowd. The entrance doors hung open, allowing parents to escort their crying children from the building, while others spoke with some of the officers on the scene. Mike carefully pushed his way forward, his eyes looking for that familiar purple uniform. He wove his way to the front entrance, where a small police blockade cut off the restaurant from the rest of the shopping center.
A woman in black pants, a purple apron, and a blue-green Freddy's polo stood by the entrance, hysterically talking to an officer. She spoke so fast that only a few choice words made it to Mike's ears.
Words like, "acting strange" and "sudden" and "so much blood."
Mike's blood turned to ice as he listened to the Freddy's waitress. His eyes went to the front entrance, the purple frame, the open blue-green doors leading into the pizzeria.
The feelings that disturbed him that morning worsened. Something happened, he knew. Something dire. He tried to hold out hope that it wasn't fatal.
That his brother would leave that building alive.
The second he got a chance, Mike ducked under one of the barriers. He slipped by a mother holding her sobbing child, and made his way to the front entrance, where the waitress still frantically gave her report. The officer caught him in the corner of his eye and interrupted his report to stop him.
"Sir, this is a crime scene. You need to get back behind the-"
"My brother's in there!" Mike interrupted, trying to at least get a glimpse through the front door. "He works here! Please!"
"I understand, sir, but you need to-"
A new voice spoke up.
"Did I hear that right? Your brother?"
Mike stopped arguing with the officer to look towards the source of the new voice. A tall, blond man stood nearby. His black pants, blue shirt, and badge marked him as a security guard. He looked about mid-forties, with the first signs of age and thinning hair, and at just over six feet, he towered over Mike by about a head. His blond hair, clearly neat to start with, hung over his face from stress, and his blue eyes honed in on whatever they caught, taking in every detail.
Upon getting a better look at him, Mike immediately recognized the blond man as a longtime staff member from the old location, a detail that quickly took a backseat to more important matters - like the knot forming in his stomach at the anticipation of bad news.
"Yeah," Mike said, relenting a bit now that someone familiar - even if only a little - was giving him answers. "Jeremy."
The guard carefully gestured for Mike to step aside with him to allow the officer to finish taking his report. Mike numbly obeyed, moving to let another set of parents leave with their crying children. He kept looking at the front entrance, at the open doors and the checkered tile floor and the posters hanging in the front foyer.
"...Where is he?" Mike asked. "Please. I just...I-I need to know!"
The guard's face went blank for a moment, as though trying to compute a proper reaction. He glanced up to the sign above them.
"Jeremy, Jeremy..."
"Fitzgerald," Mike offered. "He worked nights. Is he…?"
The guard pondered a moment more, then looked visibly relieved. He shifted his gaze back to Mike, his blue eyes carefully taking him in to examine every subtle movement, every breath, every little change in his face.
"...I'm sorry," the guard said at last. "I wish I could help you."
Mike shifted a bit uncomfortably, not liking the way the guard looked him over. He noticed how the man's face remained calm and stoic as he talked.
"Then he's-?"
"Not inside," the guard said, reassuringly. "He didn't show up for work this morning."
"Morning?" Mike asked, confused. "He's on the night shift!"
The man gave a nonchalant nod.
"That is correct," he said, "but he was switched to days. Today was supposed to be his first shift, but he didn't show up. I was called in last-minute to cover for him."
The corners of his thin mouth turned downward into the subtlest frown.
"No one's seen him."
Mike narrowed his eyes, the inner pain temporarily forgotten to rage.
"Bullshit!"
He thrust out his arm to point to the boxy little blue Suzuki sitting at the front entrance.
"His car is right there!" he screamed. "He has to be here! Where is he?!"
The guard held up his hands in defense. His face became blank again, with only the tiniest hint of concern.
"I'm telling you the truth, son. Ask anyone here; no one's seen him."
"Then what's with all this?" Mike asked, gesturing to the police cars and ambulances around them. "What the fuck happened here?"
The guard frowned again, then shook his head.
"We had an incident," he said, simply.
He lowered his hands to clasp them in front of him and simply gave Mike a grim frown. He turned to the waitress finishing up her report, then toward the barrier, where only a few families remained. The man then looked back to Mike and lowered his voice.
"One of the robots malfunctioned," he explained. "The victim was a guest. I didn't see it happen myself, but I saw the aftermath."
He turned back and softened a bit, trying again to reassure Mike.
"Wherever Jeremy is, at least know he didn't get hurt."
Just as he finished speaking, the sound of wheels and footsteps on tile echoed from inside the building. The guard gestured for Mike to step aside to make a bit more room. Nearby, the officer taking the report from the waitress did the same, leaving the front door completely unhindered.
Not long after, a team of paramedics came out of the building, quickly wheeling a gurney towards the open ambulance. Some of the paramedics blocked the view of the person's face, but Mike saw a purple-sleeved arm twitching on the gurney, the rest of the body convulsing under a blanket. Something glinted off the right wrist, that catching his attention more than anything.
"Jeremy!"
He started to run over, reaching to take the victim's hand. The guard grabbed him around the waist and held him back.
"No, son, it's not-!"
Mike tried to struggle away, but the man gripped him tightly, keeping one arm around his waist and moving the other across his chest, his fingers digging into Mike's shoulder to keep him from getting any further. Mike beat at the man's hands, clawing and digging into his skin.
"Let me-let me go!"
He reached a hand towards the gurney, his focus only on that purple sleeve.
"Jeremy!"
He kicked at his shins, but the guard held firm, shifting his own weight to ensure Mike stayed put.
"It's not him, son!"
The guard tightened his arm against Mike's chest, forcing the teen to hold still for a second. In that second, Mike got a proper glimpse at the victim's hand. He then stopped struggling, but only because of the red nails glinting in the sunlight. Mike froze, better taking in the cream-colored skin, the daintier shape of the fingers, even the lightness of the fabric covering the arm. The paramedics still blocked the face, but now he saw a lot of red spilling over the white pillow, and blonde locks hanging off the end of the gurney.
A woman.
A woman in purple gauze, not the distinct cotton of a Fazbear uniform.
A woman wearing a thick bangle bracelet instead of a watch.
Mike just stared at the victim's hand, no longer noticing the guard keeping him back. The man told him the truth: it wasn't Jeremy, like he initially thought.
Then where…?
"I told you."
Mike went limp, now only barely acknowledging the man's arms still around him. After a moment, he weakly tried to break free. The guard held him back another moment, then let him go when he trusted his temporary charge wouldn't run. As soon as the man freed him, Mike stepped forward, then stopped, his eyes still focused on the bracelet. The internal storm quelled a little, and for the first time since that morning, he felt…
...Numb.
The guard gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Mike just watched the paramedics, mostly to force his mind to take in the scene, to ensure that the person on the gurney wasn't his brother. One of the medics finally moved enough for him to see the victim's face...and the large, gaping hole in her forehead, the blood caking around her eyes and on her cheeks, the sickening metallic smell he caught even from here.
It shocked him into stillness for a moment, and brought him back to that summer day in 1983.
Flashes of gold crossed his vision, of Freddy reaching out to the audience as his maw dripped with blood, the sad glimmer in the corner of his eye. Children crying and screaming, the staff trying to reign in the chaos and help him, the paramedics lifting him into the stretcher.
Mike grabbed his right arm, wincing with remembered pain. The doctors told him how lucky he'd been, how the fractures occurred just below his wrist and elbow. If those jaws had snapped directly on his joints, if they'd had been any stronger…
Only a miracle would have allowed him to use his arm again.
As Mike ran his fingers over the old scars, another thought came to him, one that kept him strong while the guards loosened his arm from Freddy's jaws: that if he hadn't been there, and Brian had gone through with that prank unhindered...
That thought alone brought him back to the reality of the few seconds he'd been watching the paramedics lift the gurney into the ambulance. Mike blinked, and in an instant, the woman on the stretcher now told the story of Jamie's potential fate.
Of what he prevented those years ago.
Mike dropped to his knees then, one hand clutching his stomach, the other up over his mouth. His stomach lurched, and he tried to force back the burning bile that churned with the emotional upheaval that tormented him since he realized the driveway would remain empty. Bitter tears escaped as pain shot up into his nose. Mike forced himself to swallow, to just try to keep it all back. He succeeded at first, but the sickness refused to stay down.
What barely counted as breakfast ended up all over the sidewalk.
He covered his mouth again, using his thumb to wipe the residual vomit from his lips. Nearby, he heard a few voices of concern from the crowd around him, the officers on the scene forcing everyone else back. Mike ignored them, closing his eyes to try to block out everything else.
It took a few moments before he felt he was under control again, trembling in pain, in shock, in horror at what he had just seen, at what he remembered. He felt a gentle hand running over his back and heard someone beside him slowly lowering themselves to his level. Mike looked up. He picked out a ring of yellow, two blue dots, and a thin line through his blurred vision.
"Are you okay?"
Mike reached up to wipe his eyes, then shook his head. He allowed his mind to go blank for a moment. If anything, the lingering pain gave him something else to focus on.
The guard nodded and gently offered a hand. Mike let go of his stomach to take it, but kept his other hand over his mouth in case his body forced up another round. The man carefully wrapped his other arm at his waist, then shifted his weight to help him stand. Mike slowly moved with him, his legs suddenly feeling like lead. He let the guard guide him just inside the building, every step forced and heavy.
"...I'm s-sorry," he whispered through his fingers. "Just...holy fuck, her head! It bit her f-fucking head!""I know, son. I know."
The guard directed Mike to a bench just inside the front foyer, a long, thin blue-green block with a thick purple cushion. Its normal use allowed families to sit while waiting for a table, and even across the way, two other employees sat on a similar one, both of them looking exhausted and upset.
"Here," the man said, guiding Mike to the bench. "Have a seat. I'll get you some water, okay?"
Mike simply nodded and did as the man instructed. The soft purple cushion sank under his weight, and the fabric still retained some of its fresh new smell, something that helped settle his stomach a little. Mike pressed his feet to the floor to feel a sense of grounding and listened to the man's retreating footsteps. He barely heard an officer stop him, then offer an escort to the kitchen upon hearing an explanation.
When the world felt even somewhat right again, Mike looked up just to take in his surroundings.
A few design elements carried over from the old location, like the checkered floors and the speckled walls, even the silver stars, though these were now on garlands, draping the walls like Christmas lights instead of hanging from strings on the ceiling. Already, children documented their adventures in crayon, the drawings slowly taking over the free space on the walls.
Just above the employees sitting across from him, he noticed a poster divided into four segments, each showing an animatronic's face. Mike carefully took them in, if only to keep his mind occupied on something else.
He started at the left with Bonnie, now a brilliant blue with green eyes, purple lids and long lashes, and bright red circles on his cheeks. He briefly wondered if the redesign came about to better fit the rabbit's girly name. Next to him, Mike picked out Chica with her rounder head and beak, and overall friendlier design. He noted her cheek circles were actually pink, unlike the others, and on thinking of her original look, Mike realized he missed her purple eyes compared to the soft blue now. Freddy himself now sported a bulkier head that looked more like a plastic figurine than a teddy bear. Of them all, Foxy changed the most, with a white face and pink snout, pink detailing, long lashes, and even what looked like red lipstick to compliment the cheek circles.
The poster beckoned kids to ROCK! EAT! PARTY! PLAY!, but in light of current events, no one would be doing any of that anytime soon. After letting the new designs sink in, Mike looked over the poster again, this time, focusing on one detail:
Which one of you did it?
Foxy's - or what was it Jeremy called it the other night? Something about a Mangle? - large jaws naturally caught his attention first, along with the matching sharp teeth. Mike's arm ached as he moved to the left to Freddy, and a part of him looked relieved. Just by the poster, Freddy's entire snout looked much smaller than his old design, and part of him wondered if the incident four years ago inspired the new look and smaller mouth. Mike then flipped back and forth between Bonnie and Chica. Chica's beak, not unlike Freddy's snout, seemed to have a limit on how far it could extend down. Bonnie's lower jaw, however, looked like it might be able to unhook further than the poster let on, not unlike a snake.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts. Mike looked up to see the blond guard return with the officer, the former now holding a Freddy's cup brimming with water. Carefully, the man took a seat beside Mike and offered him the cup. After a moment, Mike took it, then took a long, careful drink. The icy liquid cooled his throat, the chill spreading over his chest as the water passed into his stomach. He shuddered, but it helped ease the remaining sickness.
Once he emptied half the cup, Mike turned back to the man. He was dying to ask about the source of the mayhem, but was unsure if the question was appropriate. He felt nothing but relief when the guard spoke first, breaking the awkward silence between them.
"Better?"
Mike nodded.
"Yeah," he said, quietly. "Thanks."
The guard gently gripped his shoulder again. Mike winced, but turned around to face him, suddenly feeling uneasy. Something about this man bothered him, particularly the blank look, how his blue eyes met Mike's own, how his mouth stayed in that thin, grim line as he thought of what next to say.
"...I'm sorry," the guard said at last. "I really wish I could help you more."
Mike swallowed hard, biting his lip as he slowly nodded to the man. He turned to look out the open front door, where the ambulance since left to bring the woman to the nearest hospital. That tight, uneasy feeling returned, making his heart sick with worry. He took a breath, then forced himself to go numb again.
Numb let him keep his head. Numb let him have hope that his missing foster brother was at least alive and healthy somewhere. Numb let him believe that wherever Jeremy was right now, he was better off than that woman.
The guard let go of his shoulder. Mike turned back to him, still trying to remain numb.
Calm.
Hopeful.
"...You really don't know?" he whispered.
He watched the guard's face, at his normally combed back hair that now fell in his face from running around and handling the incident, at how his blue shirt looked rumpled, and even had drying red flecks that he never noticed before.
"No one's seen Jeremy," the guard answered, quietly.
He gave a quick glance to the nearly-empty parking lot, at the blue '83 Suzuki FX sitting empty by the front entrance. It just barely remained in sight from here, completely separate from the remaining police cruisers and the few guest and employee cars still sitting in the lot.
"We already told the police," he said, then turned back to Mike with that piercing gaze.
Mike fought the urge to inch away from him.
"I have no reason to lie to you," the man said, once more trying to reassure him. "We had to give a record of every employee on the premise, and the entire building was searched as part of the investigation. He's not here."
He forced up a smile, in an attempt to assuage Mike, but withdrew it once he noticed the younger man's desperate, worried expression remained unchanged.
"I just…"
Mike took another sip of his water to give himself a moment to think.
"...I don't believe this," he whispered. "When he didn't come home, I...he's never...n-never late."
A thought struck him.
"...Oh, god. Just...fuck. Fuck!"
He reached to put a hand over his mouth and forced himself to breathe.
"I have to go home," he whispered. "And I don't...his parents. Our parents. Just...just fuck, w-what do I - what the hell do I tell them?"
The guard gave him a moment, waited until Mike quieted down again.
"If it's of any condolence," he said, "whatever happened last night, we're just as concerned."
He again forced up a smile, but once more withdrew it once he noticed Mike's desperation remained unchanged. For the third time, he placed a hand on his shoulder.
"We'll find him."
Mike simply gave one slow nod and went back to his water, sipping it slowly now as he glanced across the room. The employees who occupied that bench had since left, leaving only the poster by itself. Mike looked over it again. His eyes ran over the new designs, the words...the jaws. He winced a little, knowing only too well how that poor woman felt. And unlike her, he escaped with a normal life.
"Take the time you need," the guard said.
Mike nodded hesitantly in response, then looked over to the blue car still sitting in the lot.
And hoped that soon, its owner would be found.
It didn't take long to track down Vanna. Mike spotted her bright red coat at a coffee kiosk towards the middle of the shopping center. He numbly navigated the car nearby. He waited for her to finish up with the barista, before he gently honked at her, then waited for her to join him. Once inside, Vanna slid him a covered cardboard cup.
"Pick-me-up," she muttered as she buckled her seat belt.
"Good," Mike said, forcing his mind to focus on something else at the moment. "We're gonna need it. Will needs to show us something."
"Like what?" Vanna asked, sipping at her own coffee.
"I don't know, but it's important," Mike said. "And more than that...I know who did it."
"Did what?"
"Killed Jeremy."
A small burst of coffee sprayed onto his glove box. Vanna choked on the rest of that sip, then settled a quick coughing fit as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.
"What?" she managed after clearing her windpipe. "How?"
Mike let her compose before he spoke again. He kept Will's truck in sight, and turned to follow it.
"It's the day shift guard," Mike explained. "Greg Mortman. Jeremy recognized his voice when he came in."
Vanna stared at him, her coffee hovering in her hand as she listened.
"God...Mike…"
"He probably killed those kids, too," Mike said. "Maybe Vesper. And that's not the worst part."
Vanna set her cup in the cup holder.
"How can it possibly get any worse?"
"I recognized him," Mike said, "from six years ago. And if I recognized him, he may have recognized me too."
Vanna stared ahead, letting the gravity of his last few words sink in.
"... Where are we going?" she asked, at last.
"I don't know," Mike answered, "but I trust Will."
"Good," Vanna said, picking up her coffee again, "because I'm trusting you."