I was in the back when it happened, my only clue to the horror was the minute of silence that followed by regular sounds of children singing and playing. That uncanny silence broke my thoughts and as I walked to figure out the cause for the silence, I heard screams of horror. Cries. Wails. I ran, I ran as fast as I could to the party room where I saw it. Memories of my Elizabeth hit me and I felt my knees grow weak, the scene before me was similar to that day. Michael stood in horror, too shocked to move, but his face contorted. Children and his friends ran past me, screaming for help as I took it all in. Soon my own screams melted into the audience's, I pushed through the crowd and screamed for my son. He was limp in the bloodied mouth of the golden bear, his blood spilling onto the floor like water. I jammed my hands between Fredbear's jaws and pulled with all of my might, but the machine was so stiff, no doubt stuck in the flesh of my son. I screamed for Michael to pull his brother out from the jaws as I pulled, he stumbled to the stage and held onto his brother. Once his jaws were open Michael pulled him out of the jaws and they fell onto the stage, my youngest in his brother's arms. Michael sobbed and held onto him, screaming apologies and begging. As I let go of the jaw, it snapped down onto my arm and I screamed once more. Kicking his stomach I was able to damage the main system which returned Fredbear to his neutral jaw position, allowing me to break free. I fell onto one knee and pried my son from Michael's arms, picking him up and running. Michael stumbled behind me but soon I could hear his footsteps trailing. When we reached the front doors the police and paramedics had already arrived, they took him from me and lay him on a stretcher. Michael and I climbed inside and as the doors shut, I could faintly see that damned bear in the Pizzeria. Bloodied, and staring right at me.
I held his hand as they drove, the paramedics giving him oxygen and pumping his heart. I could hear Michael's cries over the shouts of the paramedics and sirens, everything was so loud. My own heart seemed to be pounding in my ears. All I remember from the drive were the sounds, and the feeling of my son's limp hand in mine. I remember praying he would squeeze back, but he never did. When we arrived they loaded him out and we followed, right besides him. At some point we reached a door we could not enter, Michael and I watched him roll further into the white hallway, his bloodied body obscured by the nurses in white. When they disappeared from sight, I sank to the floor against a wall. Michael fell next to me and choked out a sob. I was too scared to be angry, so I pulled him close to me and held him while we cried. Both of us staining the white floor and wall with our red mess. I think we were both scared, we had already lost one, we couldn't lose another.
The next time we had seen a nurse had been hours later, I couldn't tell you how many, but the once bright sun was drowned by the black sky and white moon. She had told us to follow her, so we did. The room she led us to was a dim gray with tan flooring. On a bed in the back was my son, bandages wrapped around his head, I felt my heart flutter at the sight of him. Michael stood frozen in the doorway while I slowly made my way to him, when I reached his side his eyes were covered with the bandages. His breathing was shallow, and the heart monitor appeared to be struggling. She informed me he had slipped into a coma, alive but asleep. She revealed his chances of surviving were close to none, he would probably never wake up.
And that's how it was, for a week. A whole week he tried to stay afloat, Michael and I stayed by his side the whole time. I watched them both sleep most nights and hurt when I remembered how Michael used to lay down with him for naps. They were so close, Michael had a connection like no other to his brother. It all changed when their mother moved on, when Elizabeth fell victim underground. I should have noticed.
I woke up one night to a soft whisper from Michael, he was by his brother's side talking to him. He cried in breathes between words, apologizing. "Can you hear me?" He asked softly, "I don't know if you can hear me." Michael was holding his hand, "….I'm so sorry." Standing up I made my way towards him and pulled him close, the two of us grieving.
The next morning Michael shook me awake, I saw nurses crowding the bed, they were in panic. I shot up and went to his side. He was struggling. They couldn't save him, now was the time to say goodbye. But I wasn't ready. I was never supposed to say goodbye to my baby. They gave us space and I leaned over to gently stroke his hand, I squeezed it and held it to my lips as I kissed him. "I love you so much." My tears fell heavy as I choked out my words, they came out as a whisper.
I felt him flex his fingers weakly around my palm, he let out a quiet breath and the monitor screamed. As nurses rushed back to his side, Michael fell to the floor and I let out a strained cry and reached out as they took my little boy away from me.
When we got home, the house was dark and silent. There was no sound of little feet running to greet me, no scattered drawings and crayons in the lit living room. No red hair flowing behind a green eyed girl as she raced her brother to the door. Not even little stuffed animals sitting together on the plush couch. It was just us, only two were left.
I found myself wondering how long it would last.
