"Jeremy, what are ya doin'?"
Jeremy stared at the wall and uttered to himself, "Woah, dude, like, woah….."
He'd been staring at that section of tile for almost twenty minutes now. Mike grabbed his shoulder and shook him a little.
"My man, can'tcha see it?" Jeremy drawled, mop limply in his hands. Was he seriously watching the flies land and rub their legs again?
"Jeremy, are you high at work again?" Mike asked gruffly. If he was, Mike would toss the kid out the back door, just like when he'd discovered Jeremy's stash of home dried weed already separated into nickel baggies for selling purposes under the prize counter. Mike had let him off after making sure Jeremy got rid of it, but highly doubted that he'd quit.
Mike was going soft.
"Nah man, I listened to your advice. Like, I stopped hittin' up at work and started, like, goin' to night school. You says it turns peeps into animals an'said ya like, cared about me, bro. No one ever said that shit 'bout me."
Mike muttered, "Oh my gawd" under his breath as he batted at yet another fly, hoping grotty little Jeremy couldn't hear and said, "Outside, now."
"No dude, can'tcha see it?" Jeremy was all but nailed to the floor as he pointed to where the wall became the ceiling.
"No Jeremy, I can't see it. Now go outside before I call the cops on ya for real this time." Mike batted a fly. Shit like what Jeremy stuffed into his long-suffering body lingered for weeks and left the mind rotten. How the hell did Jeremy keep his three jobs and a shit-bum apartment when he could barely even function?
"Jeremy, out."
"Okay dude, just like, be careful, okay?" Jeremy walked out of the room in an unusually straight line, scratching his greasy brown hair with dirty nails, "It's comin', like, soon, bro, an' y'all might be next, bro, y'never know."
Jeremy never walked straight to the door Mike had pushed him towards.
That was unusual.
Mike looked at the checkered wall and shivered. Another creepy piece to this puzzle. If he stared at it long enough, he thought, maybe something would appear. A fly landed on the wall and rubbed its front feet together, twitching and buzzing.
Could there really be something there?
Mike shot the idea down. It was just too ridiculous. Why would anything be there at all?
He walked back to his usual place, oblivious to the blood dripping to the floor in warm, sticky splatters.
It's me.
He was, however, aware of the fat brown rat that scuttled over his feet and down the hall.
Mike would have to set out more traps soon.
He'd also become aware of the growing need for more flypaper and roach traps.
As he added the list to the little metal box mounted by Afton and Emily's office labeled 'Employee Requests', he noticed something strange.
"Mr. Emily?"
Henry, who'd quietly walked past him stiffened, surprised that he'd been noticed.
"Yes, Schmidt?" Henry was an excessively nervy, awkward man with a shivery, mousy voice.
"The slot's been taped shut."
"Yes, about that." Henry said.
Mike turned, suspicious.
"William did that yesterday morning. We decided it was the best for now."
"Why?" Mike demanded. He watched Henry try to gather himself, dwarfed by the tall, fat security guard that loomed over him.
"W-well, we found that the requests and complaints were becoming repetitive and unhelpful. This is only for the next few weeks, until we can get everything solved."
"But I'd only put in three requests, that shouldn't be enough t'close it off completely." Mike said, raising an eyebrow, "Y'all haven't even put up flypaper yet."
"Schmidt, you have to see it from our perspective." William appeared behind him, smiling humbly, "Setting up flypaper when there's customers coming in doesn't look good, and kids could hurt themselves on rat traps."
"As you can see, our hands are tied!" Henry clapped, "Now that we've settled, could yo-"
"No, this hasn't been settled. Someone could get real sick here." Mike said.
Who cared about keeping a job when literal children could get hurt from the vermin and God knows what else.
"Alright, what do you propose?" William smiled slickly.
"If we can't put 'em up durin' service hours, then we'll set traps out afterwards."
"Good idea!" William said, clapping Mike on the back, "Why didn't I think of that? This is why we kept you around after buying the place!"
"Thankssss." Mike said, not sure if he'd been complemented or slapped across the face, "So will th'box be reopened now?"
"No, not yet. We still have to get everything put in order. This is still a newly opened restaurant afterall." William smiled, satisfied with himself, "By the way, Schmidt, you'll have to do all the trap setting."
"What?" Mike felt like he'd been slapped across the face.
"Well, it's you or Jeremy and Jeremy's on, well…" Henry fidgeted.
"He has a point." William said, "Besides, you're here all night and working the opening shift. You have the most time to get everything in order."
"But sir, I don't get more than a few breaks every shift. I barely even get to go home t'sleep!"
"And we will be fixing that in a matter of weeks, good man!" William said, "We're already working over the deals with a local security company. Soon, you'll only have to work eight-hour days! You'll even have company on night watch."
"And when will this be?" Mike interrogated.
Henry nervously jibbered, "August."
"What?!" Mike shouted, completely beside himself.
"Don't worry pal, it's just a few months! And in the meantime, we'll find ways of making sure you and Jeremy won't be left helpless." William assured Mike with a pat on the back.
Mike looked at his hands.
What the Hell did they think he was? Some kind of superman?
"Now that everything's been settled, let's discuss rehearsal schedules." William said, opening the office door just past Mike so that Henry was entering, "We need to tighten the girls up, especially Dollface. I need her moving around a whole lot more. She's the one carrying the damn show, afterall!"