A/N: Once again, thanks very much for the patience. As I've said before, I always want to make sure I'm writing good content (I don't want to ever throw something sloppy together just for the sake uploading something), but I'm also very much a perfectionist which can often lead to some bad writer's block at times. I hope it's worth the wait.

Also, for those who are interested, I added a little more to John's story in the previous chapter. Happy reading!

Grabbing his notebook and throwing on a fresh pair of clothes, Sam quietly opened his bedroom door. The hallway was dark, and the atmosphere was completely silent. He crept down the stairs, trying his best to avoid creaking. Every few steps made an audible noise, but nothing too loud. Still, he couldn't help but freeze, wincing with teeth clenched every time it happened. All it took was one person catching him to risk losing his chance. After about five minutes, he managed to make his way to the bottom of the stairs.

He still couldn't believe he was doing this. Part of him felt like he was betraying everyone, old and new friends in his life, by sneaking away. It was like he leaving a circle of trust, venturing off into uncharted territory in a lifeboat barely sturdy enough to carry his weight. Yet here he was, making the leap of faith anyway.

But then again, he figured, trust wasn't really an issue right now. After all, everyone else was willing to give up, to simply accept the fact that Charlie was gone without any second thoughts whatsoever about John's testimony concerning her supposed appearance at the cemetery.

Seriously, why is no one questioning that? he thought bitterly as he crept through the dark house. Do they honestly believe that I'm just going to leave quietly and go back home pretending nothing ever happened after this? No, I'm not ready. I have to keep looking. For what? I don't know, but there's gotta be something more to this that I'm missing, that we're all missing.

No, he was determined to find out more about what was going on, even if it meant taking matters into his own hands. He simply wasn't ready to go home and try to pretend that everything was normal. He simply couldn't live with himself knowing that his twin sister may actually be alive somehow, possibly even still looking for him.

A soft rumble echoed in the distance, and it was then that he noticed the soft patter of rain against the windows. He groaned. Great. As he passed by the front window, he noticed Jessica's car parked outside.

Is she still here? he thought. I guess she decided to spend the night.

For a moment, he considered borrowing hers or John's car, but he immediately cut that thought off.

I'm just looking for my sister. I'm not trying to steal a car.

But that was something else that suddenly hit him. How was he going to travel? It was a small town, sure, but he wanted to go outside of town. That's where everything began. He couldn't walk the entire way, he needed transportation.

He sighed. What was happening to him? Throughout the years, Kyle was always the impulsive one, saying or doing whatever came to mind. If a random thought suddenly crossed his thinking, those around him would hear about it whether or not they wanted to. Sam, on the other hand, was much more level-headed and reserved, opting to carefully consider what he said and did and unfortunately causing him to be very timid at times. He often blushed in embarrassment at some of Kyle's antics and absolutely hated the thought of jumping without a parachute, so-to-speak. Yet here he was, yearning with overwhelming desperation for a last-ditch attempt to find his lost and possibly dead sister, so full of confidence to do what he hoped was right while not even taking the time to think through a plan of action, including how he would travel.

What about the garage? There's a thought. With everything that had been happening, he hadn't ever thought about the garage. With how rich the Burkes were, maybe there was a spare car there that he could borrow.

Still being careful not to make any audible noise, Sam slowly crept through the kitchen to the door that presumably led to the garage if his understanding of the house was right.

I think it's here. The garage door is right next to the kitchen window.

It was a wooden door, painted an elegant green with a brass knob. He touched it, the cold almost bitter against his palm, and turned the handle slowly. When it would turn no longer, he pushed it open with a soft creaking.

He wasn't sure what to expect, but he wasn't surprised by what he saw when he flipped the light switch next to him. The room was fairly large, bigger than the average garage yet about what one would expect from a wealthy family. There were shelves piled with tools and even books and a workbench big enough to fit three guitars on it in the corner, or so he figured. The garage had the familiar smell of dust in the air, as was expected of any garage. There were a few things scattered on the ground here and there, but overall the large room was relatively clean.

In the center of the garage were a few cars. The closest one, he recognized, was Clay's car. This was obvious by the police markings on it. The one next to it was Carlton's car. It almost looked cleaner in here than it did outside, probably because of the light reflecting off of it making it shine. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen it in the daylight, or at least never noticed it. Clearly they had parked inside to make room in their driveway for the others. He couldn't help but feel a little jealous of their cars, no doubt new and expensive while he was stuck with an eleven-year-old car with its quirks and malfunctions back at home. It was a rash thought, he knew, and it had no basis outside of his lingering anger from earlier wanting to voice another protest of life. He shook his head violently, trying his best to rid himself of the anger within him.

What's happening to me?! Seriously, pull yourself together, Sam!

As he walked over to the cars to get a closer look at them, he noticed another car behind Carlton's. It was a Honda, blue and quite old, judging by the dents and scratches on it. Sam approached and examined it. Clay hadn't mentioned anything about owning a third car. Granted, it never really was a topic of discussion. Perhaps it was his wife's? Sam suddenly realized that Clay's wife, Carlton's mother, wasn't around. Now, where was she? He hadn't even heard her name spoken at all, let alone seen her. Was this car hers?

He peered through the window. The car was a mess. From what he could see, the car floor wasn't even visible. It was cluttered with cassette tapes, papers, and even the occasional bolt or screw. The seats were a bit torn, particularly the driver's seat. It looked like whoever was driving the car either seriously neglected to care for them or was subject to outbursts of anger, or perhaps they had driven a mentally-unstable person somewhere. The backseat wasn't much different, although it was slightly more organized.

Sam pondered for a moment and shrugged. It'll do.

He gave the door handle a try. It didn't budge.

Of course. Now, where are the keys?

His first thought was somewhere in the garage. At his job back home, car keys were stored on a wall near his manager's office. Perhaps they were kept somewhere in the garage. He looked around, walking from the large workbench in the corner to the desk near the door, even checking the bookshelves. They weren't there.

Wait, why would they be here? This isn't work! They're probably in the house!

Mentally facepalming himself again, he walked back into the house, nearly forgetting about the creak of the threshold as he carefully stepped over it.

Where would Clay keep his spare keys?

He checked the key rack near the front door where the other keys were. He saw Clay's and what was presumed to be Carlton's as well as a few other single keys, but none of them looked like car keys. They were probably for things around the house. He walked into the living room and made his way to the table near the window, pulling open the drawers there. Nothing inside but a few papers that looked irrelevant.

He paused when he thought he heard movement from upstairs. If anyone caught him, so much as saw him right now, dressed and ready to go out somewhere, he would be busted. His mother would be woken up and he would be given yet another stern lecture about how this town is no good and Charlie's really gone, that he would be doing nothing but wasting his time. He didn't want to hear that. Not now.

After whatever noise that he thought he heard died down and silence fell once more, he continued his search. The drawers on the TV stand yielded nothing, nor did the desk in the corner. He turned his attention to another door he hadn't tried yet. He opened it slowly. It led to the basement.

Yeah, this isn't creepy at all, he thought as he flipped the light switch and slowly descended the stairs. He noticed immediately that they were a bit hard to climb down, being much steeper and narrower than stairs he was used to. He also came close to stepping into a large hole where a step clearly should've been.

The basement was surprisingly bare compared to the rest of the house. The walls weren't even complete walls, but rather just the interior supports. Sam couldn't help but feel a little surprised. Apparently the basement was never really a top priority. The washer and dryer were looking a bit old and rustic. He wondered if Clay were to consider buying new ones at some point. Maybe when this was all over.

Something else that immediately stood out to Sam was how disorganized it was down here. There were papers everywhere, both on tables and on the floor. Sam slowly moved over to one of the desks, careful not to step on anything in case it was important. On the desk, he noticed that many of the papers were actually newspaper clippings from over ten years ago. Sam couldn't help but be curious.

One that stuck out to him immediately was one with a huge picture of Freddy Fazbear's back in its heyday, only it was covered with police tape. Obviously this was after the kidnappings Clay and the others talked about. The headline read: ANOTHER CHILD DISAPPEARS-FREDDY FAZBEAR'S TO CLOSE. Sam grabbed it and began reading it.

"On June 23, 1987, a fifth child was reportedly abducted on the premises of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. The child's name in question is Michael Brooks. Some witnesses have reported hearing screams coming from children while others have noticed a foul stench of blood on the floor leading to one of the back rooms. Police are investigating the incident…"

Sam put the paper down. Michael Brooks. That was Carlton's close friend, wasn't it? He closed his eyes and began picturing the event. He only saw the skeletal remnants of Freddy's, but he could still it clearly in his mind.

A bright room, decorated with banners and posters, party hats, play areas, and the inviting scent of pizza always in the air. On stage, the animatronics would sing their tunes happily while children laughed and danced. And then, a scream would echo through the room and turn many heads, mostly adults. Someone would point somewhere, and people would notice blood on the ground leading to one of the back rooms. Parents would suddenly scramble to find their children, children would run to find their parents, and some would perhaps think to check the door before deciding against it. In the crowd, he thought he saw his mother.

"Sammy, darling. Where are you? Come to Mommy!"

No, that's not what happened. That's my memory from-

He shook his head violently and opened his eyes. He didn't want to think about that anymore. He shuffled through the papers and found another one. This headline read: FREDDY'S OWNER QUESTIONED ABOUT DISAPPEARANCES. Now this one he had to read.

"Henry Emily, owner of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, has been questioned concerning his knowledge of the child disappearances which have occurred over the last few months in his restaurant. He claims to have been unaware of any such events until after-the-fact, stating that he's always been too busy maintaining the restaurant to notice. Some within the department have expressed their doubts. 'His responses are slow,' says Det. Stan Martin, 39. 'It sometimes takes him five minutes to answer a simple question. We're not having that much luck at all with him.' Police are still investigating."

Sam shook his head. So Henry had somehow neglected to notice that more kids were disappearing right under his nose? The same way he neglected to notice that his own son and wife were standing right next to him, wanting his company, only to be ignored and rejected? That sounds about right. Sam actually felt more for the children and their parents than the man he called father.

He briefly looked through some of the other papers, which were mostly police reports and some of Clay's detective notes. From the looks of it, neither Clay nor the rest of the department had any luck whatsoever in discovering what had happened.

Until recently, Sam thought, remembering the stories he'd been told since he arrived.

All of this, yet no extra car keys anywhere. He performed a quick search through every drawer and on every table he could find. Nothing. He groaned and walked bitterly back up the steps, almost stumbling right into the hole where the missing step was.

He walked back into the kitchen, still lost in thought.

Why would you have an extra car parked in your garage and not have the keys around? That doesn't make sense!

To be fair, he hadn't really checked the kitchen yet. Maybe they were in here somewhere, out of sight. He began checking the drawers beneath the counter. It didn't really make sense, but he was running out of options. The only other place they could be was Clay's bedroom. He hoped that wasn't the case. Being a police chief with his experiences, Clay was more-than-likely a light sleeper. He didn't want to have to take that chance.

But then, his luck changed. In the final drawer next to the refrigerator, almost hidden beneath some towels...

There they were! The car keys to a Honda. He wondered why they would be kept here of all places in the kitchen. It was as if Clay didn't want anybody taking this car. With that thought, he felt another pang of guilt surge through him, the sense of betrayal pricking his conscience.

It's for Charlie, he insisted. If I can find her, all will be well and forgiven. They'll see.

He turned to make his way back to the garage and almost screamed in terror. Standing only a few feet away, with wide eyes almost completely obscured by darkness, was Kyle.

"Kyle! Hey, man!" he uttered in panic, trying his best to keep the keys obscured behind his back. "Sorry if I woke you. I just felt like going out and getting some fresh air. It's getting pretty hot up in my room, so..."

Kyle said nothing but continued staring blankly at him.

"And listen, sorry about yelling at you earlier...and also the...you know..." Sam continued nervously, gesturing to his face. "I was angry. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to do that." In the pit of his stomach, he felt awful, though not just for earlier, but also because he knew that deep down that anger was still bubbling. He desperately hoped that his friend would say not to worry about it, brush it off like he usually did whenever one of them had a bad day and needed to vent, maybe even crack a joke about it to lighten the mood.

Yet Kyle said nothing. His blue eyes continued boring into Sam's brown ones. Sam took a step back, a little unnerved.

"Seriously, I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just been a tough night," Sam insisted, hoping that Kyle would affirm or even acknowledge what he said. "Plus it's hot. It gets stuffy in here, ya know?"

Kyle still said nothing as his dead stare continued.

"Listen..." Sam said, still rambling to try and cover up his intentions and make some form of actual conversation. "This sounds kind of crazy, but have you ever believed in resurrections? I know we never really believed in the afterlife much, but do you think that there's actually still being alive somehow after they die?"

It was a fair question. As skeptical as they had been before (though they did their best to hide their skepticism out of respect for the others), things had changed since they arrived. Kyle was always very skeptical, but Sam was always more open to the concept that maybe, just maybe, there was another world beyond the physical world, a life beyond life on earth. And now, with all of the strong emotions and stories from various people concerning this very topic, his interest was peaked more than ever, especially since his sister may indeed still be alive, looking for him. He waited patiently for Kyle to give a response.

But there was still no such response. Silence. Staring.

What's wrong with him? Sam thought. I didn't even say anything that offensive to him earlier. Why's he acting so weird all of a sudden? The only other time I've seen him like this is when…

And then it hit him. Kyle was sleepwalking again. In all the emotions and trauma of the past day, Sam had completely forgotten about his friend's nighttime tendencies. Still, given the circumstances, this was different. Although Sam knew that Kyle's mind was only taking in little, if any, of what was actually happening, it still felt as though he was actually studying Sam, looking deep into his soul ready to pull out something he was looking for. While his dead stare was always unnerving, now it felt a hundred times worse. Sam felt completely exposed in Kyle's gaze, wondering if any of what was happening was registering to his brain.

Finally, Kyle glanced down at the keys still clutched in Sam's hand, though no longer hidden that well, then back at his friend. He gave a small grunt and turned around, walking into the living room and out of sight.

Sam sighed. That was close. The last thing I need is for someone to talk me out of this. I have to find her. I just can't leave. Not yet. This is for Charlie, he reminded himself.

He turned and walked back into the garage. The Honda opened with relative ease and he breathed a sigh of relief. He hit the switch on the wall to open the garage door only to be greeted by a rather loud, screeching noise as it opened slowly. He winced, completely expecting someone to come running. Should he hide just in case?

No, that might make more noise.

He stood still, completely silent, worried that a single drop of sweat would break the silence. He listened, expecting to hear footsteps rushing down toward him, the appearance of Clay's face in the doorway asking what he was doing. But no one came. After two minutes of complete silence passed, Sam finally gave another sigh of relief.

Does he have this place soundproofed or something?

He walked back over to the car and opened the door. He was hit immediately with the scent of damp and musty air. Clearly this car hadn't been used in a while. He threw his bag in the passenger seat and sat down, shutting the door behind him.

The car was definitely old, even older than his back home. The knobs were ancient, the steering wheel showed clear signs of wear-and-tear, and some of the symbols on the dashboard were almost ancient. He stuck his key into the ignition and started the engine, hoping it started. After a few attempts, the engine turned over and roared to life surprisingly well for an oldie. On top of that, there was about a half of a tank of gas. He smiled. It was time.

He gently backed out of the garage, trying his best to avoid hitting anything on the ground. He looked back and noticed that John's car was blocking him. He slammed his hand on the wheel. Another obstacle. In fact, the entire driveway was blocked. Was this really going to be that hard? He checked the side of the driveway and saw just enough space between John's car and the trees on the edge of the property.

Sorry, Clay, Sam thought as he slowly backed his way through the narrow gap, barely missing John's side mirror and no doubt making a mud trail on the ground.

As he backed out onto the road, he couldn't help but give a quick glance back at the house, still worried he had awoken someone. Thankfully, all was still, although, for a brief moment, he thought he could make out a face peering at him through the front window, eyes locked on him through the rain. He quickly put his foot on the gas and sped away.

"Sam?" Kyle knocked gently at the bedroom door. He was still concerned about Sam after last night's outburst. He hoped that a good night's sleep (if it were possible) would calm his anger enough for a pleasant goodbye to the group. Sure, it would certainly take a while to come to terms with the revelations here, but perhaps moving on and getting back into the swing of things at home was best.

However, there was no answer. Kyle waited for a few moments. Perhaps Sam thought it was another joke, another bout of sarcasm. After all, as the most unfamiliar and inexperienced newcomer to the town and its ugly history, Kyle was bound to be the least affected by the hard truths, unless one counted witnessing the disturbing breakdown of his best friend.

"Mmm, morning Kyle," came a tired female voice from behind. It was Jessica, dressed in dark purple pajamas and her hair was a half mess looking like she tried combing it as best as she could before stumbling out of her room. "How's Sam?"

"I don't know. He's not answering," said Kyle, turning back to the door. He knocked again. "Sam? Come on, man. It's time to get up. We'll be leaving pretty soon."

There was still no answer. Kyle turned to Jessica, who only returned his concerned look. Kyle turned the door handle. It was unlocked. He slowly pushed the door open.

"Sam? You okay?"

The room was empty. The bed looked like it had been slept in, but Sam was nowhere to be found.

"Sam?" Kyle entered the room, Jessica following behind him, looking concerned. "Where are you?"

"What's going on?" John entered the room behind them.

"Sam's not here," Jessica told him.

"What?" John's face became even more worried than Jessica's. "What do you mean?"

"He's not here," said Kyle, looking around for anything of interest.

"Where could he have gone?" Jessica asked.

"I don't know, but he must have gone somewhere, 'cause his journal's gone. He never leaves without that," Kyle insisted.

"You don't think-?" John asked.

Kyle opened his mouth when, timed perfectly with a sudden flash of lightning outside, a thought struck his mind. He had a dream last night. He remembered talking with Sam about something, except he wasn't talking, Sam was. He listened as Sam, who seemed flustered, asked him about resurrections. It was weird, seeing as Sam never seemed interested in that stuff before. What was crazy is that they were here in Clay's house, too. Was this town getting to them? Were whatever forces beyond their understanding affecting them the same way it was affecting the others? It still seemed ludicrous, but he found himself increasingly unable to think of logical explanations for everything.

Then he remembered something else. He briefly saw a set of keys in Sam's hand. They were almost hidden like he was trying to hide them, but they were still visible. And then, for a split second, he recalled watching a car drive away in a hurry. And then nothing else.

Without a word, Kyle brushed past Jessica and John and practically sprinted down the stairs, skipping a few steps here and there and almost falling forward in the process. He entered the kitchen, where Clay was standing near the counter with a cup of coffee. Sam's mother, who looked weary from a presumably sleepless night, sat at the table with a cup of her own. They both turned to him when he entered.

"Good morning, Kyle," said Clay, smiling lightly. "How are we this morning?"

"Clay," said Kyle, "do you keep an extra set of car keys in one of your drawers?"

Clay's smile immediately faltered. His skin almost looked pale, even in the low light from the dark weather outside. "Why?" he asked in a low voice. That said it all.

Kyle turned to where this supposed event took place. He walked over to the drawer and pulled it open. In it lay nothing but a few towels and cloths. He turned back.

"Empty," he announced.

Clay's face sunk even further as he moved quickly to the door nearby and immediately disappeared from sight. A few seconds later, the sound of an angry shout echoed from within.

Hannah gasped, almost spilling her coffee. John and Jessica had caught up and were observing the commotion from the doorway. Kyle sighed.

Looks like it wasn't a dream after all.

Sam activated the windshield wipers as he tried maneuvering his way down the road. The rain was really coming down now. Despite the dry weather, it almost looked like a monsoon was happening. Even with the windshield wipers going, he could hardly see a few feet in front of him.

A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. He shifted in his seat. He always loved storms back home, but now he felt unnerved. After all, he was striking out on his own, charting unmarked territory. He remembered when he and Kyle would take boat rides on Lake Michigan on one of his parents' boats. While thankfully nothing ever happened, they had a few close calls when a thunderstorm came rushing in and they were over three hundred yards out into the water. He couldn't help but feel very similar right now like he was sailing into a severe storm in nothing more than a sailboat.

He shuddered and started flipping the knobs. Perhaps some music would calm his nerves. He noticed there was a tape in the player. He activated it. Immediately, the car was filled with an eerie screeching noise, very high-pitched and neausiating. Sam almost drove into a light pole but managed to save himself in time. With one hand covering one of his ears, he frantically reached around to stop the tape, finally hitting the button after a few moments.

What was that?

He slowed down and pulled over at a blinking light. He ejected the tape and investigated it. It looked normal, but there were no labels on it, with the exception of the words Afton Robotics LLC in the corner. Sam stared down at it, confounded.

What, was Afton making tapes, too? he thought grimy with a small chuckle. I'd like to see him performing that onstage.

He began looking around for another tape, something actually pleasant to listen to, but he didn't see anything. It was mostly the metal pieces scattered about the floor that he'd seen earlier.

He shrugged and pulled the car back out onto the road. He continued driving back in the direction of Henry's house. He figured he had to start somewhere, and the location of his sister's old house and Afton's underground pizzeria seemed like the perfect place. If only he remembered how to get there. He had entered the same wooded area that he and Jessica had gone before, but with the dark and pouring rain, he had no bearings. Nothing looked familiar in these conditions. He saw no other houses, and at times couldn't even make out the trees along the side of the road. He gave another groan of displeasure. His prided memory was of no use to him now.

Suddenly a flash of bright light shone and a loud crack echoed. A second later, a large tree branch landed right in front of him on the road. Sam swerved the car frantically to the right and the car began spinning rapidly. He threw the wheel in the other direction in an attempt to stabilize the glide, but it would not obey his command.

And then, everything went black.