"Sam?"

The voice was calm and kind. He wondered if it could be an angel, like he saw in the movies. He felt his face being stroked by a gentle hand. He recognized the touch.

"Sam? Can you hear me?"
His vision was growing brighter. It was like he was emerging from a dark tunnel.

"Look," came another voice. "He's opening his eyes."

"Sammy, wake up."

By now his eyes were fully open, though he was regretting this decision by the blinding lights above him. His head ached and his mind was swimming. He squinted as he began to notice silhouettes and shapes surrounding him, some white, some darker.

"Give him a moment," came another calm yet authoritative male voice. "His eyes are still adjusting."

Where was he? Was he in heaven? Was he somewhere else? He had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that he was surrounded by figures whose voices, calm and quiet as they were, were penetrating his sensitive eardrums.

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a low, guttural groan.

The gentle hand stroked his cheek again. "Sammy, honey. It's okay. You're okay."

The voice was definitely familiar, and this time, he identified it as coming from the closest figure on his left. As he stared blankly at it, certain features began to take shape. He saw familiar hair, a smiling mouth, a straight nose, and two loving brown eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief as he found himself looking into his mother's face.

"Hi, honey," she said, stroking his face again.

He opened his mouth to respond only to find that his vocal cords weren't ready to cooperate.

"Shh, easy," his mother said, placing a hand to his mouth. "Don't push yourself. You've been out for quite a while."

"Is he okay?" came another voice.

"I think so," said his mother, turning in the direction of the new voice. "Thank you again for saving him. It means everything to me."

Slowly, Sam turned his head to the new figure, whose face took the unmistakable shape of a young man with blue eyes, a lopsided grin, and unkempt, almost-bushy hair. He, too, had a large smile on his face.

It was Kyle.

"You don't have to thank me," he told Hannah. "There was no way I was leaving him there...for anyone's sake."

Sam couldn't believe his eyes and ears. Kyle? What-but I thought-?

As he continued looking around the room, his vision continued to clear and the ringing in his ears also began to subside.

Another figure approached him and stood next to Kyle. After a few seconds, his face came into view. It was John.

"Sam? You okay?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but his lungs still felt like they were trying to fully awaken from their slumber. He nodded.

"Don't push him too much," came the calm, authoritative voice again, followed by the appearance of a doctor. "His vitals are improving, but he's still very weak. Let his strength come back with time."

"How long will he have to be here?" asked Jessica, discernible just behind John.

"I can't say for certain," said the doctor, "but based on the fact that his vitals have been improving exponentially these last few hours, possibly within a day or two." A small beeping came from his waist. It was his pager. "I have to check on another patient. I'll leave you to it. Remember, don't push him too much. The more rest he gets tonight, the faster he'll be out of here." He wrote something on his clipboard and left the room.

With his vision finally clearing, Sam looked around the room. His mother was sitting right at his bedside on his left, her hand holding his. On his right, Kyle, John, and Jessica were watching him as well. Across the room, Clay was leaning against the wall with Carlton sitting in a chair beside him.

"Hey there, tough guy," said Clay with a smile. "You've been out for quite a while. Feeling alright?"

Sam nodded again.

"Good," said Clay. "Just take it easy like the doctor said."

He looked at his mother. She had her eyes locked on his, a few tears coming out, and a sad smile on her face. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"My baby," she said. "I thought I lost you."

He opened his mouth, wanting desperately to tell her he loved her, how sorry he was to put her through this. His strength was still developing.

"Sam?" came Kyle's voice to the right. "Can you talk?"

Sam blinked and tried to speak again. After a few attempts, he managed to muster up enough breath:

"Yeah."

He saw his mother's eyes light up. He was surprised, too. Despite how weak he felt, the word came out stronger than he thought. It wasn't full strength, but not a raspy croak, either.

"How do you feel?" asked Kyle.

"Not too bad," said Sam weakly.

"What...happened?"

Jessica cleared her throat. "We followed you...me, John, and Kyle. We found Charlie's car and followed your footprints to that...place. We found out everything about it. It was another one of William Afton's places."

Sam couldn't help but flinch slightly at the name.

"What was it like?" Carlton spoke up, clearly interested. Given his experience in Circus Baby's restaurant, he was both curious and nervous to hear more.

"That was no haunted house," said John very seriously. "That place was hell on earth. In fact, I'd say that was way worse than anywhere we've been. My head still aches for all those brain waves." He gave a sorry look to Sam. "Not that it compares much to yours."

Sam still couldn't believe his eyes. The last thing he remembered, he was falling unconscious right as the building had presumably crashed down on top of him. The next thing he knew, he was here.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

"Kyle did," said Jessica. "After the fire started, John and I got out and used a flare gun to signal our location to Clay."

"Just in time, too," Clay spoke up from his position near the door. "I was beginning to worry I'd lost all four of you. Fortunately, I'd already called in the fire department when I saw the flare because I could see the smoke. Nasty fire it was, too. The chief said the coating of the wallpaper was extremely flammable and the entire wiring system was a mess. It's amazing that place didn't burn itself down after all these years."

"Is it still burning?" Kyle asked with a hint of guilt in his voice, obviously concerned about potential legal repercussions.

"Thankfully, no," said Clay with a smile. "I actually just got word from Chief Davis about ten minutes ago. They finally got it put out with little damage to the surrounding woods, which was probably our biggest concern with how out-of-the-way it was. Had it not been for that hidden road we found, I don't know what could've happened." He sighed and saw the look on Kyle's face. "Don't worry. From what you've told me, I don't blame you for doing something like that. Besides, I'm not really one to talk, either."

John and Jessica exchanged quick knowing glances. He was referring to Afton's underground pizzeria beneath Charlie's house.*

"Anyway," Jessica continued. "Not too long after Clay got there, we heard this loud crash. A couple of minutes later, we saw Kyle limping toward us with you over his shoulders."

Sam turned to Kyle in astonishment. Kyle smiled and gave a small shrug. Sam glanced down at Kyle's legs and saw a cast on one of his ankles.

"What-?"

"That robot thing," said Kyle simply. "It got a hold of me, but I got lucky and managed to shake it off. It's gone now, too."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. With Nightmare's black, distorted face and taunting voice still fresh in his mind, he'd completely forgotten about the other animatronic-like creature that had originally been chasing him.

"So what was that place all about, anyway?" asked Carlton. "I mean, what was it doing there out in the middle of nowhere?"

John and Jessica gave each other worried looks. Wordlessly, they debated whether or not they should say, and who should be the one to do it.

"It wasn't a haunted house. Not really," John explained. "Afton built it to take kidnapped children there to mentally scar and torment them into seeing him as their savior."

Clay cleared his throat, laying out the scenario in his head. "You sure? It seems unlikely that he would've been able to get away with that for so long, unless-"

"He only actually used it on one person," said John, "but it didn't work, so he changed his tactics for the others."

"Who was it?" Clay asked, a pit in his stomach.

John sighed deeply. "Charlie."

Everyone turned and looked at him in surprise, especially Hannah. Sam breathed in so heavily that he had to fight the urge to start coughing.

"He had videos that he'd recorded. He-" John paused, voice breaking slightly. Sam watched him closely, waiting nervously for what he would say next.

"When he kidnapped Charlie as a kid, he took her to that horrible place and...tormented her, mentally. And then he-" He paused again with a heavy sigh. "He killed her."

Hannah gasped, her eyes teary and her hand on her mouth. Carlton shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Clay looked at the floor sadly. Sam kept his gaze locked onto John's, who returned it.

"So...that's where she died?" asked Sam in a weak voice.

John nodded. For a moment, he and Sam continued staring into each other's eyes. To both of them, it felt like they were being soul-searched. Once again, John found himself feeling that comforting sense of trust. Although he was a different person, he was still Charlie's twin brother. Some people talked about twins sharing a certain bond. She had always mentioned how connected she felt to Sammy despite not seeing him for fifteen years and forgetting that he had even existed, as he had also forgotten about her over time. While Sam was still much more a stranger than Charlie, John couldn't shake the feeling of trust he previously shared with her. Being with Sam was probably one of the closest things comparable to being with Charlie, and John had no intention of letting that go.

Sam, likewise, remembered all-too-well how close John and Charlie were. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart as he remembered why he was there in the first place. He had been brought in by Clay in an attempt to find his sister. He remembered how he had immediately found himself in the welcoming company of her close friends, as though he were a source of familiarity and comfort in her absence. After that, he had repaid them by foolishly and impulsively running off in a solo attempt to find Charlie, leaving all of them behind. He had hurt them. He was unworthy to replace Charlie in their lives, even if he actually could.

Nonsense, came a voice in his head. They love you.

He glanced nervously around the room, eyes peeled for a familiar black demonic-looking face and glowing white eyes, but he saw no one. He tried to calm his nerves, but his breathing was still heavy. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" asked Kyle.

Sam turned to him. He was looking at his friend in the same concerned way he'd been countless times since they'd arrived.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but I...don't understand."

Kyle blinked. "What?"

"How-why did you save me?"

Kyle gave his friend a confused look. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't I?"

"But...what about what happened? Our conversation in that room?"

"What room?"

"That-room I was in when I-passed out," he stammered.

Kyle's confusion didn't subside. He gave a quick glance to John and Jessica, but they offered no help. He turned back.

"Sam...we never talked at all in that building."

Sam frowned, taken aback.

"We never-?"

Kyle shook his head. "No. After I finally got away from that...thing...and somehow ended up in that room, I was beginning to lose focus and thinking about a way out. That's when I heard you mumbling and started heading in your direction. I could hear your voice: it was definitely you, but I couldn't make out anything you were saying. It was just mumbling. By the time I finally found you, you were unconscious. That's when I got you outta there."

Sam studied his friend's face. Part of him suspected that it really was true, that the conversation had indeed happened, and that Kyle had a last-minute change of heart and was covering it up. It was certainly possible, yet something didn't quite add up.

As if reading his thoughts, John intervened:

"That place was no joke, Sam. We all experienced mind tricks in there, not to mention you probably inhaled more toxic smoke than any of us did."

Sam's brain registered John's voice, but his eyes never left Kyle.

"What about that loud crash I heard? I thought the building came down on me."

Kyle's face lightened. "Yeah, I thought so, too. I even flinched when it happened, it was so loud. Turns out one of the supports had tipped over and crashed through the wall." He paused, his eyes wandering to the wall above Sam's head in a somewhat mesmerized way. "It was so weird. I saw light coming through the wall and thought we both died for a second, but then I noticed it was the moon. The ceiling was making some cracking noises, so I figured that was our only shot." He scoffed, turning his gaze back to Sam. "I gotta admit, I don't think I've ever moved that fast in my life. If it weren't for you being on my shoulders, I probably looked like I was running from a spider."

Sam laughed, though his body protested with another small amount of pain. His mother eased him gently back down onto the bed.

"Thanks, Mom," he said. He turned to the rest of them. "And thank you guys for being there for me. I know it was stupid of me to run off on you like that. You didn't have to do that for me."

"Of course we did!" Jessica insisted, a little anger in her voice. She walked over to him and placed her hand on his. "We're your friends and family. We care about you, even if you don't care about yourself!"

Sam was shocked at hearing such a strong remark from her, but realized that she was right. He smiled at her and brushed his thumb against her knuckles, barely noticing his heart rate monitor beeping faster.

He heard a small chuckle from Kyle. Turning to him, Sam noticed a grin on his face and raised eyebrows. At first, Sam was tempted to acknowledge his friend's implication with a joke of his own, but there was something more important that he needed to say.

"I'm sorry," he said to Kyle. "Sorry about last night...or whenever it was. You know…" He gestured to his face with his good hand.

Kyle raised a hand in acknowledgement. "Don't worry about it. I'd probably be angry too if I'd just had a bombshell about my family dropped on me like that. Besides, it didn't even hurt that much. I've been punched a lot harder, remember?" He smiled, and Sam returned it, more thankful than ever for the young man he'd wisely called his best friend for nearly fifteen years.

A nurse entered the room carrying a pile of clothes that Sam recognized were his.

"Alright. Visiting hours are over," she told them. "It's time to let him rest."

"Thank you, nurse," said Clay as he helped Carlton onto his feet. "We were planning on leaving pretty soon, anyway. Didn't want to be a crowd. We'll see you in the morning, Sam. Come on, son." He gestured Carlton out the door, reaching for an arm, but Carlton brushed him off.

"Dad, I'm fine. I'm not the one in the hospital anymore."

Clay snorted and turned to Hannah. She looked at him, and then at Sam.

"May I please stay with my son for a little bit longer? I almost lost him," she asked the nurse in a shaky voice.

"Of course," she said. "By the way, here's the clothes you brought in. Just came out of the dryer."

"Thank you," said Hannah. The nurse smiled and set them on a nearby chair. There were jeans, a T-shirt, and his jacket folded up in a pile.

"I'll drop them off at the house, and then I'll swing by to pick you up," said Clay. "He'll be okay, Hannah. These doctors are the best that I know. He's in good hands, believe me."

Hannah nodded. One-by-one, they filed out of the room. John gave Sam a small pat on his shoulder on his way out. Kyle turned and gave Sam one last nod before disappearing out the door, leaving him alone with his mother.

Hannah reached over and ruffled his hair, smiling at him.

"I was worried sick about you," she told him.

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry, Mom. I really am. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry about yelling at you the other night, too. At Fredbear's, I mean."

"Actually," she said, setting her hands on her lap, "I'm glad you did. While the others were out looking for you, I had a rather interesting chat with Clay's son."

"What did you talk about?"

She sighed, her eyes beginning to water as she turned to gaze at the pink and orange sky.

"About his friend Michael, and how much he misses him, how talented he was." She paused, wiping one of her eyes with a thumb. "He then went on and on about Charlie, how much he liked her...how much everyone liked her. How smart she was, how caring."

"Yeah," said Sam sadly, suddenly remembering how his sister was still unaccounted for. "Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Do you ever regret it? The two of us moving away?"

Hannah frowned. "To be honest, I don't know anymore. I haven't been sure of much since we've been back here." She sat in silence for a moment. "Yes, I guess I do, when I think about it. These are good people here. They care about one another, they understand each other. But then again…" She trailed off, giving it more thought. "...I'm not sure I would've been able to handle the stress of the children going missing, nor the heartache of seeing a replica of my daughter. Trust me, Sammy, it was a VERY painful to do, but I believe it was necessary. Even though we have been missing out on a good group of people, it just was not a smart thing to do to stay here. Your father, rest his soul, had become an incredibly unstable and dangerous man that you shouldn't have had any more exposure to." Her last words were brittle and forced, sounding like they pained her greatly as they left her lips.

A dangerous man. Sam thought back to one of the visions he'd seen in Fazbear's Fright. It was more than a vision, it was a memory, so he believed. He gulped as he remembered his father's psychotic glare after he'd struck him, his only son, in the face. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was Nightmare. Nightmare had been there, poisoning his father's mind, the same way Afton's mind had been poisoned, and how even his own mind had almost been as well. He felt a tear falling down his face as he remembered that unsettling look his father had given him.

"Mom," he said again, starting to feel like a broken record. "Do you think Dad missed us?"

Hannah sighed. "I'm sure he did, deep down. He was such a strong man, physically and emotionally. I'd never met a more caring, selfless, kind man in all my life, not to mention he was so extraordinarily talented!" She gave a sad laugh. "But he was always so humble as well. The day we met, he told me I had the most graceful artwork he'd ever seen. I still don't know how it happened, but we just clicked, you know?" She laughed again, although it was obviously a forced laugh. The tone of her voice revealed her sadness. "Sammy, the man we left all those years ago was not your father. I mean, it was...but it wasn't." Now she started to cry. "Though I've tried not to think about it too much all these years, I always hoped that he was still in there, that he was still alive and struggling somewhere in that empty shell he'd become."

Sam was about to say something else when a knocking at the door caused them to jump slightly. It was John, who looked out of breath.

"Sorry," he gasped, walking into the room and straightening up, trying his best to compose himself.

"John! What happened?" Hannah asked.

He walked over to the bed and continued catching his breath, looking between them with remorseful eyes.

"It's okay….Clay's waiting downstairs. I had to...tell him to...bring me back."

He continued breathing heavily for a few moments before he finally seemed to calm his breath.

"First of all, I need to apologize to both of you. It's really my fault that this happened." He looked Sam directly in the eyes, causing that mysterious sense of connection to return.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"It's my fault that you ran off and found yourself in that mess."

"John," said Hannah, "it's not-"

"Yes, it is," John insisted. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "You see, I found this at Aunt Jen's house when I went back there looking for answers. I think she meant to send it to you at some point, but could never track you down. I think it may be why she was always keeping so many documents. Anyway, I kept this so that I could hopefully give it to you one day." He turned back to Sam. "I wasn't expecting to meet you that same day. Sorry about that, by the way," he added, pointing to his head.

Sam remembered the moment the two of them met, an awkward moment that began with a mild but unexpected blow to the head.

"Anyway," John continued, "with how fast everything had happened since then, I completely forgot about it until...well...you were gone."

"John," said Hannah, "you don't have to apologize. You've been through a lot, lately. Whatever it is you forgot, I'm sure I would've done the same given the circumstances."

"I appreciate that, Ms. Anderson," said John apologetically, "but I still can't walk away without getting it off of my chest. It's been nagging at me ever since Sam left that night, and I don't want to waste another chance to give it to you."

"Well, what is it?" asked Hannah, reaching for the paper. "What was so important to give us?"

John handed it to her without a word and took a step back, which Sam couldn't help but notice.

Hannah unfolded it. It was a letter. As she began reading it, her mouth hung open and the occasional breath of astonishment would slip out. When she was about halfway through, her eyes began to water considerably. Sam glanced at John, who only looked back at him with a knowing look in his eyes. Sam turned back to his mother. She now had tears falling from her eyes. When she finally finished, she lowered the letter and looked off into the distance, letting out repressed sobs from behind her other hand.

"Mom?" Sam asked, clearly concerned. "What is it?"

She turned to him with her tear-soaked eyes and handed him the letter. He took it from her gently and, with an encouraging nod from John, began to read it.

My Dearest Hannah,

I've dreamt of you every night since you left. I've missed you terribly. I've longed to see your smiling face, your bright beaming eyes, your soft and gentle voice that stole my heart the day we met. I've longed to hold you again, to smell your sweet perfume, to tell you that everything is alright...that I'm alright. But I cannot fool myself any longer. Clearly I am not alright. I haven't been alright since that terrible night we lost our little Charlotte. From what Jen has told me before you left, you're handling it rather well, no doubt much better than I've been these last few years. I've worked tirelessly all this time to fulfill the promise I made to myself...and to my family...that Charlotte will live again, that she never left.

But alas, all that promise has done is cause me to lose everything, including you and our son. My sanity has long since been damaged to the point of no return, as Jen has desperately pointed out countless times. The pain of our family breaking further apart has become unbearable. I suppose that deep down, I knew it was my fault, but I was still too blinded by deceptive goals and faulty determination to amend my mistakes by continuing my futile mission...until now.

I admit I have no idea what has brought me back from the brink of insanity now after all of this time, but I know with all of my heart that it is indeed an undeserved mercy that I can't even dream of being worthy of. However, I fear that this momentary return to sanity will not last long, which is why I'm writing this now. I will be giving this to Jenny as soon as I am finished. Though my hope is frail and extremely slim, I pray that somehow...by a miracle...this letter may eventually find its way to you.

Hannah, my love, my heart is burdened and heavy-laden beyond belief of the man I've allowed myself to become. I am certainly not the man you married all those years ago. I can still see your face at night, that look of terror you gave me before you left. How could I have been so blind? How could I have let our family fall apart so badly? You tried so hard to save me, but I couldn't be saved, not by you, not from this. I have absolutely nothing to offer you, but I beg that you will forgive me for what I have done. It was never your fault, though I made it seem so in my delirious mind. But one thing is still for certain: I love you, more than you can possibly imagine, and I hope that you have given our son a life of happiness.

And to you, my son Samuel: I can't imagine what you must think of me, a horrendous father who devoted all of his attention to the daughter he lost rather than the son he still had. Surely I am nothing but a distant memory to you by now. Maybe you even have a new father, someone who is willing to love you unconditionally and be the man I should have been. Perhaps, that is my true punishment, having to live with the emotional scars I have caused. I have nothing to offer you, either, but a heavy heart full of sorrow. My son, please forgive me for everything: the neglect, the abuse, and the time we've spent apart. Please forgive this pathetic excuse for a father! And if I may ask one thing of you: do not make my mistake. Do not allow your anger and grief to overcome you and destroy your life as it did to both me and my partner, whom I'm hoping is facing his judgment for his own crimes against humanity. As for me, I fear I have no hope of ever finding you to make things right in person, nor am I worthy of such a delight, so I pray that this message may find its way through. May you both stay safe, healthy, and strong. I love you both to the ends of the earth, and so let this be my goodbye.

Love always & to the end,

Henry

Sam looked up at his mother, who'd been silently watching him read. He didn't know what to say. The emotions simply couldn't translate into words. He tried to speak, but he was only able to manage a quivering lip and pained breaths. His mother held his gaze. Judging by the look on her face, she was feeling the same. They were both fighting to find the right words to break the ice. Nothing came to mind.

Finally, Sam could hold it no longer. Hannah reached down and pulled him into an embrace as the two of them broke down sobbing. It was the only thing either of them could do to express what could not in words.

Taking that as his cue, John quietly walked back into the hallway and towards the entrance. Once again, he berated himself for not giving them the letter sooner. He'd found it at Jen's house literally a few hours before Sam had arrived, yet he let his excitement and bewilderment over Sam's sudden appearance overshadow his judgment. How much pain and agony could he have spared Sam had he not completely forgotten about the letter sitting in his pocket?

But it didn't matter anymore. The one thing he'd come to learn after his month of self-imposed isolation was that what was done was done. Sam was okay, as was everyone else. William Afton's final link of influence in the world was destroyed, the children were all safe. Hopefully, the time for healing could finally begin for them all.

Clay was waiting patiently for him outside.

"Everything okay?" he asked as John climbed in.

"Yeah," John replied softly, gazing out at the sun finally dipping below the horizon as Clay began to pull forward. "Everything's okay, now." As they pulled out of the parking lot, John sighed. "Actually, Clay. There's something else, too."

"What?"

John turned and met Jessica's eyes. She was giving him that suspicious look again. Perhaps now wasn't the right time just yet.

"I'll tell you later."

REFERENCE:

*The Twisted Ones, p. 261-262