"I-I don't understand..." Mike recognized the bear, it was that Freddy Fazbear's Pizza character. He himself never went to that place, and at elementary school the pizzeria was regarded as "even lamer than Chuck E. Cheese's." Perhaps the main difference between the two restaurants was Chuck E. and his pals pretended to be "hip and cool," while Freddy and the others "should've been in a Disney cartoon." Mrs. Fitzgerald only glared at Mike, who sighed and continued to flip through the pages.

Some characters, which he recognized from the ads, were in a horrible state with chunks of their machinery gone, especially the purple rabbit. Other characters were entirely new to Mike, they looked like newer, cuter versions of the first four, a strange looking clown thing called the Puppet especially unsettled Mike. The illustrations were getting more chaotic and unorganized as Mike went on, as if Jeremy had drawn them immediately after progressively worse nightmares; he eventually began to write cryptic words all over the pages around the characters like: "SAVE THEM," "HELP THEM," "you can't."

Mike slammed the sketchbook shut and threw it onto the floor; with a groan he lay on the sofa and brought up his legs. Mrs. Fitzgerald, who looked surprisingly calm, explained to Mike,

"Jeremy was working there as a night guard. After only one night working there, he acted so... strangely, I don't know how else to put it," she rubbed her forehead, "He told us the robots were attacking him! Oh, Clay and I tried so hard to get him to quit, we even almost called the police! But, Jeremy kept telling us those things weren't just robots, and he had to get to the bottom of it..." Mrs. Fitzgerald paused before going on, "Well, he was moved to the day shift on his sixth day at a birthday party. One of the robots went berserk all of a sudden and..."

Mrs. Fitzgerald reached for a box of tissues and dabbed her eyes; she laughed bitterly, "The company gave us some money before we even sued!" Mike leaned over and held her hand, looking deeply into her eyes,

"Thank you, Mrs. Fitzgerald," he said, "I just need to know what happened to Jeremy after that." Mrs. Fitzgerald nodded,

"Jeremy lived," she sighed, "He lost most of his memories and couldn't keep any new ones. We wanted to keep him here, but, we knew the professionals had to look after him. Jeremy died peacefully in the nursing home five years ago, I suppose the bite shortened his life span..." Mike lay back down on the sofa, shutting his eyes, "As for my husband," Mrs. Fitzgerald went on, "He died of cancer only a few months after Jeremy; yessir, those were the worst years of my life, and here I am, selling all the items we collected over the years online!"

Victoria only shed a few tears and didn't lose her composure, like she'd already shed most of the tears she could for her loved ones years ago. Mike's body was trembling uncontrollably, his face was burning red, and he took deep breaths to hold back the tears in his eyes. When he finally sat up and his body stopped shaking, Mrs. Fitzgerald left the living room again and came back out holding a notebook in her hands. She handed it to Mike, who then picked up the sketchbook off the floor.

"Here," she said, "Jeremy wrote it this as well, I'd like you to keep both of them." Mike nodded, and Victoria asked him, "Before it starts to rain, would you like to visit Jeremy's grave?" Mike's mind went blank for a few moments; he violently nodded and hurriedly replied,

"Yes! Yes, please." Mike followed behind Mrs. Fitzgerald as the two left her house. She cautiously stepped inside Mike's car, sitting in the passenger seat. Mike pulled out of the driveway and left the neighborhood. Mrs. Fitzgerald began giving Mike instructions on how to get to the cemetery and Mike, who already knew where it was, began thinking back to the very last conversation he had with Jeremy in November, 1987. He could only recall a portion of their conversation, but, he remembered Jeremy actually mentioning his new job, which he didn't give any details about,

So, you're out of college now, too, Jeremy!

Yep. I found myself a job.

Already? Damn!

Well, it pays dirt; but, I figured I should do something interesting, something that stimulates my mind.

Um, okay... Have you started yet?

No, in a couple of days. To be honest, I'm feeling a little nervous, I mean, this is gonna be my first job, I don't wanna screw up!

What'll you be doing?

Heh, I don't want to talk about it. You'd laugh at me.

I won't press you... now, let's talk about my job!

Mike pulled into the gravel parking lot of the cemetery, the clouds outside perfectly fitting the dreary mood he was in. He took his umbrella with him as he stepped out of the car and walked over to the passenger seat to assist Mrs. Fitzgerald. Mike held her arm as they went up the hill, "Are you sure this isn't too much for you?" he asked; Mrs. Fitzgerald chuckled,

"If you don't want to see Jeremy, just say the word and we'll head back! Jeremy and Clay aren't far from here." Mike didn't say anything else. Mrs. Fitzgerald, having a sudden burst of energy, took the lead as they stepped off the path. She finally stopped and looked down at two gravestones that were side by side near a willow tree. Mrs. Fitzgerald lingered closer to her husband's grave, and Mike felt like he wanted to drop to the grass and lay down next to Jeremy's grave. Mike read the engraving on his friend's grave: "Jeremy Fitzgerald 1965-1998: Beloved son, aspiring artist, lost the chance to share his art with the world."

Mike couldn't hold back his emotions anymore; he fell to his knees and began wailing,

"No! Why did it have to happen to Jeremy?! He dreamed he could change the world, why were his dreams taken from him?!" Mrs. Fitzgerald came over and patted his back. Wiping his face, Mike eventually stood up, his pants stained with grass and dirt. Mrs. Fitzgerald, through her tears, smiled at Mike,

"There was nothing you could've done, and Clay and I couldn't stop him" she reassured Mike, "I think Jeremy knew something bad was going to happen him the day it happened." she gripped Mike's hands tightly, "Jeremy was trying to figure out something, although, I don't know what it was. I do know that his work isn't finished, and you might be the one who has to find the answers Jeremy was looking for."