Both Henry and Michael decided to spend the next few hours planning out what they would do at the warehouse. Gregory attempted to be invested at first, but quickly found himself drifting over to the tv. It was no later than five in the afternoon that they heard a thud emanate from a room down the hall.
Michael's head immediately shot up, "Uncle Henry, is that what I think it is?"
"I'm not sure, it's a bit early," the old man stood up.
Gregory peeled his eyes away from the tv, now curious, "What are you two talking about?"
"She's not dangerous, right? I don't want the boy hurt."
"Dangerous? What's dangerous? C'mon, tell me!"
"I already told you, she's perfectly safe," Henry insisted, "she especially wouldn't hurt a child. I'll go check anyway." With that he shuffled off. Gregory stood up in order to follow, but Michael grabbed him by the arm. The boy looked up to his guardian, annoyed.
"I'm not taking chances," said Michael, leading Gregory over to the couch. Another thud was heard from the room down the hall. Henry soon appeared, a nervous smile across his face.
"It's quite all right," he explained, "I think she's just a bit curious."
Michael was about to ask the old man to clarify, but before he could the pale face of the puppet popped into view. Gregory gripped Michael's hand tightly, no longer objecting having been moved to the couch.
"I don't want to be rude, but is there any way you can get her back into the box?" Michael asked.
"Sorry, once she's out, there really isn't much I can do about it."
Charlie slunk around her father, the puppet's lanky body stepping towards the couch in the most uncanny of ways. It leaned down, inspecting Gregory, who was now trying to hide behind Mike.
"What… what is that?" the boy stammered.
"This is…" Michael began before pausing, turning to Henry, unsure as to how much the old man wanted revealed.
"This is my daughter, Charlie," Henry said, "at least, what's left of her. Her soul is… trapped within the machine."
"What?" Gregory's eyes widened, looking back and forth between the old man and the puppet.
"She's not dangerous," Henry assured.
"We don't know that for certain," Michael added.
"How did… how did she end up like this?" Gregory asked.
Henry ran a hand through his beard, his brow furrowing. The puppet tilted its head, examining the new visitor like that of an animal.
"That I think…" Henry said slowly, "is a story which is too long to get into now." He shuffled back to his seat, sitting down with a great sigh. Gregory and Michael shifted to the side, making room for Charlie to sit beside them.
For what felt like an eternity, the silence was all there was. Michael could have sworn they were talking about something before Charlie entered, though he was at a loss as to the finer details of where they were in the conversation. He knew they were talking about their plans for when they went to the warehouse, but where did they leave off?
"Can you talk?" Gregory asked the puppet. It looked down at him, slowly, before shaking its head.
"From what I've seen, animatronic possession doesn't allow for much communication," Michael said, "She might be able to use the pre-recorded lines on the voice box, but we don't know much beyond that."
"You're talking like this is a common occurrence," the boy noted.
"Well, it's not too common. Let's just say I've seen more of it than I like."
"Wait, you said she's limited to the voice box. If she were to possess Freddy, then would she be able to speak full sentences?"
"I think it best we not try to find out."
"I agree with Michael," Henry said, taking a sip of tea.
Gregory stared back at the machine, not sure how to feel about it. The whole thing was so… unnerving to look at, especially knowing that someone's soul was trapped inside. It was an utterly ridiculous sentiment, one which any rational person would have dismissed as insanity. Fortunately, Gregory, being a child, was without all those pesky societal hang ups adults had learned over the years, making the whole situation far easier to accept. Still, that almost made it worse.
"Why is she so… creepy looking?" he asked.
Henry looked surprised at the comment. "Creepy?" he placed his tea back down, "I designed this animatronic myself. It was meant to protect the children. Michael, you don't think she looks… creepy… do you?"
Michael shrugged, "Sorry, but pretty much all the animatronics were creepy."
"What?" Henry exclaimed, the same way a child would upon learning the truth about Santa, "but… you used to love them when you were younger. Foxy was always your favorite."
"Yeah, the creepiness was why I liked them. They were edgy. Foxy was definitely the scariest with those teeth of his. I'm surprised the hook never poked someone's eye out."
"But… but surely not everyone thought like this? What about the other children? Did they also find the animatronics scary?"
"Um… I guess?" Michael scratched the back of his neck, "I mean, I think the sentiment around town was that they were pretty freaky at the very least."
Henry seemed to deflate upon hearing all this. Michael began to feel bad, seeing the old man realize his life's work was not what he thought it was. He hadn't intended to be so blunt in his explanation, but he had assumed that Henry already knew. The fact that the Fredbear animatronics were terrifying was always just a universally accepted fact as far as he was concerned. Perhaps it would be best to change the subject.
"Um, it's getting a bit late. Perhaps it's time you and I head out," Michael stood up, "Gregory, why don't you help Mr. Emily with the dishes."
"But I wanted to go back to the tv."
Michael stared down at him with his decayed face, letting it drift farther into the uncanny than usual. It seemed to do the trick. Gregory stood up, taking a few of the tea cups and bringing them into the kitchen. Henry stood up as well.
"I'm going to the bathroom before we go. I recommend you do the same."
"Uncle Henry, I don't have a digestive system."
"I just thought I would remind you seeing how you always refused to go before a drive when you were a child-"
"Ok, no need to remind me."
"-just because you thought it made you cool-"
"Yes, I remember."
"-and then you would always ask us to pull over half way through the drive-"
"Uncle Henry, I get it."
The old man gave a wicked smile before limping off. As he disappeared around the corner, Michael looked back to Charlie, still sitting on the couch. She tilted her head, introspectively. Michael turned to face her fully, not quite sure if there was anything he could say to make things better between the two of them.
"Look," he began, "I know you and I got off to a rocky start last time, but I want you to keep an open mind and hear me out."
The puppet remained still.
"We can't talk now, since your father and I have some business to take care of. I don't know how much he's told you, but I have a feeling that we could really use your help with it. I can't explain the whole thing now, but I'll be sure to some other time."
"What are you talking about?"
Michael nearly jumped. He turned around, seeing Gregory standing in the doorway to the kitchen, "Do you make it a habit of listening in on other people's conversations?"
"In my defense, I didn't intend to this time. It just sort of happened."
Michael rolled his eyes, "Intentional or not, you better cut it out."
"So, what was it you were talking to her about anyway?"
"That's none of your business."
"C'mon, you can't just go throwing out teases for me and not follow up!"
Before Michael answered, Henry emerged from the bathroom, "Well, is everyone ready to get going?"
"Do I get to come along to?" Gregory asked, evidently forgetting about their conversation for the moment.
"No," Michael said, "It's too dangerous. Besides you'd think it was boring."
"I'm ok with danger!"
"Again, I place emphasis on boring."
"Alright, I won't fight you on it," the boy shrugged.
Michael looked over to the clock on the wall. It was later than he had expected it to be. If he was going to drive Henry to this warehouse and back, then there was no guarantee he would be able to make it to work on time.
"Something wrong?" Henry asked.
"Nothing. Just need to make a call."
"Oh, sure," Henry pointed to the kitchen, "phone's just in there."
Michael nodded, walking into the other room, plucking the phone up. He held it in his hand for a moment, staring into the speaker. He quickly recalled the number for the pizzeria then paused. He had never really interacted with any of the day staff before. Then again, it wasn't as if he needed to tell them who he was. He quickly punched the number in.
"Hello?" a young person's voice answered.
"Is this Freddy Fazbear's pizza?"
"Yes. Before you ask, no we don't do delivery. I mean, we're working on a delivery thing, but it isn't happening yet."
"I'm not asking about delivery; I just want to speak to the manager."
"Sure thing, I'll go get him."
Michael waited for a moment. The background hum of the restaurant could be heard through the phone. Various voices all melding together, the drone of music on the speaker system. He wasn't used to hearing what the restaurant sounded like during the day. The last time he had heard anything similar was back when he was a kid.
"Hello?" the manager's voice eventually came through on the other end.
"It's Michael. The night guard."
"Michael? What are you doing calling this early? Something wrong?"
"Well, not wrong exactly. Some stuff's come up, and I was wondering if I could have the night off."
"You can't be serious. Do you know how unprofessional it is to say you can't come in on such short notice?"
"With all due respect sir, I'm well within my rights to call in a sick day. You and I both know I've more than earned it. Besides, I've worked seven days a week, every week."
There was a grumbling on the other end, "Fine, I'll get Vanessa to cover for you, but next time give me a heads up."
"Thank you, sir," Michael almost hung up, but then something else came to mind, "and sir?"
"Hm?"
"I heard you were thinking of retiring?"
"What about it?"
"Well… are you? I was just wondering what would happen to someone like me once you leave."
"Don't worry about it," the manager said nonchalantly, "you'll be fine. Besides, I won't quit until I'm certain I've found the right person for the job." With that, he hung up. Michael stood there for a moment, staring down at the phone, before placing it down. He could not help but wonder what the boss meant by "the right person for the job". If they were qualified in every aspect, but saw no reason to keep Michael around, would that person still qualify? He shook off the thought. There was no reason to worry about things out of his control. For the time being, he needed to focus on Henry and Gregory. He stepped back into the living room, where the two were chatting.
"Michael, would you rather leave Gregory here, or drop him off at your house?"
"We'll drop him off at my place," he glanced to the puppet. He had the feeling that Henry was not pleased with the implication, but the old man said nothing.
"Will she be fine on her own?" Michael asked as they locked the front door behind them.
"Of course," Henry said, "I leave her on her own all the time. She never gets up to too much trouble."
The three of them piled into Michael's car, Gregory taking the back seat. Michael could have sworn he saw Henry furrow his brow upon seeing the condition the car was in, but once again he held his tongue. It wasn't the worst car by any means, but it had certainly seen better days. A bit shabby, a bit noisy, but dependable enough.
It didn't take long to reach Michael's apartment building. He pulled into the nearest parking spot, tossing the room keys to Gregory.
"I don't know how long I'll be out. I should be back by seven a.m."
The child nodded, slipping out the back and running into the building. Once he was gone, Henry broke his silence.
"Michael, is this really where you live?"
Michael shrugged, "What about it?"
"It's… well it's just… I never expected someone as good natured as you to live in a place like… this," he gestured to the building, looking a bit more paper bag like than usual.
"Uncle Henry, what's that supposed to mean?"
"Well… you know," the old man wrung his hands, "it's the sort of place where unsavory types live."
Michael pulled out, bringing them onto the highway, "I hate to break it to you, but I think I'm one of those unsavory times you may be referring to."
"Michael please, don't say that about yourself. You know what I mean. I'm talking about… drug dealers and whatnot."
"Hey now, our drug dealer is a perfectly stand-up guy."
"Wait, you actually have a drug dealer in the building?!"
Michael tightened his grip on the wheel. Perhaps being so open with certain facts about his living situation with Henry was a bad idea. Still, it was the truth. What reason did he have to hide? Was he really so concerned about what this old man thought about him?
"Look, Uncle Henry, I don't get why you're making such a big deal out of this. You lived in a lower income area when you were younger, didn't you?"
"Oh, well…" he ran a hand through his beard, looking out the window as the scenery passed them by, "that was different."
"Different how?"
"It just was! Look, Michael, I can understand that you might not be in the best situation financially speaking, but you need to think about Gregory."
"Is all of this because I let him walk to the apartment by himself? Because let me tell you, he's more dangerous than most of the people living in that place. I'm pretty sure he can make it up some stairs without my supervision."
"Michael, you're missing the point. You need to look at the big picture here. You need to think about what would be best for the boy."
"And who says I'm not?!" Michael yelled. It came out harsher than he had intended it to. A lot louder too. Henry was quiet, whether out of fear, or out of a desire to let tempers cool, Michael was unsure. It dawned on him that this was the first time he had yelled as an adult. Really, truly yelled, with a sense of purpose behind it. As strange as it sounded, he had never heard his own voice like that before. So angry, so passionate… so loud. It reminded him of… his father.
No!
Why did it always come back to that man? Everything, not a single aspect of Michael's life could escape him! He was like some sort of hellish, metaphysical black hole that sucked everything in, stretching out the pain and torment for as long as possible. He clasped the steering wheel even tighter now.
"Michael," Henry said tentatively after a few moments, "I um… we don't need to talk about this now. I'm sorry I… I know you're doing your best. It's wrong of me to dismiss that."
"No… no we can…" Michael adjusted his jaw, clicking it back and forth, "… we can uh… we'll figure something out. Later, after tonight."
Henry nodded. There was no conversation on the rest of the drive to the warehouse.
