Chapter four: Investigation

Douglas sat in lone silence as he drove back home. It had been a normal night, with the girls just minding their own business. No break-ins, no one at the door… Chica and Brunette hadn't even played whatever prank they'd allegedly been preparing. That meant they were probably saving it for tomorrow. The most exciting thing that had happened was his and Mangle's talking, which had become more and more common since Foxy's discovery.

Even so, something had been nagging at him for the past day, and being in the restaurant only made it stronger.

The streets were empty and dark save for the streetlights. He'd grown used to driving home alone in the dark, but this time was different. He thought back to the one thing that had stood out for him earlier—the sliver of hope, suspecting, knowing that Mortar would do what he could to find the truth before ordering the animatronics' destruction.

He had heard Mortar's name before.

He turned a corner. The name was familiar. But from where…?

He remained lost in thought as he ascended the stairs in his apartment building. He knew what he had to do; a quick Google search should be enough.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Ah!" he hissed. "Golden!"

The disembodied voice in his head chuckled. "You seemed pretty lost in thought when you left the restaurant. Thought I'd pay you a visit."

As if invading his dreams wasn't enough… Well, at least she couldn't read his mind. Or, so she claimed.

He unlocked his door and stepped inside.

It was completely dark. He was sure he'd left the blinds open.

He sighed through his nose. "Golden."

She didn't respond. The dark room was completely silent.

Then, with a click, a ray of light shone down from the ceiling further inside the room, revealing a small table with a top hat on it. Douglas eyed the thing suspiciously.

He jumped when the door slammed shut behind him.

"You wanna see a magic trick?" Golden whispered conspiratorially. "Lift the hat."

Douglas sighed. He was going to regret this…but oh well. What didn't kill him…

He approached the table and took the hat.

Nothing on the table. The hat itself was also empty.

That only meant…

The hat dissolved into a thick black smoke that spread over his body. He sighed through his nose. He should've expected something like this. What was she going to do now?

The smoke cleared before long, revealing that his guard uniform and jacket had been replaced by a black suit and a matching tie.

He raised an eyebrow as he ran a finger over the smooth material. This looked…expensive.

"Looking handsome tonight~" Mangle said.

His eyes widened when he realized the she-fox was standing right next to him, holding onto his arm. The darkness had cleared to reveal a giant ballroom. Diamond chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing the white-and-gold walls in a warm fiery glow. People sat at the many round tables that were scattered over the place, eating and talking.

And Mangle… Douglas flushed even more when he realized what she was wearing—an elegant dress that looked just a tad more…daring…than her usual attire. Better yet, the smile she was giving him had none of the shyness she normally carried.

Perhaps the most embarrassing part was that he couldn't take his eyes off her. All the talking around them had been drowned out by her mere presence.

Her smile dropped a little. "Douglas? Are you okay, sweetie?"

"… I'm fine," Douglas choked out. "I'm okay."

Her smile returned. "You look tired. The party's almost over, so…should we just go home?"

"Y-yeah," Douglas said, trying to get a hold of himself. "Sure."

She placed her head on his shoulder and gently tugged him along towards a nearby door. The talking room grew quieter as they removed themselves farther away from—

He was in his apartment again.

He looked around, but the place was empty save for the usual clean, mildly worn furniture. His clothes were back to normal, too.

He heard Golden giggle. "That was adorable."

Douglas let out a long sigh, becoming aware of the furnace that was his face. "Golden."

"What? I really think you and her are a match."

"Golden."

"Okay, okay," she relented, her smile audible in her voice. "I'm sorry, it's just fun to experiment. I only learned how to do this a short while ago."

"Unfortunately." Douglas took off his coat and placed it over the couch. He took a moment to observe his undisturbed apartment room.

Right. Mortar.

He stepped over to his computer.

"Aw, what are you doing!" Golden said. "Kids nowadays and their electronic devices. You bought a book just a few days ago, about immunity!"

"It's about the immune system," Douglas corrected as he booted up his computer. He may have dropped out, but that didn't stop him from learning. "And you run on electricity too, by the way."

"No, no; I run on magic nowadays. Electricity is so outdated."

He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, books aren't what I need right now. I heard Mortar's name somewhere before."

He typed the name in Google. He selected some of the top results.

A frown formed on his face as he scrolled over the pages. "He's got his own website…"

The photo on said site gave him chills. Mortar's unsettling smile, paired with light blue eyes that stared straight into Douglas' soul were definitely familiar, but Douglas was certain he'd never met this man before.

"Dougey?" Golden inquired.

"Hang on…"

He looked around the net, and the more he read, the more he recalled. The investigator had been on the news more often than not, doing jobs all of the country. The majority of them were successful. While he rarely seemed to deal with things like murder, most of the cases he did work on ended up completed.

But there was more. There had to be more. What was it that the papers had said about him, again…?

Paul looked at the board before him, observing the pictures and notes he'd gathered. He didn't feel very energized for this case—it was little more than the ramblings of a man who blew minor things out of proportion—but, he got paid for it. Besides, he didn't mind taking another look at Freddy's while he was at it.

So far there were five people of interest. He'd already poked a bit through the warehouse and questioned William Afton there. The man hadn't been of much help, but maybe his workplace would. Paul might take another look there if he couldn't find anything at the restaurant.

Then there was Kyle Griffiths, the manager of the restaurant. Mid-fifties, never married. In general, he was a bit of a loner. Working at Freddy's seemed to be his entire life.

Paul looked to the third mugshot he'd placed on the board. Douglas Goodwin, the reason for his being here. If anyone knew the answers Paul was looking for, it was Douglas himself. If one of his few recent phone calls was to be believed, his father seemed to think the restaurant had brainwashed Douglas somehow, even though Douglas had claimed in that same conversation that he had a friend to look after. Probably one of the first friends he'd had in a while, given his history as a bullying victim—which, by the way, had persisted in university. University! Unbelievable.

With a past like his, he'd probably latch onto any sign of friendship he came across, and people could take advantage of that.

Then there was Douglas' apparent passion for biochemistry. Why abandon an education like that in favor of becoming a nightguard, of all things?

Minor things. Couldn't really be called a case, but this was Paul's job. He might as well do it.

Douglas typed in, "Paul Mortar Freddy Restaurant" and hit enter. The results were lacking. Of course—Griffiths had mentioned that Mortar's previous investigation into the restaurant had been a means to kill time, rather than an actual job. All Douglas could find was some people freaking out over Mortar entering Freddy's, accompanied by all sorts of speculation. Apparently his visit to the restaurant had both weakened and boosted its popularity.

Douglas found himself almost scowling as he read; he didn't like how anyone on that forum talked about his friends. He reckoned that if they knew the animatronics personally, they'd sing a different tune. Thankfully the minor fluctuation in popularity that Mortar's visit brought had gone as soon as it had come.

Remembering something else he'd read about Mortar in the papers, he typed in, "Paul Mortar disappearance."

Douglas didn't read the news as much as some other people did, but this was an article he skimmed over once—a disappearance Mortar had been hired to investigate, better known as the Harrison Snyder case. The disappearance didn't happen anywhere near Douglas' home town, but the complete and utter lack of evidence had left everyone so baffled that it had reached the news in several states.

Paul Mortar was among the people who had investigated the scene after the police gave up. It was one of the few cases he'd failed. There was one photo in particular where Mortar held his hand up to the camera in an attempt to cover it. His face was a mask of anger, contrasting his usual expression that most other photos showed.

Douglas shivered as he looked into those livid eyes. No one, Mortar included, had found a single piece of evidence at the scene in question, and the PI seemed to take that personally.

Paul closed his eyes, thinking. He knew that he was going to venture into conjecture territory given his severe lack of evidence, but he didn't care.

Douglas rarely ever went to the restaurant during the day, so the friend he'd mentioned probably wasn't present then—unless they interacted outside of working hours, in which case he could still maintain contact without working at Freddy's. Another possibility was that his friend was present during the night, but that made no sense; besides Griffiths, who sometimes stayed late, there was no one else inside at the time. Douglas was the only nightguard the place had.

Getting another idea, Paul immediately wrote the word "Blackmail?" besides his other notes. He had his doubts, but if Douglas was the restaurant's first successful blackmail victim—with the previous guards taking off as soon as they got the chance—it would explain why he was so determined to stay now. Why would a company like this want to blackmail him though? Was Griffiths so tired of the guards running off that he resorted to more extreme measures? Did Douglas learn some secret he wasn't supposed to learn? Even after dropping out of university, the boy was still a victim of bullying.

Paul glanced at Griffiths' picture. If there was anything going on, the manager likely had something to do with this—and if not, he probably knew the answers anyway. He was in charge of the place, after all.

He turned to the fourth picture. Zachary Goodwin, Douglas' older brother. He'd visited the restaurant at night once, but Paul doubted he knew anything. If Douglas were being blackmailed, it was either because he'd seen something or because Griffiths was determined to keep him in his employment. There was no reason to do the same to Zach unless he'd also seen some secret, which wasn't likely. Still, it might be useful to talk to him, just in case.

"So we've got at least three cases he failed," Douglas said, leaning back in his seat. "There's the Snyder case, the disappearance at Mount Ebott, and those deaths the FBI had investigated."

"Okay, question one: why'd the FBI investigate those deaths? Isn't that usually something the local PD deals with?"

"The articles are a little vague on the why. There're a lot of rumors about the causes of death, whether they were murders or something else. The FBI never released any details." He paused, eyeing the screen. "The Snyder case is the most interesting; I'd say evidence can be harder to gather in the mountains, and Mortar might've had some friction with the Bureau when he pursued their case…but Snyder just disappeared from his room without leaving a single clue behind. No signs of forced entry or a struggle. Even the window was closed."

Pictures were taken of Mortar investigating each case, and in each picture he tried to block out his face. Maybe the most disturbing part was the lengths this man went to sometimes. Various cases had him bending the law to their extremes, and there were (admittedly unproven) claims that he broke them altogether in some instances. If there was any truth to it, he was more of a vigilante than an investigator. It was a miracle he still had his job.

"You think these cold cases might've had an…untraceable cause?" Golden mused.

"What do you mean?"

"Douglas. You're talking to a teleporting animatronic who's telepathically connected to your head."

Douglas hesitated. Was she joking? "What, you think these cases were…supernatural in some way?"

"I'm not saying they were, but they could be."

"But that's… No, I doubt that."

"Again, remember who you're talking to."

"Yeah, but you're…different."

"Who's to say I'm the only one of my kind?"

He shook his head, trying not to feel too disturbed at that thought. "Okay, but what are the odds of Mortar working four different cases with supernatural aspects?"

"I know it's dangerous to cry ghost whenever something happens that doesn't immediately make sense," she said. "But still, it might happen more often than you think."

"Maybe." He paused. "Why bring this up?"

A brief silence. "No reason."

Douglas nodded, but he could swear he heard some worry in her voice.

His eyes went back to the screen, and to the picture of an angry Mortar. This man did not like losing. Whether that was because he sympathized with the victims or because he was too proud to lose, Douglas didn't know…but he doubted Mortar was going to let this case go cold. He was going to have to talk to Griffiths about this.

Mortar looked at the board. He was going to have to confront Griffiths and Douglas at some point…

Then he looked to the final picture he'd hung up. Blake Maxwell, one of Douglas' former fellow students at Coldland University. Apparently the two had an altercation near Freddy's previous location, which Douglas had won despite taking a beating. The police had arrested Maxwell soon after.

Mortar looked from Blake's photo to Douglas'. While Douglas was the taller of the two, Blake looked stronger. Reports claimed he'd ambushed Douglas with a weapon, but he'd gotten away with a fine and probation.

How had Maxwell, who was stronger and more prepared, lost to someone who had no real history of fighting? Maxwell claimed his intent wasn't to kill—just to rough Douglas up a little—but he should've won nonetheless. A fight could take unexpected turns sometimes, but this?

Mortar would find his answers soon enough. He would find out how Douglas beat his attacker. It was the closest thing to an actual mystery he could find in this sorry excuse for a case.