Chapter seven: Assurance isn't enough
Douglas sat in his apartment, watching his reflection in the television's black screen, mulling over everything that had been happening.
Funny how this started with him dropping out, then looking for a job. Maxwell attacked shortly after. There was a period of time where Douglas—with his limited knowledge on fitness—dabbled in some workouts in an attempt to grow stronger, but he hadn't kept that up. Why not? Shouldn't his miserable years in school be enough motivation for him to get something done?
Then there was Zach, the deal with the protos, and Foxy… She was the only remnant of the protos that the public knew about.
Every time, Douglas failed in some way or another. But had he learned from any of that?
He noticed he'd gripped his seat's armrest tightly. He took a deep breath and tried to relax. He wished Golden's voice was there to talk to him, but he hadn't sensed her presence all day.
Then, with a rock in his stomach, he got up and put on his jacket.
He decided to walk. He soon caught himself intentionally going at a slow pace. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to speed up, if only just a little. A cold wind blew in his face, a cloudy sky glared down at him. He tried to focus on the cold, almost cherishing it.
His trembling got worse and worse as he got closer and closer to his goal.
Come on, Douglas, he thought. Man up! It's been…what, months?
But no amount of will could stop the nervousness in his stomach from growing, branching out into his limbs like the root of a plant. He tried to channel it into something—clenching his fist, walking, looking around…anything that could get him tired enough to stop his shaking.
Finally he stood before an apartment complex. He looked at the various doorbells at the entrance, searching for one name in particular.
He soon found it. It read Blake Maxwell.
This was it.
With hands still shaking, he reached out. His finger stopped short. Then, with one final burst of will, he pressed the button.
A buzzing rang out from the device. It fell silent, and a voice came through. "Yeah?"
"It's Douglas." He couldn't bring himself to say anything more.
Silence fell, save for the ever-blowing wind and the passing cars. Then the door clicked. Douglas walked through, as if getting away from the doorbell would save him. It wouldn't. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
He ascended the stairs. He passed through a corridor. With each step, he got closer to his goal.
Man up, Douglas, he repeated to himself, but it was useless. His knees were trembling. This is for them.
Finally he reached the door. He stared it down. He could still run. He didn't have to do this.
The door opened.
Douglas jumped back as Blake's face revealed itself. The shorter but broader man grunted, then turned and walked back into his apartment, leaving the door open.
Against every instinct he felt, Douglas forced himself to step into the room and shut the door behind him.
Blake turned back to face him. There was a fair amount of distance between them, and that was fine by Douglas. Blake crossed his muscular arms as they stared each other down.
"S-so," Douglas finally said. "You wanted to see me…?"
"I know who hired Mortar," Blake said after an eternity.
"… Who?"
Blake glared. "I'm not telling you shit until I get insurance. If you're going to go after my guy, I want to make sure you won't do anything to him."
"Uh…I'll talk to my boss?"
Blake gestured to the phone on the table nearby.
Douglas hesitated. "Now?"
"Yeah, now. Call him."
Douglas complied. He took the phone and slowly dialed Freddy's, keeping an eye on Blake the entire time.
"Freddy's Restaurant," Griffiths' voice sounded on the other end. "Manager speaking. How may I help you?"
"It's Douglas," Douglas said hoarsely.
"Douglas? To what do I owe this call?"
"I'm at Blake's."
"Blake's…?" A pause. "I thought you and the others decided it wasn't worth seeing him?"
"They did."
Another pause. "I see… Then, what do you need?"
"Blake says he knows who hired Mortar," Douglas said slowly. "But he wants…insurance."
"To make sure we don't go after him?"
"To make sure we don't hurt Mortar's hirer."
"Is that so? It sounds like he's protecting someone."
Douglas looked into Blake's angered eyes. Protecting someone? Who could Blake Maxwell possibly be protecting? Douglas didn't know there was anyone he cared about besides himself.
"Could be a friend," Griffiths mused. "Or maybe a family member."
"Insurance, sir…" Douglas reminded him.
"Could you put the phone on speaker for a moment?"
Douglas hesitantly pressed the appropriate button and placed the phone down. "You're on speaker, sir."
"Thank you, Douglas. Mr. Maxwell, are you there?"
"Yeah," Blake said.
"Good. As I understand it, you want insurance to make sure nothing happens to Mr. Mortar's hirer, correct?"
"Yeah."
"And my assurance isn't enough?"
"Assurance! From you?!"
A brief silence. "Mr. Maxwell, let me make something clear," Griffiths said calmly. "We have our own means of investigating the Mortar issue. Your help will speed things up, but with or without it, we'll know who's behind this eventually."
Blake said nothing, prompting Griffiths to continue.
"I'll be honest: My control over the animatronics isn't absolute…but the sooner we know our enemy's identity, the easier it will be to keep them in check. If you tell me now, I'll be able to stay their hands."
Blake's eyes widened. He looked from Douglas to the phone, bewildered. Douglas did his best to stay calm, to pretend he was okay with this. "Is that a threat?!" Blake accused.
"No, it isn't. As I said, my control is limited. You have my promise that I'll do whatever I can to prevent Mr. Mortar's hirer from getting hurt."
"That's not enough!"
"But it is. Right now, the animatronics are still calm and cooperative. They'll heed any orders I give them now. But that obedience won't last forever. They will grow frustrated with our predicament eventually. I don't want to see anyone hurt, Mr. Maxwell, but you have to work with me here."
Blake's wide eyes flashed from the phone to Douglas and back. His jaw was clenched, his breathing quick.
With a frustrated roar, Blake twisted and punched the wall, opening a spider-web pattern of cracks under his fist. Douglas flinched. Even from across the room, he could see the damage.
"Mr. Maxwell…?"
He turned to the phone again, eyes feral. "Fine!" he cried. "Fine! But we have a deal!"
"Of course."
He shook his head and growled. "It's my father. Hector Maxwell hired your detective."
"Hector…Maxwell…" Griffiths said slowly. Douglas could almost see him writing it down in his notes. "Alright, noted."
"Get out of my house," Blake told Douglas. "Now!"
Douglas hesitated briefly. He glanced at the phone.
"Go ahead, Douglas," Griffiths said calmly. "We've got what we were here for."