Hi. I'm back. I just spent a few weeks in Scotland, and I make it a point on most vacations to go mostly off-grid internet-wise, hence the lack of recent uploads. When I came back home, I all but forgot about this story (again) for like a week.

Besides that, I'd like to extend another thank you to your reviews!

Chapter nineteen: Answers

It wasn't until Paul had reached the road that led towards the town's outskirts that he began to feel really apprehensive. He steadied himself as much as he could, clutching the wheel to prevent his hands from shaking. He still had no idea what had happened at the restaurant; all he knew was that he was following the directions of a ghost.

He felt as though he'd been in a trance since then. Unable to think straight, his line of thinking still stuck on trying to internalize what he'd seen. He'd barely thought about what he was doing when he stepped into his car and drove off to the warehouse.

The road was still damaged. Abandoned. A fitting place to meet with a creature like…whatever it really was. He could see the warehouse in the distance, darkened by the overcast sky. A glance in his rearview mirror showed him the town, equally dark, equally far away.

He narrowed his eyes when he spotted something. A bench set in the grassy roadside. A figure sat on it, clad in black, a hat casting a shadow over their face. With the gloomy weather, he could barely make out any features besides a tuft of blond hair.

The figure tossed some seeds to the ground, feeding the pigeons that had gathered at their feet.

Keep a close eye on the road, the note had said. Paul hesitated, then slowed down. He parked the car on the side of the road, got out and hesitantly approached the bench. The pigeons made way for him.

The figure looked up. Paul flinched at the dual pinprick lights for pupils.

"Mr. Mortar," the animatronic said. "We have a lot to talk about."

Paul said nothing. It was the one from the restaurant, no doubt about it, except this time it didn't have the same taunting manner about it. Its face looked unnervingly cold. His instincts told him to run again, but he forced himself to stay calm. He'd been in tense situations that demanded calm before.

"Sit down," the animatronic ordered.

"I think I'd rather stand."

It glanced at him from under the hat's shadow. Then it took off said hat, revealing its yellow face and strange, bear-like robotic ears. "I took one of the spare hats from the warehouse after I left mine in your car, but I have to say it's not as comfortable." It observed its hat. "It feels almost too new. Is that a strange thing to say?"

"You said you'd give me answers," Paul demanded.

"Did I?"

It stood abruptly, startling the pigeons.

Paul shuffled back as the tall figure glared him down, its hair gently swaying in the light wind. Paul's hand half-consciously reached for his holster.

"You don't want to do that," it said.

He hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he stood down.

"Good," it said. "Now let me show you something."

Then it was gone.

He blinked. No—everything was gone. The chilly wind had ceased blowing, and the overcast sky was replaced with a ceiling. Artificial light flooded the tiled floor and the many tables, illuminating a deserted, yet pristine-looking space.

A very familiar space…

He started. Frantically he turned to see the curtained stage—the same stage he'd spotted during his visits to Freddy's. No…!

"What did you do?!" he hissed, turning to the shuttered windows. He sped towards the front door, only to see that it, too, had been shuttered. He didn't know that door had a shutter!

"Oi."

He whirled around upon hearing the new voice. He reached for his gun and came back empty.

Only then did he realize he was wearing a guard uniform.

An animatronic turned the corner ahead. It stopped when it spotted him. "Oh. Here ya are. What're you doin'?"

Paul stared it down. It looked back with amused yellow eyes, belonging to a very…red creature. Its clothes had a brown and black motif, and its right hand was replaced with a hook.

It smirked, and one of the robotic fox ears on its head twitched. "What're you lookin' at me like that for? C'mon, I know I look hot, but get to yer office already. Kyle ain't payin' you to laze about."

The thing left the same way it had come. Paul watched it go as it disappeared into the corridor.

… So, he thought after settling down a little. He glanced down at his uniform. That's why the door suddenly has a shutter: This isn't real. The yellow bear hadn't transported him anywhere; this was some kind of illusion, it had to be. But how…?!

He flinched when a giggle echoed in his ear from seemingly nowhere. "Come on, do as she says. You might just find the shutter controls there, too."

Paul hesitated. He glanced at the shuttered door and windows. He wasn't going to be finding those controls here. But could he take the risk?

It's a dream, he reminded himself hesitantly. There's no risk to take.

He glanced to Griffiths' office door. He made his way over and tried it. Locked. Swallowing, he turned to the hallway the fox had entered and started towards it.

As he passed through the corridor, he found himself grimacing at the side doors. Many were open, and the rooms beyond were modestly lit, their shadows hiding any eyes that might be watching him.

He crept forward, glancing all around the whole time in search of anything that moved. Finally he ended up in a small but well-lit room. The security office.

A small box, wrapped with a bow tie, stood on the desk. It looked so intentional, so out of place that it just had to be meant for him.

He hesitated and glanced back at the corridor. Nothing, as far as he could see.

He turned back to the box. With trembling hands, he lifted the lid…

A sweet smell hit his nostrils. Inside the box he saw cotton wool, doused in a thick dark liquid. Syrup?

He grimaced. This box had to be here for a reason… Was it just one of those weird things you saw in dreams? No, no, this wasn't a normal dream. There was something in that box, there had to be. Did he have any choice other than to play the game set up for him?

It's a dream, he reminded himself harshly. Get that through your head.

With both hands, he started digging through the syrup-drenched cotton wool. His hands were instantly sticky as he rummaged through it, searching for whatever was hidden inside. He fished out some cotton wool and set it on the desk.

He heard a giggle behind him.

Startled, he turned to see another animatronic emerging from the dark corridor. It was yellow, but not the same yellow as the one that had brought him here. It wasn't even a bear, by the looks of it.

"He fell for it," the chicken animatronic grinned. "I can't believe he fell for it. Kyle is not going to be happy about you staining the desk like that."

Paul held its gaze apprehensively.

"What?" it grinned. "No words? Of course, you're so blown away by my brilliance, you don't even know what to say."

Paul hesitated. Should he speak? "It's, erm…a good trick?"

"I know, right? Now, who's going to clean up the desk?"

"… I don't know where the cleaning supplies are."

It grinned. "And?"

He stared at it.

"Oh, don't give me that look! Fine, I'll help, just because you asked so nicely." It turned and started away. "You sit tight. I'll just get the supplies for you. Oh, and if you run away on me, I'm going to tell Kyle."

He watched it go. Then he stared at the cotton wool that stuck to his hands. He'd been pranked…by an animatronic chicken.

… Was he supposed to believe Douglas had to undergo this every day?

Paul clenched his jaw. "You can't lie to me," he said to nothing as he wiped his hands on his uniform, bathing its blue tint in an orange-brown mess. "Give me a reason why I should believe anything I see here."

"You don't have to," the yellow bear's disembodied voice sounded in his head. "Just look at the evidence you gathered."

"Evidence?"

It sighed. "Yes. Evidence. The things you saw during your investigation Mr. master detective?"

Paul fell silent. Those words brought him back to his original questions: Why was Douglas so secretive of the restaurant? He'd thought of answers, but something never quite fit.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Robots, roaming around?"

"Given where you are, I'd say I'm more than a robot, wouldn't you agree?"

"That only makes you more dangerous."

A brief silence. "Yes…" it said. "Yes, I suppose it does."

The world blurred. It swam before Paul's vision, but he didn't feel dizzy. Suddenly he was sitting on the bench.

Stupefied, he glanced around—and flinched back when he saw the yellow bear sitting right next to him with a glare that froze his blood.

"You're done," it said coldly. "You've got enough answers. This is your last warning. You're putting an end to your investigation, understand?"

"My last warning?" he blurted out. "And what will you do if I cross that line?"

It glared at him for a moment longer.

Then it was gone.

Paul stared at the empty air. He turned around, looking over the grassy fields and the half-decayed road behind him. The city. The terrain with the warehouse.

Nothing. No robots, no top hats.

Finally he scrambled back to his car.

As he drove away, his breathing slowly calmed. Maybe he was getting used to…whatever kinds of things this yellow bear did to him.

But none of what it had given him was proof. Magic dreams, teleportation—whatever it did, it was still just little more than parlor tricks. Showing him what it wanted to show him. Yes, he still had questions, but all he had to answer them were hypotheses. And this…robot wizard thing had only tried to manipulate him. If it were telling the truth, it would have to do better than mere illusions.

He became aware of the pistol under his arm.

He scowled. Enough was enough. No more dreams. No more magic tricks. Maybe absolute proof was beyond his reach here, but he could at least try his best to tie up some of the loose ends this case still had.

It was time to pay Douglas one final visit.