Vanessa was floating again. The bright lights of the office and droning, monotone voice of the person in front of her make it easy for her easily bored mind to wander.

She hated it here.

There was nothing wrong with her (besides a minor anxiety disorder, which she was already being treated for), and she had only a vague recollection of setting up an appointment with the therapist sitting across from her.

Was that weird?

That was weird, right?

Vanessa should remember making this appointment. The fact that she didn't should be cause for concern. She should bring this up to her physician. Alzheimer's runs in her family. But she was probably too young for it to be-

"Vanny?" Her therapist asked. His voice was muffled, like she's under a surface of water.

Vanessa blanched, sitting up ramrod straight. "W-what did you call me?" The sterile air suddenly felt thinner. She felt her hands start to shake.

Her therapist-a middle-aged man with graying dark hair-leans forward. "Vanny? Is something wrong?"

Gripping the sides of her chair, Vanessa frantically shakes her head. "Please, don't call me that. I don't like it." Her voice sounded childish, even to her own ears. She sounded weak.

She sounded like… her …

Her therapist's brow furrowed. "But Vanny's what you insisted on us calling you. See," he turned the pad of paper he'd been using to take notes around, "I have it right here in my notes."

Again she shook her head. "N-no. I…my name is Vanessa. Don't call me-"

A phone rang.

Her therapist sighed heavily. "I apologize. I know it's unprofessional, but it's probably my wife. She's-"

Just wanting to be left alone for five minutes, Vanessa dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "It's fine. I don't mind."

"Thank you," he said, grabbing the still ringing phone off his desk. He left the room, a stony expression on his face as he clicked "answer."

She was left alone.

The clock, hanging right above the door, ticked loudly. She shifted, wanting to be anywhere but here.

"Vanessa…."

Who- she turned her head, looking about the room. The clock's ticking was deafening. But over the noise, she could make out a hauntingly familiar voice.

It struck a chord of wrong deep within, like she needed to run away. To escape and run and hide and get away!

"Vanessa," the voice called again, closer.

Her nails dug into the chair's armrests. It can't be him. It can't be him. She's dreaming. She's dreaming. It's not him! It's not-

"Vanessa!" The voice was right behind her now.

She hunched forward. "Leave…leave me alone." Her voice was small and weak, barely above a hushed whisper.

"Hm? What was that?"

Vanessa couldn't move. "Leave me alone," she repeated.

He laughed, mocking her. "Sorry, what was that?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

She jolted, sitting upright. Sweat clung to her like a second skin. In the darkness, she could make out the glowing red numbers of her alarm clock.

"3:00am."

Her racing heart calmed some. "You're being silly, Vanessa. Everything's fine." Her words felt hollow, but her shift started in a few hours and she needed to get some sleep. Preferably some that wasn't plagued with nightmares.

She laid back down, still unsettled. Putting the stupid nightmare out of her mind, Vanessa started to close her eyes.

Thud!

For the second time in five minutes, Vanessa jolted upright. She looked frantically around the room, spotting the culprit of the noise. A book that was knocked off her nightstand.

She sighed, relieved. Vanessa pushed off her covers, reaching over the side of the bed to fetch the item.

A sudden movement to her left-a blur of yellowish green-made her freeze. Her blood ran cold. It can't be….

"Surprised to see me?"

At a loss for words, she could only stare at her tormentor. He stood in her doorway-Glitchtrap-staring back at her. His faux grin, forever stitched onto his face, was unnerving as always.

Her bedroom changed, and suddenly she was back in the Pizzaplex. Sure she still worked in that horrid, horrid place where she did all those awful things, but it was different now. She was different now.

He was gone.

Everything was supposed to go back to normal.

He crept closer, hovering just over her shoulder. She swallowed down the bile threatening to escape her throat.

"Did you think you could get away from me? Really now, Vanessa, I thought you were smarter than that."

She glanced down at her hands- which were now covered in a familiar stitched fabric she thought she had gotten rid of.

"No. No! No! No! NO!" Her vision took on a hue of red, coloring her perception.

Glitchtrap didn't acknowledge her tantrum, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Now Vanny. I hope you enjoyed your silly little fantasy, but it is time for us to return to business."

He turned her around, showing her-

No…

He shouldn't be here. Luis was watching him. He was safe.

Gregory was leaned up against the wall, covered in blood. His eyes were wide, terrified and forever frozen in a state of horror. The footie pajamas he had been in were coated in blood and dirt. His hair was a mess, tangled and ratty.

"Greg…Gregory," she choked out in a voice that was not her own, blocking out Glitchtrap's raucous laughter. She collapsed to her knees, crawling over to the boy she failed in so many ways. "I…Gregory. Gregory, I...I'm sorry." She started to reach out, but stopped herself, remembering the costume she'd been forced into for a second time.

Helpless, Vanessa curled into a ball. Her surroundings grew blurrier. A numbness slowly overtook her, overriding all her other senses, as she sank…further…and…further down.

She opened her eyes, seeing the familiar ceiling of her apartment. This did nothing to quell her anxiety. She sat up, searching for something, anything, to make her feel better. A lifeline to make sure this was real and not just another cruel ploy by him.

Vanessa's eyes locked on her cellphone, sitting on her nightstand.

Luis.

She scrambled for the phone, holding it in a vice-like grip. Vanessa's thankful that she finally remembered to add his contact into her phone, so she didn't have to dig through past call logs.

It rang once, then again…

"Hello?" Luis said, voice groggy.

"Luis," she whispered, choking back her own panic.

"'Ness?" He asked, suddenly more awake. "Is everything alright?"

"He- he's back."

"Who?"

"Him, he's- Gregory! You need to check on Gregory!" She clutched the phone close to her ear.

"'Ness, he's right here, next to me. I promise he's safe."

"Okay…okay," she breathed deeply, trying to calm down. "Can you talk to me? I-I'm scared to go back to sleep."

"Of course. What about?"

"Anything. Just talk."

"Okay, okay. Um…Oh! Remember that time, back when we first started working at the Pizzaplex, when Freddy ran into the wall?"

Her anxiety retracted its claws just a little, allowing her to breathe easier. She giggled, picturing the incident. "Yeah. He insisted he hadn't seen it there."

"Oh, or that time a full school worth of kids booked out the entire Pizzaplex?"

She groaned, laying down. "Agh, I heard they were scrubbing pizza sauce off the animatronics' casing for weeks."

"Try months. They made the IT department help the technicians."

Vanessa laughed, a warm fuzzy feeling overtaking any lingering terror. "Why?"

"I dunno. My boss wasn't happy, but I doubt Faz-entertainment cared."

"Probably not." She bit her lip, considering her next words. "Hey, Lu, have I ever told you about my job before Freddy's?"

"You mean your beta-testing job?"

"Yes, but I also used to visit schools and talk about the engineering-aspect of game design. The kids loved it."

Luis hummed. She took it as a cue to keep going.

"You should have seen the way their faces would light up, and I…I miss that."

Her mind started to wander. Back to Glitchtrap and all the awful, terrible things she did under his control.

"Ah, 'Ness, have I ever told you the story about the time I rode my bike down the stairs when I was nine?"

She shook her head, leaning into the phone (into her one lifeline right now). "No," she giggled, "but now you have to tell me."

"Okay, so…"

-x-x-x-

Twenty minutes across town, a man settled in for the night at a shoddy-looking hotel. He barely acknowledged the clerk handing him the room key.

He laid down to sleep that night with a photo clutched tightly to his chest. Right now, this was his only lifeline.