Another double upload for today. Be sure to check the last chapter if you missed it.
Buried Secrets
Tuesday 9th June 2015, 17:41 PM
Samantha was sitting by the porch of the house, watching the afternoon sun still shine brightly past the trees. After several days of constant searching, the last few had been far too quiet for her liking. That wasn't to say she had been doing nothing, of course; most of the time had been spent going through what they'd learned.
Their little trip to Fredbear's, though full of revelations, had been risky. Most of the risks had only dawned on them afterwards; when the reminder that if any suspicion was brought up about the obvious break in, how soon would it be when someone would connect the dots?
A group of mysterious passerbys stroll in, ask about points of interest, and then days later a condemned building has its boarded-up door broken down? It was a recipe for disaster and Sam had begun to regret her haste.
Somehow, someway, it seemed that they got away with it. "Looks like no one's the wiser," Carl had told them when he had decided to look into it. It seemed that this quiet little town had no concerns about the state of a long-forgotten bad memory.
Instead, it was the group's own issues inside that was now the concern. Ella was struggling to keep the ship afloat on the Seekers' ends, Jack was still running off on his errands, Mike hardly talked to anyone, and Carl was growing restless. Weeks of no news about their boys and the battle against the Crucible only caused them more strain.
But as much Sam knew she could never admit it, the longer their boys took to find them, the better. She was closing in on a breakthrough here and didn't want it to be interrupted.
The biggest cause of concern was Mike. At the very least, he was no longer dropping to pieces. That day had been hard for all of them. No matter her feelings, Mike had always been reliable and headstrong. But something happened to him that morning, something he still hadn't opened up about.
He no longer looked ill, but it seemed that he was always looking over his shoulder, still jumping at the slightest noise outside. He never left the house on his own and would stay inside at night, staying away from windows. The man was clearly not sleeping very well, barely at all.
Looking down at the files in her hands, Sam had to admit that she was almost sick of reading through them. How Tom had been able to spend so much time on them in the first place, theorising and reorganising his thoughts over and over again, was a mystery. Then again, she thought sadly, he always was one.
Dead end after dead end. Roadblock after roadblock. How on Earth he hadn't tossed the case away or lost his sanity after the hundredth of so time he had to go back to the drawing board showed his tenacity, if nothing else. Had he given up, she would've never reached this point. Even though she couldn't say for certain, she wouldn't have been surprised to find that he'd pondered the possibility.
There was no doubt about it. William Afton was the Purple Man. All the evidence pointed towards it. Even when the Missing Children's Incident had first happened, the authorities had fingered him as the prime suspect. Afton had the knowledge and access to the building, training to operate a springlock suit, and his current whereabouts, or the specific lack of details, was a major red flag.
No one had seen the man since he vanished in the eighties.
But she had gone through this hundreds of times already; there was no point beating the dead horse. For one thing, she still had a bit of a problem on her hands. Namely, that her patience for a certain somebody's daily activities had grown thin. Every day, Jack would go off to pursue his leads and every day, he would return without anything to show for it.
Either it was clearly not paying off, or he wasn't telling them something. Sam could understand that Mike and Ella both trusted him, but there had been a reason why her husband hadn't, and she was starting to see why. Even when she had asked Ella to offer her assistance, he had turned it down.
Why? That was the question. There was no good reason for him to go alone when the help was there. There was nothing so dangerous that one of them couldn't handle it whilst Jack could. More so when it was one of his supposed allies and friends. That only led to Samantha's one conclusion: That he was doing something he would rather none of them ever found out about.
Which meant either dirty deeds, or treachery.
When she heard the footsteps come up behind her, Sam knew who it was. Standing beside her as they both stared at the sun, she knew he was thinking the same thing.
"I know what this is about." She told him, sighing.
"Enough is enough." Carl admitted, leaning on the railing.
"What do you propose?"
"I don't care if it upsets them. We give him an option: He talks, or we cut him loose. At best, he's doing something he thinks we'd turn on him for. If so, we forgive, then decide whether he's clear to continue, with our help."
"And at worst?"
"If he's talking to someone, whoever it is, we give him the option to walk away without getting a bullet in the back. I don't think he's betraying us; but if there is even the slightest chance that he is, we need to sort it."
With a sigh, Sam knew he was right. It was going to rock the boat, but did they have a choice?
"Just give the word." Carl bowed his head.
But she told herself there was only one answer. "It happens tonight. When Ella and Mike are gone."
As the glow of dusk had grown over the horizon, Jack had returned. Sam could see him breach through the brush and was heading over the barren land towards the house. Looking over to Carl, she nodded.
"Okay." Carl breathed as she heard him turn to Mike and Ella, "Just have a quick look around and be back in five, ten minutes. We should have our next step sorted by the time you come back?"
Ella nodded, though she seemed on edge. "Any reason why you've been so pushy about the two of us going?"
"Just the shift manager in me." Carl responded dryly.
Though she clearly didn't believe him, Ella shrugged. "Sure. Come on, Mike. Let's get this done."
As she walked out, Mike absently followed her. His eyes had grown so dark, the bags showing red. Ella gave Jack a wave after seeing him before the two of them walked around the other side of the house.
Keeping her expression neutral as Jack got closer, Sam had to keep reminding herself that this was the right move. They were doing this to benefit the entire group.
Whatever he's been doing, whatever his intentions, he talks or it ends.
Jack gave a small smile and nod as he walked up the stairs, which she returned to the best of her ability. "Just saw them two leave. Is Carl still here?"
"He is." She kept her tone steady, "He's got some new information. Wants everyone to know about it."
"Okay. Where is he?"
"In here." Carl called. Without much hesitation, Jack turned to walk into the house. Once he'd done so, Sam calmly got up, followed him, and shut the door behind them.
"Glad I caught the two of you." Jack admitted, his back to Sam.
"We need to talk." Carl stated bluntly, but it seemed that Jack hadn't caught on.
"Sure, but I think you both should hear this." Jack continued, a rare hint of enthusiasm in his voice, "You'll like this. I might've gotten something that will crack this case."
Blinking, Samantha kept herself ready to act as he stepped aside to get in Carl's eyesight. She could see in his own eyes that he was surprised himself. After a few moments, the two of them nodded in a silent agreement on what to say.
Carl shrugged, "Okay. What is this information you want to share with us?"
Folding his arms, Jack spent a moment to compose himself. "First off, I wanted to apologise for the lack of, uh, transparency in what I've been doing. I had no idea whether it would bare fruit and didn't want to waste anybody's time other than my own if it was just going to lead into a dead end."
"That's okay." Carl lied, "Are you willing to share now, then?"
Jack gave a thumbs up. "You see, I've been trying to get a meeting with an old contact. Someone I worked with back in the old days, when I ran solo. This guy helped me with opening a way into this one business's security, but we had to cut contact after it went out the window. He's still got a few backdoors, though, so I was hoping he'd been willing to work with me again."
"What was this thing you were doing?" Carl inquired, trying not to press, "Anything to do with what we're doing now?"
Jack was hesitant to answer, "Look, I never told Ella about it, but Mike recruited me not just because of my abilities. You see, these last few months…hasn't been my first rodeo with Fazbear Entertainment."
A quick glance between them answered Carl and Samantha's thoughts. "Well, yeah."
"Sort of obvious." Sam admitted.
Jack seemed taken aback. "Really? Huh. I must be losing my touch. Anyway, reason it's been taking so long is because this contact hasn't been wanting to open up relations so easy, so…I've been offering help whenever I can."
Carl narrowed his eyes. "What kind of help?"
"Nothing illegal." Jack insisted, "Or, at least, victimless. I mean, I'm a hacktivist, for God's sake. Giving them intel on economic aspects, helping them avoid running into the police and mitigating conflict, that sort of thing. The guy is a criminal, through and through, but I've never worked with anyone who hasn't had some sort of moral code."
"I guess I can understand that." Carl admitted, "But have you done anything that might've come back on us?"
Jack shook his head, absolute. "Never. The worst that could've come was getting myself caught."
"So that's a yes, then."
"What? No! I made sure I had alibies, everything I could to make sure they would've believed I was purely operating on my own!"
"Except you still would've been caught." Carl shook his head in dismay, "Jack, I don't know what you think this is, but we're a team. If you'd been caught, what do you think would've happened? They would have figured out your identity, and you either would be on your way to a prison cell, or the Nightingales would've gotten to you."
"Then that would've been on me." Jack pointed out, "Not you."
"It would've been on all of us!" Carl growled, making both Jack and Sam jump in surprise as it resonated throughout the house, "Because we wouldn't have left you behind! We would've tried our best to break you out!"
"I never expected that." Jack pleaded.
"You might not value your own life." Carl pressed on, glaring, "But I'll be damned if we lose another man. No more of this lone wolf crap. Got it?"
"Okay." Jack insisted, shamed, "I'm sorry."
Sam stepped in, suddenly feeling guilty, "This contact, then. You said he wants to meet?"
Jack nodded.
"Is he dangerous?"
"He…he might be."
"Then Ella's going to accompany you to your next meeting and we'll be on standby. Any objections?"
He gave a weary sigh. "No. He wants to meet tonight."
"Okay, then." Sam crossed her arms, thoughtful, "Then let's get to it."
Tuesday 9th June 2015, 22:11 PM
Shifting in her seat, Samantha tried to get a better line of sight on the doorway. They were parked down the street from a large warehouse, perhaps a few miles north of town. Agricultural fields surrounded them, woods and grass. For the most part, it seemed out of the way.
"Alright," Carl breathed from the driver's seat next to her, "the two of you all set?"
"As much as we can be." Jack replied, steadying his breath.
"Remember, the moment you think you're in trouble, you send that message. Ella will be with you the whole time."
"We'll be fine." Ella assured, "But the two of you keep your eyes open. There's no telling if they'll make this vehicle."
Getting out of the car, the two of them walked across the street towards the warehouse. There was a lone guard, a young man with tattoos, jeans, and a light grey tank top. After a few moments of dialogue, he called someone on a radio. Eventually, someone came down to greet them and took them inside, the big metal doors closing behind them.
The meeting had begun. Now all there was left for them to do was to hope it would go well.
Hearing Carl shuffle next to her, Sam turned her head and saw him checking his newly acquired pistol. He'd been forced to abandon his rifle during their travels. Though Samantha went without one, it wasn't like she was adverse to the notion of using it.
Their part of the plan would be simple; sit in the car, wait for the meeting to go through, and then they'd all go home. That was, of course, the nest case scenario. The other more likely scenario was that this contact would turn on Jack and Carl would have to rush in to help them. There was a big risk, but both Jack and Ella knew that.
It had been to their surprise that Mike had agreed to stay behind. Since Carl was not wanting to present a strong hand with this contact, he wouldn't have been able to go with his friends, Instead, he had offered to go through the files and see if he could piece anything else together.
Sam hadn't been against the idea. At the same time, her worry of something going wrong wasn't helped by them being a man down there.
"What do you think the contact has that can help us?" Carl asked her.
She sighed, "I'll take anything at this point. Don't get me wrong, what we found at Fredbear's, that was big. But what does it really accomplish? We've got a name to pin on our wall, how he did what he did…but the question I don't get is why?"
"Pinning down a motive is one of the hardest things in this job." Carl admitted, "Not just to solve the crime, but to understand why it happened. What the point of it all was. As much as I disagreed with their methods, the Crucible just choosing to kill their threats, I could get."
"So what did you do when it wasn't clear-cut?"
"We approached it from a different angle." Relaxing in his seat, Carl kept glancing back down to his phone. "Tom always said that every answer brought with it ten more questions. Every time we had a good idea of what this was all about, a curveball would hit us in the face. Once we got it in our heads that we could never be sure, it made the inevitable setback not so bad."
"It sounds sad."
Carl chuckled, "More than that. He would never stop. Even when it would've been better for him. Even when he knew he had people who cared about him. He would just keep pushing, keep pressing for the answers."
A few moments passed before she could say it. "I know what you're trying to tell me, Carl."
"Why are we still here?" Carl asked her kindly, "I know what you told the others, and I'll back you all the way, but we should've tried to meet up with our boys by now."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because that would mean we have to explain what happened." Her voice was stale, and she couldn't look at him, "It would mean I would have to face my eldest son and tell him how his father died in pain. Alone. Doing something that was not worth it, in the end. It would mean I would have to go back home…to my fifteen year old daughter and my ten year old son…to tell them that they won't be seeing their father again. That he's gone, that he's not coming back this time."
She closed her eyes, "Carl…I can't tell them that their father died for nothing. I can't."
For the longest time, Carl looked at her, a pained glint in his eyes. "Sam…what you've gone through…you know that if it were up to me, I would take his place back there, every time."
"I could never ask that of you."
"But you also know this: Your kids, they just lost their father. They need their mother."
She could feel it in her heart that he was right. "They will. Once this job is done."
Though he clearly wasn't satisfied, Carl relented. "Okay."
"Thanks, Carl. I know…I know I haven't been very honest."
"You don't have to apologise. But…do me a favour. Mike, he's going through something. Honestly, I'm worried about the guy. I know you have every reason to hate him right now, but…"
"I know." She told him, "I'm trying to be sympathetic, I really am. It's just…every time he's opened his mouth, I've felt like screaming. With what he's been acting like…I feel he's becoming a liability. I know he's a good man, I do. But…"
"But what?"
"But I can't shake the feeling that he's hiding something." She finally admitted, "And whatever it is, I think Tom knew about it."
Otherwise…
His lunges were burning and he had to remind himself to breathe. Feeling the dense covers beneath him, he ran his fingers along them and looked behind him. There was a plushie, one in the shape of Freddy Fazbear, which stared back at him. Holding the flashlight in his hand, he turned back.
Trying to calm himself down, he looked around the room. Darkness engulfed everything in sight and he only had that flashlight to ward it off. In the room, fresh with new wallpaper of white patterns, shapes caught his eye. He almost jumped when he saw the movement at the back wall, but the light showed him it was merely a purple fan, spinning slowly.
Shivering, he could see the door to his left was ajar, but no matter how much he strained his eyes, he couldn't see through the darkness it harboured. That darkness held something within, he knew, and he was in danger. Far more danger than he could ever understand. With such a purpose he would never comprehend, for he had made a mistake.
He had brought something home and now, it was hunting him. No one was coming to save him this time.
With his legs feeling like jelly, he got off the bed and, as quietly as he could, made his way to the door. Holding the handle with one hand and his flashlight with another, he carefully pushed it open, trying to see any more than he could. With some hesitation, he shined the flashlight down the hallway, seeing a fat table lamp to his left and the silhouette of a grandfather clock at the far back.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he backed away from the door and closed it. But as he turned around, he could see the shape of another door straight in front of him.
This is impossible, he thought to himself, dumbfounded, I'm in a bedroom. Why are there two doors?
The house was all wrong. As he checked down the hallway and saw windows revealing nothing but black, he knew it to be true. There were hallways where there shouldn't be. It was like he'd been ripped from his reality and forced into one of impossibility.
Swallowing his fear, he took a few steps back and tried to mull it over in his head, trying to understand how he had gotten where he now stood.
There was a closet at the back of the room, a white shutter door that was half open. He got closer and looked inside, but there was nothing. Nothing but the clothes on wire hangers. Finally, he turned to the bed again and doubt crept into his gut. He got onto his hands and knees, pressing his head to the fresh carpet, and shined the flashlight underneath the bed.
Nothing.
He was missing something. Steadying his breathing, he sat back down on the bed and tried to remember. Remember how he had gotten here. There were toys on the ground, a telephone and a purple robot.
After a few moments, he went back to the hallway and tried to collect his thoughts. He had to be dreaming. None of this made any sense. All he had to do was calm down and wait for the sweet release of morning—
The breath left his lunges again, like he had been punched, when he saw the thing down the hallway. Within moments it was gone, ducking behind the wall. He could feel his legs begin to fail him as he backed away from the hallway, the features of the thing burning his mind.
Those ears…that blue tone…he recognised the thing. But it was crazy. He knew it was crazy. The last time he'd checked, Bonnie didn't have fangs.
There was something happening behind him, a sound that made him freeze. Turning to the other door, he stepped over to it and shined the flashlight down there. This time, he got a clearer image of the thing, but this one was different. Before he disappeared, its reflection shining in one of the windows for just a moment, he could see it plain as day.
Chica had been standing there, covered in a sickly yellow costume, ragged and old. Rows upon rows of gnarly, rotten teeth lined her beak. In her hand had been that purple cupcake, as always, but there had been something different about it.
There was no denying it; Bonnie and Chica were in this building with him, somehow. But he had a bad feeling that their intentions were nothing pleasant.
It couldn't be real. He knew that. An impossibility. A mirage. Perhaps he was dying, the last thoughts of his decayed brain showing him something that could never be true.
Looking around the room again, he saw the digital clock on top of the wardrobe near the fan, but it was unplugged. He didn't even know what time it was. Remembering the Grandfather Clock he'd seen down the left hallway, he made his way there and looked down again. The hands of the Grandfather clock ticked along and made a wheezing sound, but it was too dark to see.
He gulped, feeling a pounding in his head, before he went back to the other hallway. He was just about to shine the flashlight again when he heard it.
Breathing. On the other side of the door.
Without so much as a moment to think, he grabbed the handle of the door and shut it. He backed away. There was something there, something that wanted to eat his soul.
But then the horrible thought drifted into his mind. That hadn't been the Grandfather clock wheezing.
He turned to the other door and tried to get to it, to shut it, but the rabbit was quicker. It burst in, grabbed him by the throat, and under the thunder of its roar and his own screams, he felt his head in between the thing's rows of teeth before red filled his vision and the last thing he heard ripped his soul asunder.
"Was it me?"
Tuesday 9th June 2015, 22:24 PM
Mike could feel the sweat dripping from his face as he sat up in a panic, hyperventilating. It was like his entire body seized up, left with him clawing for oxygen and laying in a fetal position on the floor. Minutes passed before he could will up the courage to open his eyes.
As he did so, he remembered where he was. Alone in the house. Agreeing foolishly to stay behind to watch after the place. He was at the second story, in what was once a bedroom, but all he had to call it so was the sleeping mat. There was a gas lit lantern he had nearby, but it had been extinguished at some point after he'd fallen asleep.
It was just a dream, Mike urged to himself, none of it is real. Not anymore.
Telling himself that enough times brought life back into his body, allowing him to stand up and walk. He went to the window and looked through, seeing nothing but darkness inside. Biting his lip, Mike felt for his pistol before grabbing his torch and leaving the bedroom.
Though he knew them to be nothing more than nightmares, it hadn't been the first time. It felt like night after night he was finding himself in that impossible house again, fighting for his life. He usually didn't win.
He wished he could at least have the solace of not being on his own, but that wasn't the case; the others had all gone off to help Jack out with his lead. Perhaps it had been how tired he was, but Mike had not wanted to go off and wanted to just get some rest. He was regretting it now.
Now he was all alone, inside this big, empty house. Alone, except for the nightmares and the constant feeling of dread. Though he at least hadn't seen those figures again since then, the image had burned a hole so charred into his mind that he could barely glance into the darkness and see the abyss staring back.
It was this house, of course. It was the reason he felt like this, even if it had been Fazbear Frights that had opened this wound. The problem was, it wasn't like he could get away from it. If he left the house, where could he go? Into town, find a hotel, and stay there while the others continued to dig up secrets?
If that were even an option, it was thrown out when he reminded himself that the only way to leave was to go out those doors and go traipsing into the darkness, with God knows what waiting out there for him. Those woods contained far more than the occasional deer, wolf, or rabbit. He couldn't blame his imagination on what he saw. There was something right here, in this house, and surrounding it, that only meant him harm.
Sighing, Mike continued to check the rooms until he was satisfied he was safe. The house still connected to the mainlines, giving them access to power and water, but they knew they had to use it sparingly. A light in a house very much supposedly abandoned would be a great way to attract the wrong sort of attention.
As he reached downstairs and checked the remaining rooms, Mike went back upstairs to grab his lamp and took it downstairs to the front porch. He stepped outside for a moment and looked around the property, using his flashlight to fight off the darkness.
Mike could feel his own thoughts turning against him, ravaging his mind until it was nothing more than a cesspool of warfare. The idea that he was actually losing his mind hadn't come to him recently; after all, with everything he had seen, had could he remain sane? Now he was standing there in the darkness, looking out for ghosts.
He couldn't shake these demons that had been on his tail. He hardly slept. Whenever he tried, he would hear the screaming, from the moments of his past to the memories of those he failed. How could he win against that?
Squeezing his eyes shut, Mike once more asked himself why he was still there. All of this, all from that damned week he spent. He spent five nights back in that November of 1993 which almost destroyed him. He came back to do it all again so that he could get his ill-fated revenge.
Then he chose to come back to the town which had caused him so much pain and misery just to go right back to it? Any sanity he had left, that week at Fazbear Frights had eliminated it. It had left a bigger wound than he'd thought.
There was no going back, not this time. No second chances. No more trying to be someone else. This thing that had crept into his very soul, which judged him for his past, trapping him in memory after memory…he couldn't escape it when he was awake any more than he could asleep.
His mind went back to that night, the last one he spent at Fazbear Frights. How he'd found his way to his friends and freed them. That night had purpose, but how could anyone understand what he'd done? After what it cost them?
How could he tell them any of it? How could anyone understand?
"I tried, dad." Mike found himself sobbing, "I really did. I tried to be the man you wanted me to be. But I can't change who I am. I'm sorry. I can't."
For the longest time, he wept to himself, knowing that he was well and truly alone. Even once the others had gotten back, he would still be alone and isolated. Knowing that the worst part of situation to be how he had brought it upon himself.
He deserved everything that had come his way and he knew it was just the beginning.
One last chapter and this act will be done. Plan is to get the story finished by the end of February.
TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: I've been trying to get the horror element of this one to where it needs to be. It was, after all, based upon what was supposed to be the scariest game of the series at the time. I'm not sure if I quite got there, but I've got a lot of space between now and the end. These two have tied more into the Nightmares and you can bet that there's a lot more to come. Cross that with the group drama and it's a recipe for disaster.
