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Michael quickly unlocked the door to his run down apartment, tossing his keys aside and double locking the door once he was inside. He peeled his heavy wet coat from his arms and kicked his soggy boots off in the middle of the walkway. He checked the small amount of windows he had, unlocking and locking them again. He finally slumped down onto his rickety couch, exhausted.
Another day at work where he’d put in overtime, and for not much more money than he was already making. He barely had rent this month, barely had anything for food, and was working himself to the bone. He hated his job. Sure, being a mechanic had perks, but when a downpour begins in the middle of the job and your boss wants to keep working, it sucks. Sucks you have to run all the way to your apartment in the rain because you can’t afford a car. Sucks when you have to move from job to job because people start to recognize you. They say, “Hey, you kinda favor that Bunny Killer from a few years back,” and it's all downhill from there. Sure it might be an off handed comment most of the time, but people are nosy and someone might get digging. Someone might find out.
People don’t take kindly to the kin of serial killers. Especially ones who haven’t been caught.
Especially if said kin has also killed someone.
Michael thinks about it every waking moment. He has nightmares every night when he manages to get sleep. The day Casey’s head was crushed. The day he crushed Casey’s head. It seemed like his life had crashed and burned that moment in the hospital, when his father had walked stiffly into the hallway, the heart sinking noise of a flatline echoing off of the stark white walls. His mother was in hysterics. Her heavy black eyeliner ran down her dimpled cheeks and stained her white blouse. She ran to his father, pushing her face into his rather nice suit, balling the lapels into her white-knuckled fists. Michael found himself paralyzed staring at the scene, seeing his father quickly steal a dagger like glance in his direction. It was instant, someone who was a bit less perceptive would have missed it. But Michael knew. They both knew. Michelle, Anthony, and Joanne knew.
Casey knew.
Michael stopped that train of thought by digging for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter from his jeans pocket. His shaky hand managed to open the pack and light one, and he took a rather long drag. He knew thinking like this wasn’t good for him. It was going to get him to do irrational things. He knew he had no one to lean on, so if things got bad again he’d be on his own. His father had skipped town once people started piecing the puzzle together and had begun pointing fingers. He could be anywhere in the world. His mother, much like he had, picked up everything and moved a few states away to start over. She was in California with her side of the family, and from what she’d said she had been slowly healing. She’d even offered him a place to stay more than once, though he was reluctant to take it. He couldn’t do that to her. After everything he’d put her through, and besides, he wasn’t even her real....
He breathed heavily. Stop. Stop thinking. He reached for the remote on the coffee table and ashed his cigarette. Maybe he could watch a couple documentaries to get his mind off things. He set the TV on auto surf and leaned back, not necessarily wanting to see something in particular but wanting background noise to drown out his thoughts. He skipped over a drama he’d recently picked up, he didn’t even feel like watching it tonight. He’d catch a rerun sometime. The TV lingered on a channel showing a commercial for a cologne his father used to wear, almost as if it were taunting him. He sighed deeply again, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray and stood. He made his way to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on his face, even though he was still damp from being in the rain.
He felt dizzy. He braced himself over the sink and squeezed his eyes shut. Everything happened so, so fast. Too fast. Why did it happen like this? Why did he have to lose both of his siblings? They didn’t deserve that. His mother didn’t deserve that. The more he thought about it, the more he thought “It should have been me.” He’d always been the odd one out. He’d always been the one acting out and getting in trouble. He was the one that would never just get along with his siblings. He was the one with the different mother. Maybe they could have been an ideal family had it just been his “mother”, father, Casey and Lizzie.
Or maybe it never would have worked because his father was always evil.
He turned and let himself fall onto the kitchen floor, his back to the cabinet. He remembered the night he had found Gabriel’s novelty sunglasses in his father’s toolbox in the garage. He remembered the confusion, thinking they were Casey’s, until he saw Gabriel’s name scribbled in permanent marker on the back of the arm. He remembered dropping them in a panic, afraid of what his father would do to him if he found him snooping. He remembered throwing up in the bathroom.
The night he pieced together that his father was the Bunny Killer was permanently etched into his mind. He always recalled it like it was yesterday.
He started piecing things together quickly after that. The other cases of missing children at Fredbear’s and later at Freddy Jr.’s and even the ones at New Freddy’s. Casey suddenly flat lining out of nowhere while his father was the only one in the room. Circus Baby’s Pizza world being shut down before it had even opened because of a “gas leak” and Lizzie’s subsequent dissapearence. And all the evidence neatly falling into the laps of local police, pointing straight at Mr. Emily and away from his father.
He didn’t consider himself a smart person, but he felt it was damned obvious what was going on.
Michael breathed deeply again and brushed his messy hair out of his face. He felt so stupid for not figuring it out in time. The clues were all right there. If only he were paying attention…
He looked back over to the TV, which had just flicked off of a music video. He was a mess.... He went through this exact song and dance almost every night. He needed something to do to get his mind off of things. His job wasn’t enough to get him through this anymore. He wondered if maybe he could get in touch with Joanne sometime. She was the only one in his old friend group who had stayed in town. The rest of them had moved on quite a few years ago.
No. He couldn’t do that to her. He’d already put her through enough trouble ten years ago. Maybe he could-
Michael’s thoughts were cut short by the phone ringing.
“Who the hell…?” He murmured to himself, slowly getting off the kitchen floor.
His hand slowly hovered over the gaudy blue plastic hesitantly, as if touching it would hurt him. Finally, he gently pulled it off of the receiver.
“Uh, hello?” He managed.
“Michael. It’s me. I need you to do something for me.”