Chapter Text
It was 1:37pm when Michael received the call. Prior to the interruption, he lay in his bed, snoring and drooling into the pillow below. When the ringtone chimed in his ear, he choked on his breath.
"What—!" he coughed, "Aw, shit—"
Michael ripped the phone off of the wall, the cord pushing a few small papers off of his nightstand, "Ev, is that you? Am I late? Sorry, I just—"
Someone on the other line cut him off, and he shifted to sit upright.
"Oh. Hey—hello Mr. Olowe. Is something wrong? What's going on?"
Listening intently to the man in the phone, Michael's eyes widened, "No—no, that's impossible. How?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, "I—Okay. Okay—I'll be there in a minute."
At 1:41pm, Michael Afton left his small apartment in what was, prior to this moment, a quiet town. He raced with the time on his watch: 1:48pm. He had an hour and some spare time before he was supposed to pick up his brother from school. How was he supposed to deal with something like this in only an hour?
He arrived at the pizzeria at 1:59pm, the smiling faces on the Freddy Fazbear's sign taunting him. He rushed towards the doors of the building, but was promptly stopped by two police officers.
"Where do you think you're goin', kid?" a man said to him, "We've got an active scene going, so scram."
Michael glared at him, "I'm the owner of this place. The sheriff called me here. Can I go in now?"
"Afton's kid?" the other cop snorted, "Shoulda' known, you look just like him. Better hope you don't inherit his attitude too, heh."
His cheeks burned and his nostrils flared, but he said nothing.
"I need to see some ID, sir," the first cop said.
"Sure," Michael fumbled in his pockets for his driver's license. When he showed the cop his identification, the man stepped by to let him through with a scoff. Normally, Michael would be annoyed by that small offense, but he did not have the time to care today.
"Fritz!" he sprinted across the black and white checkered floor and onto the colorful carpet of the party room.
The trembling teenager glanced up at him, "Mike!"
Michael grabbed his shoulders, "Fritz, man, are you okay? You're not hurt?"
"N-no, I'm fine, but that girl..." Fritz let out a shaky breath, "I-I was just trying to find an extra Bonnie head for later tonight, in the old storage room, so I could switch it out after we closed—he was starting to look a little dirty—but i-it...it smelled horrible. And it was dark, and I—there was a foot in the corner, but...I never thought—"
"Okay, Fritz—"
"And I can't just stop caring for my siblings, they need me but—this is just—" he sniffled, "What am I supposed to do, Mike?"
"Just calm down, okay?" Michael looked him in the eyes earnestly, "I'm gonna figure everything out, don't worry about a thing. Once these assholes give you the go ahead, run straight home, alright?"
Fritz swallowed, pushing down his fears, "What about you? This stuff—it's—it's heavy..."
He chuckled, "I can handle it, man. Take care of yourself, okay? I should go see what's really happening here, as much as I don't want to..."
Despite the horror of the situation, Fritz giggled bitterly, "Thanks, boss man. Um—let me know how things go?"
"Mhm," he nodded, flashing Fritz his signature 'everything is going to be fine' smile. In truth, he was just as terrified as his employee was, but someone needed to hold it all together. Michael would be the rock until he finally cracked. But he promised himself that would come later rather than sooner.
As he walked to the storage room, Michael glanced back at Fritz; he was biting his nail, boring his gaze into the carpet of the party area. Fritz and Jeremy were nothing alike, but Michael could see his dead friend in Fritz's eyes—Jeremy, his friend since kindergarten. Jeremy and him worked together before Michael took ownership of the new establishment in 1988. Back then, his uncle Henry was his boss, and Jeremy and Michael were two young employees. The two delinquents had many a memory together in the old establishment, but everything came to an end when Mangle bit Jeremy in 1987. Not long after, the restaurant closed due to his death. Deep inside, Michael found himself worrying that Fritz had suffered a similar fate. He was relieved to see the teen did not.
At 2:17pm, he walked cautiously up to the sheriff, who discussed the scene with another cop. The other cop noticed Michael walking up to the man and motioned for him to turn around.
The sheriff folded his arms as he turned, "Hello, Mr. Afton."
"Hi, Mr. Olowe," Michael coughed anxiously, sticking his hand out to the man, "Nice to see you again."
Scoffing, the sheriff took his hand, "On the contrary. We see each other too often, Michael Afton."
Michael's face flushed, "Right. Sorry. Anyway—so...what happened?"
"Did Mr. Fritz not fill you in? I saw you talking with him just now," Mr. Olowe raised an eyebrow.
Michael shook his head, "Yeah, but he's pretty shaken up. His story isn't really coherent. I mean, I got the gist—dead girl in the storage room—is it really true?"
"I'm afraid so," the sheriff sighed, "A young girl, can't be much younger than your brother Evan."
A shiver ram down Michael's spine, "Y-yeah."
"We believe she's a girl named Susie, who was reported missing last week. We haven't done an official autopsy yet, of course, but by the looks of it, it seems she died from exsanguination—" he glanced at Michael's confused brows, "—meaning she lost too much blood. Five stab wounds in the ventral side of her body, her stomach."
"Jesus Christ," Michael ran a hand through his hair.
"My thoughts exactly," Mr. Olowe crossed his arms and turned to look at the open storage room door. Just past the frame was a body covered in a white sheet, but it was blocked from their view by a wall. Police rushed in and out of the room, collecting whatever evidence they could. Raising a hand to his chin, Mr. Olowe continued in a hushed voice, "If I'm being honest with you, Mr. Afton, I don't believe this is the killer's first crime. I took a few criminal profiling and behavioral analysis courses a little while back. Based on what we observed, it seems like this killer knows what he's doing. The scene was completely cleaned up—no shoe tracks, no fingerprints, not even a trace of blood. The body was positioned perfectly in the corner so that whoever had the misfortune of entering the room next would see a tiny bit of the body, but have to step closer to see the full scene. When they did so, they would be shocked by the image of a dead young girl. It's almost like the killer was trying to taunt someone."
"But who would do that? And why?" Michael shook his head, "It's insane."
"Seems like the poor girl put up a fight, too. Whoever did this knew exactly where to take her so no one could hear her thrashing and screaming."
The 19-year-old didn't respond. Michael scrunched his eyes closed, trying to process the information he just heard. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Mr. Olowe was watching him.
"Mr. Afton, what were you talking to your employee about?" the sheriff questioned, his demeanor becoming snippy.
"Huh?" Michael turned to face Mr. Olowe completely, "I just wanted to see if he was okay. You remember what happened to Jeremy Fitzgerald. He was my friend. I didn't want to see something like that happen again—not that this is any better, of course, but still."
"You were talking to him for quite a while," Mr. Olowe pushed the conversation onward.
"Yeah, because he's totally freaked out. And who can blame him?" Michael defended, "He dropped out of school to help his mom take care of his siblings. He's working two jobs right now. He's already so stressed out, and now, he just discovered a murder. I think I would wanna talk about that, too. It's terrifying."
"I understand that, Mr. Afton," he narrowed his eyes, searching for any guilt in the young adult's face, "Now, Mr. Afton, I am going to need you to comply with some preliminary measures."
He stepped away from the man, "Preliminary what?"
"You're prime suspect number one right now," Mr. Olowe pulled handcuffs from his jacket, "We need to take you in for the night and do an investigation. If everything goes well, we'll have you out in the morning."
"Wait, I'm supposed to pick up my little brother from school today. It's already—" Michael glanced at the clock, "2:42. He gets out at 3:00."
"You can call someone from the police station to go get him. It's not far," Mr. Olowe lifted the handcuffs, "Wrists, please."
Rolling his eyes, Michael lifted his wrists, "Fine. But don't think I'm guilty just because I'm complying."
"Complying is a good sign that you're innocent, Mr. Afton," the sheriff clipped the cuffs onto him, "Let's get you back to the station."
"Oh, great," Michael sassed, his eyes rolled far back in his head.
As they walked towards the front door, the two caught Fritz's eye. He spun around to them, staring at Michael with a look of horror.
"Mike...?" Fritz's shoulders slumped, his eyes wide.
"Hey, I told you I'd figure everything out, right?" Michael smiled, kind and warm, "It's just preliminary questioning. Everything is fine, Fritz. I'll be back soon."
As he gazed into Fritz's fearful eyes, his heart broke. He knew that, even though he would be released tomorrow, he needed to talk to someone else before he could come back to the restaurant. Someone who would know what to do.
"That kid really relies on you," Mr. Olowe opened the front door for Michael, "I hope you haven't let him down."
"I'm not going to," Michael narrowed his eyes, "I don't care how much you think I might've done this, I didn't. And I'll make sure we find out who did. For Fritz, and for that little girl back there. Susie?"
"Susie," the sheriff nodded, "Get in the car, Mr. Afton."
As furious as he was, Michael climbed into the car. It was 2:48pm. Time was ticking down, and he still had to tell his uncle the news.
At 2:54pm, they arrived at the police station. Michael walked in briskly, led by Mr. Olowe. When he got into the holding cell, Mr. Olowe let him free of the handcuffs and locked him inside.
As Michael rubbed his wrists, the man spoke, "You have one free phone call before we interview you. After the interview, you can call whoever you want whenever you want, but it will be a collect call on their expense. Am I clear?"
"Crystal, sir," Michael replied sarcastically. Although the sheriff narrowed his eyes, he said nothing and walked away.
His eyes followed the sheriff, then ran along the walls of the holding cell. He always thought he would be put in here as a teenager, not after he graduated high school.
"This sucks..." he muttered to himself, "Alright, then."
He dialed his uncle's landline and sat through the cacophony of ringing. When Henry picked up, Michael sighed.
"Hey, Uncle Henry," he greeted tiredly.
"Oh! Hello, Mike. Is everything okay? You remember you're supposed to get Evan today, right? Did you figure out which arcade you want to take him to yet?"
"Yeah, about that..." Michael rubbed his neck, "I'm really sorry, but can you pick him up? I'm kind of, um, in prison."
"What?! Michael Afton, you explain what's going on right now, mister!"
He winced at his uncle's yelling, "I didn't do anything, okay? It's just preliminary measures, the cops said. There was...a murder...at the restaurant. Fritz found the body. Some girl named Susie, apparently not much younger than Ev."
"Oh...no..." Michael could hear his uncle slowly processing his words, "But...I don't understand—if you didn't do anything, then why are you in jail?"
"Well, Mr. Olowe said I'm prime suspect number one. I guess it's probably because I own the place? I dunno. But it's crazy—they said she was reported missing some time last week, and I had no idea. Now that I'm working the night shift, I don't really go into the storage room anymore. That's where she was."
"Disgusting..." Henry sighed, "Who would do such a thing?"
"I have no idea. I'm trying to think, our town isn't that big, but I just...can't figure it out. A-anyway, they said if everything goes well that they'll release me tomorrow morning. So, hopefully, I don't screw it up," Michael snickered bitterly.
"Mike, this is not something to joke about," Henry scolded half-heartedly, "I can pick you up tomorrow if you'd like. And I'll leave to get Evan now."
"Thanks, Uncle. You're the best," he smiled into the phone.
"Of course. Be safe, Mike. I love you."
Michael swallowed a lump in his throat, "I love you, too."
Slowly, he hung the phone back on the wall. As the oldest sibling, he was used to being the one taking care of everyone else. People relied on him, and after everything he had done, he was glad they did. Now, however, he felt like he returned to square one. When he returned to Earth all those years ago, he vowed to clean up his act for his younger siblings. How did he end up in prison?
"Mr. Afton," the sheriff knocked on the bars, "You ready?"
"Yup," he sighed, running a hand down his face, "Let's get this over with."
"A good attitude goes a long way, Mr. Afton."
Michael pursed his lips. Of course it did.