Chapter Text
Gradually, Michael and I separated. The furnace turned on and the ambient sound of forced air filled the vacated space between us. My eyes studied the box. It was filthy on the outside with streaks of dirt and oil covering the cardboard. There were fingerprints among the smudges, and I wondered how many were Michael's and how many were William's. My stomach curdled at the reminder. We weren't out of the woods yet.
"What's our first step?"
"You still can't leave the house."
Michael doesn't say it like it's law, more like an obstacle to overcome. There was no way I would let myself step aside this time, but it was going to require some creativity. Over the last week since I was placed on leave, I noticed a cruiser on my block every night. Whether they were just passing by or parked outside my house, the message was clear: we're watching. I shake my head, "technically, no. They just can't see me leave the house."
"What're you suggesting?" Michael asked with the first spark of amusement I'd seen all night. It felt good to be in motion.
"I'm suggesting you smuggle me out of here," I answer. When Michael looks unsure, I tell him about the surveillance. I can see the idea begin to take root as I deliver my final reassurance. "If we time it right, they won't even know I'm gone."
I see Michael's jaw tick as he weighed my plan. He shakes his head, "it could work, but what if they decide to knock on your door to make sure you're still home?"
"So what if they do?"
The question hangs like a noose between us. My gaze doesn't waver, even as my nerves tremble at the thought. I could see it in Michael's face when I first suggested sneaking out, how far he was willing to dig this grave. The pushback wasn't for his sake, but I refused to believe it was for mine either. All that mattered was Fredbear's and the answers it held. Recognition gleams in the silver depths of his eyes. We would burn for this, together.
Michael gives in with a sigh. "There's always someone on watch at Fredbear's too. I could bring you through the back, but that means you have to ride in the back of the van. If they see you, it's over."
I finally allow myself to smile at that, "do you often give pretty girls a ride in the back of your van?"
Michael chuckled at that, the sound deep in his chest. He shook his head with a smile still warming his lips, "only if they're crazy enough to accept."
"When should we go?"
Michael stretched his neck from one side to the other as he responded, but I didn't hear it. I'm ashamed to admit that I found myself watching Michael again. His medium length hair was tousled from hours spent pulling on the strands in frustration. The purple bruises under his eyes, the faintest hint of stubble on his jaw. The long column of his throat, the skin lit golden by the lamp light - and there. At the intersection where his neck met his shoulder, the skin was bruised and irritated. Partially healed, teeth-like tears in his flesh smiled back at me, as if daring me to remember.
"Where'd you get that?" I ask quietly, my eyes never leaving his neck. We're close enough on the couch that I feel the moment Michael goes completely still. The furnace cuts out in the background, and the silence narrows my focus to whatever comes next. Michael's throat bobbed as he swallowed.
"You bit me."
Michael's gaze lingers on my mouth for a moment, and it breaks the levee holding back the memories in my mind. The first night I broke into Fredbear's, the fear and sweat while running from him, the weight of his arm across my throat, the taste of his blood on my tongue and the tenor of his groan, the Foxy mask. I should be afraid. Instead, I felt relieved.
"Why?" And I'm not sure if it's a question for me or him. Michael's eyes never leave my face. Instead, they remain, almost like they're memorizing my features just in case. I think about the fear I felt the first time he broke into my house. Then the nails on my windowsill and the blanket tucked safely around me. "Why..."
"I wasn't trying to hurt you," Michael confesses, his voice pitched low and soft. "I was trying to stop you."
The stolen article and the planted evidence. The night Daryll pulled me off the route, had Michael heard that? I wanted to know why, but the next thing Michael says only leaves me wondering how.
"If I'd known it was you," he added, even softer now. "I would've done things differently."
The confession knocks the wind from my lungs, and I want to be angry. Yet realization settles over me like a layer of glue, and no matter how I try to wipe it away, it sticks. At every fork in the road I could’ve let these buried secrets rest. Instead, I chose to dig deeper. The box on the table was a physical reminder that all of this was never mine to find. Michael brought it to me.
I pull my eyes away from the bite and lock them with Michael's. He doesn't flinch away, instead he waits for me to come to my own decision. If Michael wanted to hurt me, he could've. I had no problem putting my trust in him before, so I decided to extend that trust one more time.
"We go tonight."
-
For our plan to work, Michael had to make a show of leaving for the officer assigned to watch my house. He would come back after midnight and wait for me in the tree line behind my house, then we'd walk together to where he hid the van. Foolproof, in theory.
In practice, things tend to not go as planned. I was in my room, picking out the darkest clothing I have to change into when my cell phone started ringing. I snatched it off my bedside table when I saw the caller ID. "Michael? What's wrong?"
"Someone just pulled into your driveway."
"What?" I ask breathless. Immediately I feel my awareness sharpen as I creep down the hallway from my room to the living room window. I don't immediately recognize the car, but my heart sinks when the driver steps out. With each step my former Lieutenant takes up the frozen driveway my anxiety rises. I whisper into the microphone, "stay quiet, I'm going to put you in my pocket."
There's a series of knocks on my door and I take my time answering it, breathing deeply to settle my nerves in hopes of not looking guilty. Daryll isn't smiling when I pull back the door, instead he looks over my head like he was expecting someone else to be inside. I look over my shoulder, then back at him before asking, "it's a little late for a visit, don't you think?"
The hard expression on his face doesn't soften as he pushes his way inside. I protest, but there's no way for me to stop him without appearing more suspicious. When satisfied with his sweep of my living room, Daryll turns on me with thunder in his eyes. "What's it going to take for you to finally stay the fuck away?"
I'm not someone who scares easy, it's a large part of why I've been able to do this job for as long as I have. But any woman in my position would feel the immediate instinct to put as much space as physically possible between themselves and an angry man. My knees wobble as I side step to position the couch and coffee table as obstacles between us, my eyes never leaving his. Luckily, my voice is steady when I reply. "I haven't left my house, as instructed."
"Don't be cute," Daryll warns, "I know the Afton boy was here today. What are you hoping to find in that basement?"
My heart stops cold in my chest at that. "How did you know about the basement?"
"I warned you," Daryll laughed once without humor. “I told you someone would notice. Fazbear Entertainment didn’t die with the Aftons. Did you think William was able to do what he did without the help of the Police Department?"
Logically I knew he couldn't, but I'd been so focused on one thing that I never gave it more thought. Images of the newspaper clippings after Charlotte's death came to the front of my mind and I felt my stomach turn. Her murder was ruled an accident. I try to regain control of this confrontation, although I knew it was lost from the start. "You still didn't answer my question."
Daryll's eyes tighten with rage, "if you don't cut contact with Michael, you're going to end up just like your Mother."
There's the faintest creak of wood from somewhere deeper in my house, but Daryll doesn't seem to hear it as he steps around my obstacles to close the distance between us. He's inches from my face when he promises, "I'll make sure of it."
"You killed her." I accuse, voice trembling with barely contained panic. Daryll shakes his head. "No, but I bet she wishes I had."
There's two louder creaks now, like footsteps. Daryll still doesn't appear to hear them, because he turns away from me and strides towards the door. His hand rests on the door knob for a moment like he has more to say, but instead he only shakes his head and leaves without a backward glance. When the door clicks shut behind him I let out a shuddering breath, like the sobs I'd been holding in were fighting to come out all at once. I remembered the phone in my pocket and fumbled for it, my feet carrying me back to the sanctuary of my room.
I hold the speaker up to my ear as I walk. "Are you still there, Michael?"
"Yes, I'm here."
The voice on the other end of the phone sounded louder than I expected, a fact that quickly made sense as I stepped into my bedroom. Standing just beside the doorframe was Michael in full black attire, tensed like he was ready to pounce on Daryll at a moments notice. Cool air from the open window nips at my nose. Our eyes meet and instantly the tears welling in my eyes decide to spill over.
Michael freezes, like he wasn't expecting this reaction from me. Hot shame burns my cheeks as I step around him to snatch my outfit from where I'd left it on the bed. The tears won't stop now, so through gritted teeth I tell him, "this changes nothing. They can lock me up for life, I don't care."
"I agree..."
Michael's voice is like dagger tucked in a sheath, reserved yet full of promise. I meant to change in the bathroom, to hide away and let the tears fall freely. Instead, I feel the distribution of weight on the wooden floor shift as Michael steps closer. The scent of him wraps itself around me and the heat from his body warms my back as I stare down at the black fabric in my hands. The tears dry, leaving salty tracks across my skin. The tremor in his hands is nearly imperceivable when they land softly on my hips, grounding me while my heart flies from my chest. Michael leans in, voice low and blasphemous in my ear, "but I won't let them touch you."
His words are like a shot of whiskey, pooling heat in the pit of my stomach. I allow myself to relax into his touch, leaning my back against his front as his thumbs make circles against my skin. Michael's lips ghost over my neck, close enough to feel but not daring to taste. It's agony, so I step away before he can completely unravel me. My cheeks are flushed with a different emotion when I turn and look up at him. The witty line poised to fly from my lips is grounded when I meet the hunger in his eyes. I swallow, "I need to get changed now."
The corner of his mouth ticks upward, but otherwise he doesn't move. "Go ahead."
I tear my eyes away from his lips, reeling in my desire. This wasn't the place for it. Michael lifts my face back to him, his eyes sharp as they drink me in. "I'll wait for you in the living room."
"Okay," I answer automatically, temporarily mesmerized by his gaze. Michael kisses my forehead before finally stepping away from me, shutting my bedroom door softly behind himself.