I stared at the gooey mess before me, waiting for more to come out. However, I think that's all I have left. I don't even remember the last time I ate — let alone what I've done over the past couple of days — because of the recent events.
"Do you feel better now?" a voice asked. I looked to my right to see Gabriel kneeling at my level on the grassy floor. His face displayed a questionable concern for me, which told a story about his protectiveness and willingness to reach out and help. They may be spirits, but at least they have a personality to them. All except the girl, of course, about whom I have no clue or background information.
I smiled in response as I stood, wiping the mushy, wet dirt from my hands that left a dark impression.
"Yes, I'm alright now," I said. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have worried you like that."
"It's okay! as long as you're fine now!" Fritz said with a chuckle. I chuckled as well, along with the others. It felt good to finally laugh again. When was the last time...
Robin...
Immediately, I could feel the smile wiped off my face as the images of Robin cut to him smiling and laughing, to his head being torn off gruesomely.
Was it my fault he's dead?
If I hadn't told him the story, would he be alive and breathing today?
Did I put a target on his back unintentionally?
Maybe when I tell others the same story, they get cursed. Perhaps they have a robot designed to keep the secrets of the pizzeria.
So it really was my FAULT. WHY do I DESTROY EVERYTHING I come across?
Am I really a Murderer? JUST like MY FATHER??? WHY?! WHY ME?!
SOMEONE ANSWER ME PLEASE!
I NEED ANSWERS!
IS EVERYTHING MY FAULT?!
I'M SORRY!
I'M SORRY!
I'M SORRY!
"Michael!" a voice shouted, snapping me out of my trance. I realized I was breathing abnormally, and my heart was beating itself to death. The source of the voice was Jeremy, who held my hand. As well as the girl, Fritz, and Gabriel.
Were they trying to calm me down?
"It's okay, Michael," Gabriel spoke with a soft voice. "It's not your fault." My breathing became steady as the words came out.
The softness of the children's hands calmed me in a way I couldn't explain. The children slowly pushed me down to the grassy floor, making me sit down to calm down, which was proving to be successful.
"I don't know who Robin is, but it wasn't your fault that he died, I know it," Gabriel said. "I know you wouldn't kill him because he seemed so precious to you, just like my friends are."
I nodded in response, listening to him speak.
"Everything will be alright, okay," Fritz said, flashing a slight smile. "After all, we need you, Michael."
"It's only a nightmare. Soon we'll be set free." Jeremy said.
Tears welled up in my face as the boy's words comforted me—something I never had in my life. I didn't cry, I wailed.
Why were these children so kind to me? Do they know I'm related to their killer?
After everything I've been through in life, they were the only ones who understood me. It is worth saving them—to salvage what innocence remained.
"Wake up, Michael..."
---
"Michael! Wake up!" A voice shouted, shaking me awake. I was back at the pizzeria, with Pat looking down on me with concern.
"Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?" Pat asked, extending his hand forward, which I took, assisting me up on the ground. "More importantly, why are you crying?" I brushed the dust off my pants and wiped the tears Pat pointed out.
"I'm not sure, I just passed out and the next thing, I was on the floor. But why was I crying? I don't know," I replied. Pat scanned my face, as if he was trying to detect any lies coming from me. He eventually sighed and patted the side of my shoulder, flashing a smile.
"At least you're alright," Pat said, walking past me.
"Um... If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here?" I asked. Pat squatted down to the floor, observing it closely.
"I always come back to the scene to look for more clues. Most detectives gave up cases like this, but there's always something connected, especially with Freddy's locations." Pat replied, swiping his index finger on the dusty tile floor and mixing it with his thumb, crumbling to the floor. "And those involved always come back to the scene of the crime—to get rid of evidence, per se."
"Well, I definitely didn't do anything that my monster of a father did. I don't even think I would even make it past the thought of it..." I crossed my arms to comfort myself—brief moments of the piled-up dead bodies flashed across my mind.
"Please..." I whispered. "Stop..."
"We ruled you out of the picture already. Some of the bodies are dated years ago, some of them were skeletons after all." Pat said, his voice cutting me to reality. Pat took a deep breath before standing, took a brief look at me, and then he smiled.
"So, you don't even have to be worried about being guilty!" Pat said enthusiastically with his smile growing wider.
Judging by his expression, it seemed like I didn't seem to be keen on that revelation. I mean, my father did tell me it was my fault my brother died. With that in mind, could it also be possible that it was my fault that all those people died?
Because I killed my brother?
A sudden screech sound interrupted my thoughts; it was only Pat moving a chair back to sit on. Pat waved his hand forward, signaling me to sit down with him without saying a single word.
I acknowledged the gesture and sat down in front of him. Pat maintained eye contact as he crossed his fingers and looked intently at me—searching for answers.
"So, let's go back to what I had asked earlier. One at a time, of course, it seemed overwhelming asking you those questions all at once," Pat said, his face replaced with a serious expression.
"Why were you on the floor?" I stared blankly into Pat's face as he asked the question, unable to speak.
What should I say?
Would he really believe me if I told him the truth?
Pat sighed and reached into his coat pocket, pulling a sealed manila envelope and opening it. Two papers were placed in front of me. They were photos.
Photos of the animatronic that killed Robin. Pat sat forward, keeping eye contact.
"I labelled you a liar once we discovered this robot in the backstage room. You know, you could've been in jail if it weren't for this blood-covered robot being in that room," Pat said, tapping the photos.
"That's why we ruled you out, because this robot saved your ass. Now tell me, Michael, was this the robot that killed your friend?"
I didn't know what to do now that he figured out it was really the robot who killed Robin. I mean, it was typical for a detective since they specialized in discovering things.
"Michael, you don't need to lie to me. I'm a friend, not an enemy," Pat said, interrupting my thoughts. "I can see you tapping your finger nervously on the table. Do not be afraid and answer the question."
I glanced at my index finger, which was indeed tapping on the table rather quickly. I stopped and placed my hands on my lap.
I took a deep breath. I might as well tell the truth.
"Yes, it did. I saw it that day when you came to see me," I nodded.
Pat sat back down and reached into his coat pocket again, taking out a pen and a small notebook this time. He scribbled in his notebook—most likely writing down responses or questions.
"Good," Pat said. "We're off to a good start."
I looked away, unable to look at the photos of the animatronic any longer. If I did, I would throw up again.
"Oh, sorry, let me take this away from you." Pat took the photos away and carefully inserted them in the envelope, sealing it.
"Now, telling me the truth, what were you doing on the floor?"
I became nervous with my lips feeling drier than the Sahara Desert and my head becoming lightheaded. All this time, I felt like I couldn't speak about what I've been going through. I held it all in like water in a dam.
I began to answer Detective Pat's questions. Why was it on the floor...Why was I crying... The children... The imposter Golden Freddy... all of it.
The dam broke, and all the secrets spilled out into the dry mountain below.
I couldn't hold my emotions and began to cry. Probably more than I ever had. After a very long time, I calmed down, and Pat had more than enough information about the situation.
However, some things are better left forgotten, for now.
Finally, Pat closed the notebook and placed it back in his coat along with his pen, clicking it back into its respective place. Pat then looked at me and smiled.
"I thank you for your cooperation and honesty, Michael. Things like this could help me, and you wouldn't know it. I will say you have experienced something not many people have, and your strength in telling the truth is what helps prevent others from doing so," Pat said. He stood up from the chair and straightened his jacket.
"In this case, I would not come back here anymore. I mean, you have no need to keep risking your livelihood, let alone your academics, as they are your source for this cruel world we live in." Pat took a small card out of his jacket and swiped it forward in front of me on the dust-covered table.
"If you need help, whether it's financial or any more clues, just call this number."
I took the card and read the contents. The front displayed the words "San Jose Police Department" with their signature badge symbol. The bottom stated in red words "homicide unit." The back of the card included a number with the name and title as "Matrick Patterson, Detective." I was a little impressed by how neat it looked.
Pat walked across the table, reaching where I was sitting. He placed his hand on my shoulder and smiled.
"You're only fifteen, you should be living, not dying," Pat said, before heading off to the exit.
Taking in those words, I forgot what I was truly doing at the pizzeria in the past nights, but now I know it isn't about money or pride. It was fate that guided me to this very moment. It was to rid of the blood-stained memories that filled the twisted pizzeria my father created.
I will save them.
---
As I reached the apartment room the college provided temporarily, I began to inspect the rest of the items the police searched. All the tapes and the VHS player were untouched, which was lucky for me. I took the VHS player and its accessories and plugged it into the modern TV in the bedroom of the apartment. After a few minutes of troubleshooting, I managed to get the player to display that familiar blue screen with the bold words "Play" in the corner of the screen.
With that completed, I emptied my security vest, which contained the tape. Remembering, the tape had the words "consequences" written on white tape. I took the rest of the tapes and placed them on the bed. If I put them all in the order of when I found them, it wouldn't make sense grammatically. But if I put them in correct order, "Being A Snooper Has Consequences" makes sense rather than "Snooper Being A Consequences."
Is it code for something? Maybe it's a secret message of some sort? Either way, it's important for something.
I didn't want to spend much time trying to figure it out. Instead, I grabbed the "Consequences" tape and walked to the VHS player, plugging the tape in. I dragged the sofa couch nearby and placed it in front of the TV, waiting for the screen to play another memory.
The VHS player whirred and churned until the blue screen disappeared and the bold white word "Play" blinked...