"So, let me get this straight," Elizabeth pinched her nose, "They put him in prison only because they have no one else to suspect?"
"They're just doing their jobs," Henry reasoned, placing a mug in front of the girl.
"Yeah, well, they're not very good at it," Elizabeth placed her elbow on the table and held her head.
Currently, the entire Emily family was sitting around the table, sipping tea in an attempt to relax. What with the murder and Michael in jail, everyone was on edge.
"I knew that girl in middle school," Evan shook his head, his short, curly mullet following, "She was a year below me. We didn't talk much, but we were both on the academic team."
When Sammy snorted from across the table, Evan grimaced.
"Sam, will you shut up?" Charlie hit her brother's bicep.
"Sorry, sorry! It's just—" he laughed, "I still can't believe you were on the academic team. Not that you aren't smart, but dude, you look like a total basket case."
Red-faced, Evan averted his gaze and leaned back in his chair, "I do not!"
"Bro, you're wearing a grey hoodie over a black AC/DC t-shirt. That's, like, as basket case as you can get," an idea came to him, and he leaned forward on his elbows, "You're like that girl from The Breakfast Club, you'll shake your head and a bunch of dandruff will come out."
As Evan groaned, Charlie and Sammy's mother Alice scolded her son, "Mind your mouth, Samuel, or you'll be grounded."
"You suck!" Evan glared across the table at the teen.
"You too, Evan," Alice warned.
"Sorry, Auntie," he grumbled in return.
Elizabeth clicked her tongue, "At least something interesting was happening."
"Yeah, but now probably isn't the time for an argument," Charlie tapped her chin, "Y'know, I wonder what questions they're asking Michael right now. Why do they need him for a whole night? It can't take that long, can it?"
***
Michael slouched in a metal seat, scanning the walls around him. He assumed the giant mirror to his left was where other officers were watching him like a zoo animal. Staring at his reflection, he had just started fixing his short hair when an officer walked in.
"Mr. Michael Afton, right?" the cop asked, watching the young adult jump and place a hand on his heart.
"Y-yeah, that's me," he exhaled, pushing a piece of his hair back, "I feel like I get a heart attack every few seconds in this place."
"It can be like that," the cop chuckled, "Water? Apple?"
Michael's eyebrows rose as the officer placed the food and drink on the table in front of him, "Oh! Yeah, that would be great, I'm starving. Thank you."
"No problem," she nodded as she sat down, "Alright, before we begin, I want you to be aware of your rights. You have the right to remain silent. If you do say anything, it can be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire. Sound good?"
"Yeah, that's fine. I don't really wanna waste any time looking for a lawyer right now, I just wanna get out of here as soon as possible. I was supposed to go to the arcade with my little brother today," Michael bit into his apple.
"I understand," the officer folded her hands on the table, "My name is Officer Russo, and I'll be conducting this interview today."
"Mm," he hummed in acknowledgement, swallowing a bite of the apple, "I'm Michael, but I guess you already knew that."
"Indeed. You're Michael Afton, son of William Afton. It is my understanding that you are the owner and Chief Executive Officer of Fazbear Entertainment, Incorporated."
"That's right," Michael replied, feeling a bit more awkward.
"You're very young, Michael," the officer commented, "How did you gain these titles?"
He cleared his throat, "Well, my father was co-owner of the company with my uncle—my uncle isn't an uncle by blood, though, my dad and him were best friends. Anyway, when my father died, he addressed a letter to my uncle with his will. He said that, when I turned eighteen, he wanted me to gain ownership of our childhood home and the Fazbear Entertainment franchise. I sold the house, I couldn't live in it after everything that happened, but I decided to accept ownership of the company. I could tell my uncle was exhausted with all the finances and problems and everything. Although he's good at talking with people, he's never been a business man. What he really loves is engineering. He works as the Director of Engineering now."
"Interesting, very interesting," the officer paused for a moment, "So, you say your father died. How did he die? And what happened to you after that?"
"Getting personal, huh?" Michael tugged on the collar of his shirt, "Well, uh, my father...my father committed suicide. Um...yeah. It was...a shock, you could say. Me and my siblings—we had gotten lost while playing outside. We weren't around when it happened, and it—uh—happened because of our absence, I guess."
"You guess?" the officer pried, placing a folder from her lap onto the table.
"Um, yeah. My father was, uh...I mean, I knew he cared for my younger siblings, but me...I dunno. He wasn't the best father to me. Used to hit me whenever I acted out, which only made me act out more. And then get hit more. Sometimes it was a slap, sometimes a punch...my siblings were really young at the time, so it made my little brother afraid of him. My sister pretended it didn't happen at all until we, uh, got lost."
She nodded, "And what happened when you got lost?"
Michael lied through his teeth, a lie he had been telling since they returned from the presumed dead six years ago, "We went in the forest to play, the forest by our old house. We stayed out there until really late. I should've made my siblings go home, but we were all having so much fun, I just...I lost track of time. We wandered around for a while until we came to a road. Someone picked us up, said he would take us home, but after maybe half an hour he stopped the car and blindfolded us. Maybe an hour or two after that we were in his basement and he took the blindfolds off, but he was covered head to toe in black, even his face. For the next eight months he fed us and treated us like his own, but sometimes he would...lash out. Like he changed. I still don't understand it, but he would beat us up, then cry and apologize. The day we made it home, he did that exact thing. But after he beat us up, he decided to let us go—thought we'd finally had enough. I don't think he expected us to make it back home, but we did. We got on public transport, and when the driver saw us, his jaw dropped. Took us straight home, no pay or anything."
"That sounds very traumatizing," the officer said sympathetically.
Michael thought about what really happened, his life with Childe and Kaeya, his brothers, his family.
"Uh, yeah. It was."
"So, I do see in your file it says you were reported missing for eight months," the officer said, "You, and Elizabeth and Evan. 13, 10, and 8. Now 19, 16, and 14, yes?"
"Yep," he smiled, "Lizzie's almost 17. She's always saying that. Wants to grow up too fast, y'know? She's got a lot of passion for the world, but she can't do much right now since she's underage. She wants to be a lawyer when she grows up."
"A lawyer? Interesting," the officer flipped through some pages, "I want to talk about some other things in your file. You began working for the Fazbear Entertainment company when you were 16, yes?"
"Yes," Michael bounced his knee, knowing where the investigation would lead next, "I was 16. One of my best friends convinced me to work there."
"Jeremy Fitzgerald?" she asked cautiously.
"Jeremy Fitzgerald," Michael nodded, biting his lip.
"How close were you and Jeremy?"
Smiling, he recalled his friend fondly, "We were as close as brothers. There were five people in our friend group: Jeremy, me, Alyssa, Frankie, and Parker. Parker became my best friend almost as soon as we met in middle school, but nothing could replace the bond between Jeremy and I. I had known Jeremy since, like, kindergarten. He was always just...there, I guess. So, I didn't really know what to do when he wasn't. I still find myself wanting to call him, but he's...y'know. As mean as we were, Jeremy always had a soft spot for the pizzeria. He loved seeing the kids so happy, and the arcade games were his thing. Even the animatronics he loved. Especially Mangle."
"Is Mangle the one who bit him?"
"Yes," Michael blinked away his tears, "Mangle bit him. She was a part of the 'toy' model of the animatronics. She was supposed to be Foxy, but for some reason the staff thought she'd be better as a take-apart and put-together attraction for the kids. It was before me and Jeremy started working there. I think he liked Mangle the most because he pitied her. He knew she didn't have real emotions, obviously, but he always liked to pretend she did. Not in a weird way—just to make me laugh. From there, it sort of became like the way a child loves a stuffed animal, y'know? It was innocent."
The officer averted her gaze to the folder, "The record says you were there when Jeremy was bit."
"I was. I saw it happen. Something in her programming bugged and she was climbing on walls and going crazy. I rushed everyone out of the building while Jeremy looked for Mangle. But...she found him first. She was climbing on the ceiling, and..." Michael shook his head, "The animatronics had all been bugging out around adults, but since they were normal around kids, the restaurant manager told us not to worry about it. He didn't report it to my uncle, either. After that, I'm sure you know what happened. The restaurant closed and we scrapped the toy models along with their programming. We used to let the animatronics roam around during the day, but now they can only walk freely at night."
"After the incident with Jeremy, you still decided to take ownership of the franchise and manage the newest restaurant. Why didn't you take time off?"
"I thought it would be my fault if that ever happened to someone else," Michael stressed, "I couldn't let that happen. That's why I work the night shift, so even if they do bug out while they're roaming, it'll be me who takes the fall. I mean—I know they won't bug out because they do have new programming that doesn't allow that, but I still get nervous that somehow, because of some hellish miracle..."
The officer nodded, "I understand. But that brings us to now. The murder of Susie, which happened in your restaurant. Would you care to hear the facts?"
"Yes, please," Michael leaned forward, and the officer continued.
"Well, to begin, the body had five stab wounds in the stomach. She is being sent in for an autopsy in a few hours, but the cause of death is predictable. No murder weapon, blood, or fingerprints were found. Our entomology team predicts a postmortem interval of four days. And the security footage from all of Monday was erased."
His eyebrows furrowed, "All of it? That can't be right—you're sure?"
"We're certain, Mr. Afton," the officer said.
"But we're closed on Monday—we're strictly closed. No one works on Monday."
"Precisely. And there are no signs of forced entry," the officer clasped her hands together, "Mr. Afton, whoever planned this murder knew the ins-and-outs of your establishment very well. Do you know of anyone who might've had a key? Or is there a door that could've been open?"
"No—no, there couldn't have been a door open because I locked them all when I left at 10pm on Sunday. On Sundays I always work the closing shift so I can make sure all of the animatronics and electronics are powered down for the day off."
"Is there anyone other than you that has a key?" the officer wondered.
"Just me and my—my uncle..." Michael quickly reached for a lie, "But he said he lost it a week or two ago."
"That might be our answer, Mr. Afton," the officer stood, "Thank you for participating in this investigation. You've been a big help. You may spend the rest of the night in your holding cell, and you will be released at 10am. Okay?"
"Okay," Michael spoke, somewhat ignoring the officer. Now, he was thinking about Henry. No sign of break-in—perhaps he did leave a door open? But only Henry had another key. Michael knew he himself was innocent, but there was no way he could be sure that his uncle was. But why would Henry do such a thing? He was a kind, honest man. He was a father.
Even if Henry committed the murder, Michael knew there was only one way to keep his family safe. The cops were on their tail now, but Michael had a plan. He just had to get through one more night.