"The whole thing's goin' down."
William stood, fists clenching, in front of the entrance of his last restaurant, with his only son behind him, who stared into the distance. The streets were empty and drops started top splash down from the dark, gloomy sky, taunting him.
The health inspector, who was holding a clipboard with an expressionless face, wrote down something on the bottom of his papers, but William couldn't see it. He held back a growl.
"You can't possibly be serious," William moaned, looking away. "What made this happen?!"
There was a snip, and then William saw the inspector holding a pink slip of paper, looking at him with dull eyes. He grabbed it quickly, and looked at it thoroughly. The health inspector gave William a sigh, and then gave him another smaller paper that contained a phone number.
William just stood there, staring at the paper while his worries rose, and the inspector tipped his black hat to the manager, walking silently away.
Out of the corner of his eye, Michael looked at him seriously, and William suppressed the urge to snap at him. Crumbling up the paper as he shoved it in his pocket, he walked to his car, Michael following behind quietly. The wind blew against the manager, threatening him to fall down, but he kept going.
"What now?" William caught the words right before he opened the door to his car and glanced back to Michael. He opened his mouth to tell his son his discovery, but it caught in his throat, and he pushed it to the back of his mind.
He got in his car, Michael entering a few moments after him, and they both were quiet for the rest of the trip home.
~~~~~~~~~~
His room looked nothing like it was about a year ago, and William wished that none of what happened, happened.
His bed, against one wall, was drowning in tissues, paper, and . . . who knows what. His closet on the opposite side was wide open, only half of his clothes present. His precious desk, though, across the door, was clean, except for the piles of papers next to it, and pinned up on the wall.
He went slowly towards the desk, the lamp on the cabinet next to it bright and blinding. He gracefully fingered through the layers of papers hung up, studying each one in turn.
He finally found the one of the three papers he was looking for. The one about his youngest son's death.
Resisting the urge to cry insanely, he skimmed through the lines of the yellow paper, memories flashing back at him coldly.
The taunting . . . I was there. In the back room . . .
What's that sound? Crying? It can't be Sammy . . .
His thoughts zoomed out of control, each scene escaping his grasp. One stood boldly out of all of it.
Michael!
He slammed the papers on the desk, upside down, and immediately started to finger the looming papers above him again.
Zip! The next paper he grabbed down tore at the top, but he didn't notice. His only daughter's death was noted, and he remembered the conversation he had with Michael. He didn't say much, but he knew what he meant. She's alive.
He put the paper down again, searching for the final paper in the same place.
He didn't see it.
William bounded towards the closet, pulling back boxes with older papers in it, containing drawings. He dug through the heavy mound and finally found the last stack of papers.
The deaths of every child he found.
Looking through them once more, he noticed something he hadn't seen before, even if it was completely obvious.
He did notice the presence of something in the animatronics before. . .
He took out the pink slip he had crumpled earlier that day in his pocket, and looked at it once more.
"Health concerns," it read.
It's working! William triumphantly thought, grinning.
I can save him.
============================
End of Blue Route
(and new Book One)
YOU ARE READING
FNaF Origins | The Crying Child
FanfictionTwo families, living and working their lives through pizzeria restaurants, faces death as one man ruins everyone's happiest day. This book is based off of the FNaF series (Made by Scott Cawthon). It was made in 2016, and has outdated theories-so bew...
