Five Nights At Freddy's

Chapter Six: The Wrong Man

As though drunk, Mike staggered out of the pizzeria, his feet falling heavy with exhaustion.  He stopped dead in front of his car where a tall figure stood leaning against the hood.  The man looked up from the pavement at Mike, painting a thin smile. 
"Mike Schmidt?" He asked.  Mike cocked his head.  He knew that voice. 
"Anonymous?" The man's smile deepened, revealing his yellowing teeth. 
"Please, call me Jeremy." 
"Jeremy..." Mike repeated, "... as in... Jeremy Fitzgerald?"  Jeremy straightened, impressed. 
"Wow, I knew you'd be the right fit for the job but... I never imagined you'd be this good," he stammered, removing his black shades to reveal a pair of light grey eyes.  His sandy hair rustled in the wind gently like straw and his skin looked like it hadn't see the sun in years underneath his black coat.  Mike furrowed his brow, exhaustion clogging his thoughts. 
"It's... um... it was the name tag that was stuck to my... uh..." Mike gestured to his badge.  Recognition flashed across Jeremy's face. 
"Ah," he agreed, lifting himself from the hood of Mike's car.  He gestured to the passenger side, inviting Mike along for a ride in his own vehicle.  The oddity of this didn't escape him, even in his tired state.  "Shall we?" 
"Where are we going?" Mike demanded sleepily, "I've had a hard night, I want to get some rest." 
"I can imagine," Jeremy agreed, drifting to the driver's side, "I'd love to hear the details on the way." 
"On the way where?" 

The diner was a grease trap a few minutes away from the pizzeria where mostly truckers and passing travelers stopped briefly to get some gas and drinks before heading off to their true destination.  Jeremy, it seemed, was not fond of the idea of either of them being recognized.  Mike noticed that he moved with calculation before executing anything and examined everything as though it were a complicated physics problem.  The two of them sat in a booth along a window where Jeremy could see both outside parking lot and the entrance.  Mike sat awkwardly across from him, trying his very best to keep his heavy eyelids from closing.  Jeremy watched the doorway as they drank their beverages, a black coffee for him and an orange juice for Mike who felt like death warmed over. 
"Alright Anonymous, what's going on exactly?" Mike managed, a bitter note to the ends of his words.  Jeremy sighed, relaxing as though satisfied with their level of discreetness. 
"I'm sure you've noticed that something's wrong with the pizzeria." 
"I'll say," Mike scoffed, "I could have died last night."
"Keep your voice down," Jeremy commanded urgently.  "What have you found so far?" 
"Not much," Mike admitted bashfully, "I was a little preoccupied with trying to stay alive."  Jeremy sipped his coffee patiently.  Mike sighed, "I have the name Jeremy Fitzgerald, the fact that the whole restaurant is operating completely out of code, and something called 'the bite of '87'." 
"Mmm," Jeremy exhaled grimly, "you know, I actually forgot about that." 
"What do you mean you forgot about it?" Mike snapped, "it sounds absolutely terrible." 
"Well, a lot of terrible stuff happened that year, Mr. Schmidt, my thoughts were elsewhere." Jeremy admitted.  "Now, pick up your pen and paper and let me give you a bit more information."  Mike straightened, withdrawing his pad of paper from his pants and clicking the pen from his from breast pocket.  "A long time ago, back in eighty seven, the building you are currently employed in was called Fred Bear's family diner.  It had been around since the seventies, so Mr. Iris decided it was time to upgrade.  He opened Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, a completely new building a few blocks away with brand new, shiny animatronics.  All was well until those five kids went missing.  Freddy Fazbear's and Fred Bear's Family Diner closed shop.  Mr. Iris cut his losses and rebranded the old Fred Bear's as the new Freddy Fazbear's, recycling the old animotronics from the storage at the old facility." 
"This is a lot," Mike admitted, his brain practically throbbing, "you said they arrested someone for the disappearances, is he interested in having an interview?"  Jeremy's eyes practically glossed over.  Mike shuddered, remembering the animatronics from the night before and their far off gaze into nothing.  "Wait..."  Jeremy swallowed, averting his eyes. 
"I want justice, Mr. Schmidt," he managed earnestly, his eyes brimming, "I've spent the last decade in prison for something I didn't do... something heinous... and I want to know how the story ends... don't I deserve that?"  Mike closed his eyes painfully. 
"Alright... umm... why don't you tell me about what you remember from that day?" 
"I went into the office as usual," Jeremy began, "I received a phone call from Thomas... he would have been one of the security guards before you because he took over after I was arrested."  A heavy silence filled the air.  "I must ask... is he dead?" 
"I don't know," Mike admitted, "I didn't even know his name until now.  I haven't been able to find out what happened, but whatever it was, it wasn't good." 
"I can tell you what happened," Jeremy scoffed, "it was probably those... horrible animatronics." 
"You mean...?" Mike began in disbelief, "they tried to get into your office too?" 
"Oh God yes," Jeremy agreed, "my office didn't have doors, Mr. Schmidt, I had a flashlight, a spare Freddy head, and a music box... damn that puppet..." he paused.  "I'm off topic..."  He stirred his coffee.  "Anyway, Thomas called, I could tell he was upset, but he didn't say why.  He said he had tried to get in touch with me earlier to tell me not to come in. Then, he mentioned something about security footage, that someone had gotten into one of the old costumes... I assume now he was talking about the kidnapper taking those kids in disguise. Anyway, he said it would be safer if I just stayed put, you know, because of all the animatronics trying to stuff me in a suit..." his voice trailed off as he took another swig of coffee.  "When the police found out I'd been in the restaurant after the kids went missing... it looked suspicious.  Their other prime suspect, a guard by the name of Fritz Smith, blew his brains out before they went to interrogate him.  He'd been caught tampering with the animatronics and was fired the day before the missing persons forms were filed." 
"Tampering?" 
"Yeah, I don't know," Jeremy admitted, "there was security footage of Smith cracking into them I guess... Mr. Iris doesn't allow anyone near the animatronics... not after the bite." 
"The bite of eighty seven?" 
"Right," Jeremy agreed. 
"What happened during the bite of eighty seven?" 
"It happened at Fred Bear's, just before the second location opened," Jeremy explained, "a group of kids forced another into an animatronic's mouth."  Mike winced, massaging his temples. 
"Good God..." 
"Grim, I know," Jeremy agreed.  "When the animatronics went into disrepair, Mr. Iris wouldn't let anyone near to fix it... we used to have one we called the Mangle, it was a terrible mess of wires." 
"That must be why Pirate's Cove is out of order," Mike deduced, "when Foxy broke, Mr. Iris wouldn't allow anyone to fix it." 
"Right," Jeremy agreed.  "Foxy's design is flawed anyway, that was always the first one to break.  The Mangle was a Foxy too, if I remember correctly..." 
"So, you and Fritz Smith were the top suspects," Mike surmised, "were there any others?" 
"We were all investigated," Jeremy recalled, "Mr. Iris, Jose Escamillo, Thomas Glenn, and Violet Jackson.  Violet had an alibi, she was in the hospital at the time of the murders.  Jose also had an alibi, he was on the security footage in the kitchen all day and a good ten people saw him at the bar that night after his shift.  There was nothing against Mr. Iris, especially considering the lawsuits would tank his business... no he was off the hook.  As for Thomas, he was still shaken up after the bite.  I don't even think he'd come back to work yet." 
"He took it that hard, huh?"  Jeremy raised an eyebrow. 
"Did I not mention the victim was his son?"  Mike froze, swallowing hard. 
"No, you didn't." 
"Yeah, Dexter Glenn... he was six or seven I think."  Mike felt ill, he took a large drink of orange juice to keep his stomach in check.  It barely helped.  He cleared his throat, jotting down his thoughts. 
"Alright... and you said Violet was in the hospital.  Why?" 
"She lost her finger in the bite." 
"What?"
"She tried to pry Dexter out," Jeremy explained grimly, "she saved him about eight hours I'd say?  He went into a coma instead of dying immediately... he'd lost his..."
"...frontal lobe..."
"...yeah..." Jeremy's mouth tightened into a line.  "Violet was close with the Glenns... having his kid and Violet in the hospital at the same time was a lot on poor Thomas." 
"I... can't imagine..." Mike muttered.  After a long silence, he put his pad away, allowing Jeremy to stare off into the distance in quiet, his thoughts undisturbed by Mike's prodding.  A shadow fell over the table.  Without looking toward the source, Jeremy greeted him. 
"Hello Jesse." 
"Jeremy Fitzgerald," the man greeted, "I'm surprised to see you out and about." 
"It's called parole, officer," Jeremy informed snottily, turning toward the man.  He was tall, about six foot two, with sinewy arms and long, brown hair.  His mouth was permanently turned upward and jutted out in a cocky grin. 
"That's chief now, actually," Jesse grinned, "a lot has changed." His eyes twinkled with deviance.  Mike was surprised to spy the police badge glittering on his chest.  The police chief, Jesse, turned toward Mike.  "Who's your friend?" 
"Mike Schmidt," Mike greeted, extending his hand, "I just moved here from New York City."  The officer shook his hand, nodding. 
"Huh, how'd you meet Mr. Fitzgerald here?"
"We're old friends from college," Jeremy lied. 
"Hmm... which college is that?" Jesse asked. 
"Columbia," Jeremy said, "obviously." 
"I never pegged you as an ivy league man," Jesse commented, looking Jeremy up and down critically.  Jeremy shrugged. 
"There's a lot you assumed about me that was incorrect." 
"I wouldn't be too sure," Jesse warned.  "If it were up to me, you'd still be in that prison cell for what you did. I'm onto you, Fitzgerald.  One foul step and you're back in the slammer, this time for good."  With that, the officer turned and stalked away toward the bar.  Jeremy closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands. 
"Of all the people to run into... damn my luck..."  Mike shifted uncomfortably as Jeremy stood from the table hastily.  "We can't risk being seen together again.  This will have to be it." 
"What if I have questions?"
"I've told you all I know," Jeremy insisted.  "Everything else you'll have to piece together."  Mike collapsed into his seat, a great sinking feeling settling over him.  Jeremy turned to him.  "Best of luck, Mr. Schmidt."  With that, he trotted out the door, Jesse's eyes watching him intently from the bar.