1985

1983, November

William Afton sped down the highway, the streets surrounded by tall trees. He looked dead ahead, focusing on the road; he so badly wanted to tell himself nothing else matters in the heat of the moment, where he could risk getting caught on the spot. But Afton's conscience knew better than that; he still had a family to care for. This is exactly why, in this moment, Afton had to flee. Killing Charlotte had felt strange... William had never killed anyone before, let alone a child. Now he was filled with anxiety. Would he be caught? Put on death row? Sent to hell by God? 

He shook his head; he had to stay vigilant as he sped past car after car through the midnight, so that he could get back home. Eventually, he came upon an exit lane; he took it, and after a couple of hundred feet of riding it, turned onto a dirt path that lead into the forest. He slowed down rather smoothly, and as the rain he hadn't noticed before began to set in more heavily, turned down the road and towards a house- his house. He stopped his car outside and stormed through the front door, turning to his son, Michael. 

He was about to say something to him when suddenly he stopped; Michael hadn't moved, hadn't flinched when he stepped foot inside. He just kept watching the television... 

William looked at him, watching as his teary eyes were gazing at the screen, his hand mindlessly feeding his mouth gobs of popcorn. Afton sighed and decide it would be better if the kid was left alone; today must have been a rough one for Michael. As much as Afton seemed to hate Michael, he still knew- deep down- that this was his son. The only son he had left. The son he loved. He turned quietly and walked down the hall to his empty master bedroom.