FANCY *•.' 𝐅𝐍𝐀𝐅 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄.

𝐎𝐧𝐞

Have you ever screamed against duct tape? Your lips sealed, quiet literally in fact, but you're desperate to get a word out.

Not many people can say they have. But Francine Jenkins is the exception.

That's hardly grounds to start a conversation with someone, though. Can you imagine?

'Hi my name's Francine, my friends call me Fancy. I heard your brother was abducted when you were young, so was I. wanna talk about it?'

Not one talks like that. Certainly not Fancy J.

So as she stood waiting in the wake of a thunderstorm that threatened to pour any minute, outside of an old abandoned pizzeria to interview some nobody security guard for an internship, she almost considered turning around and leaving.

A chill up her spine. But she wouldn't leave, not without getting what she came for, that interview.

Fancy was not a quitter, Yale wouldn't let her be one. So, she took in a deep breath and pushed the buzzer again, waiting diligently for a response.

Oh the lengths she would go to for her degree. When there was no response again for the third time, most people would give up, not Francine.

She balled her hand into a fist and banged against the glass panel of the door. The sound was almost as booming as the thunder overhead. Finally the door swung open and Fancy was greeted with exactly who she was looking for.

She flashed a smile, that famous "Fancy J" Smile that got just about anyone to do what she asked of them.

"Micheal Schmidt?" She asked. As if she needed to, Fancy knew who he was. She knew why he was here and the fascinating history that made up his past- his lore.

He nodded and Fancy noticed just how deep the bags under his eyes were. He truly was the definition of disheveled. Messy hair, baggy clothes, and eyes that always seemed distant, dazed, and distracted.

"My name is Francine Jenkins." She replied. "Im a student with Yale University on my spring  internship with Hurricane Police Department. I was wondering if I could grab you for an interview real quick?"

He looked at her, really looked at. His eyes squinted and he took in the sight of the perfectly blonde girl before him. She seemed perfect, on the surface at least. Golden blonde hair, thin yet curvy frame, and sky blue eyes that just about anyone could swim in. She looked like a barbie doll.

"About the five children who went missing here so many years ago." She added curtly. Mike's eyes widened. Why did that keep coming up in conversation with every blonde girl who came to the door step of Freddy's he spoke to in the last week. Given, that was only one other time, but still, it was weird.

Mike thought about his options, how to seem the least amount of suspicious as possible. He truly didn't know anything about it but if he said so, he would sound suspicious. "Uh sure." He said. "Come inside. We'll chat in my office."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

When mike said "We'll chat" That's exactly what he meant. Nothing more, nothing less. That's not what Fancy heard.

She had a full set up for a proper interview, tape recorder, microphones, the whole deal. She set up in less than half an hour.

Mike reached out to touch one of the microphones she had set before him. His fingers almost grazed the plush material covering the top of the mike when Francine swatted his hand away. Mike retracted his hand after the fierce pop of Fancy's hand slapping his.

"Ow." He said softly. "Don't touch that." "...why?" "This microphone alone is worth three hundred dollars, Michael." He didn't say anything at first, he just held his hand and looked at her. "Call me Mike." He finally grumbled. "Hm?" Fancy replied.

"Mike. call me mike. Only my mom ever called me Michael. Call me mike." "Okay." Fancy replied. "Then you can call me Fancy." "What?" "Fancy." "Yeah I heard what you said," Mike replied. "Just never heard of anyone calling themselves Fancy, like as a nickname." "My mom started it when I was young and it just stuck." Fancy said with a shrug. "Now speak into the mike, don't touch it." She warned him again. "I'm just testing the levels."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"Lets start with your name." "Michael Scott Schmidt." Mike said, leaning down to speak into the mike.

"You don't have to get close to the mike, it will pick you up fine if you just sit and talk normally." "Oh." Mike said. "Sorry."

"Lets try that again, your name?" "Michael Scott Smith." "Thank you mr. Schimdt." "Please just call me Mike." He asked again and Fancy nodded. "Alright mike, tell me what you're doing here." "I'm a security guard for the place." "Why do you think that is?" "Uh I don't really ask questions. I sit here, do my job, and get paid. It's just a job really."

"And what exactly is your job?" "Like I said, I'm a security guard." "What does that entail?" "I sit here from twelve to six in the morning and watch these screens." He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to a few monitors that were set up, glowing in the dimness of the night. "Watching for what?" "Break ins." "Is that all?" "What else would there be?"

"Mike can you tell me what you know about the missing children form the eighties?" "Just that there were some kids who went missing and were never found." "Is that it?" "Yeah." "That's all you know?" "Look it's like I said, I don't ask questions. I do my job and I get paid."

"Do you know the owner?" "I'm sorry?" "The owner of Freddy Fazbears Pizza? Do you know them?" "No I don't." Fancy cleared her throat.

"So let me get this straight, Mike, you don't know anything about the children who went missing here almost twenty years ago, you have never met your boss who was the lead suspect in the investigation into the disappearances, and you don't' know why you sit here every night watching these monitors- and don't tell it's to watch for break ins because you know as well as I do that that's a load of- well you know what." She had to stop herself from swearing on tape- this was for her thesis after all. Yale would not approve.

"Listen Barbie," "Fancy," "Whatever." Mike grumbled. "I don't know anything. Do I look like someone who would know the answers to your questions? I'm just trying to pay bills and put food on the table. I don't care about the history of this place as long as I get paid." there was a silence between them.

"But I might know someone who can help you." He admitted slowly. "Come back tomorrow night, same time. I'll introduce you to someone who can help." "Great. Thank you for your time Mike." She pressed the stop button on her tape recorder and unplugged her microphones.