FANCY *•.' 𝐅𝐍𝐀𝐅 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄.

𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

How long do you have to wait before evidence obviously presents itself to you? In Fancy's case, not long. She pressed record and as soon as her finger left the button Vanessa entered the room. It must have been a sort of living room.

Across from Fancy was a large couch with a blanket draped over the back. It faced a fireplace with several family photos placed along the hearth. One was folded over, as if no one wanted to look at it. Weird. She wanted to look at it, find out what it was, write it down, but that was too risky, even for her. Or was it? She could wait until nightfall. Wait until everyone fell asleep and sneak inside, this window was already cracked open. It would be easy, simple. Maybe. She filed that thought away for later.

Vanessa walked across the living room and straight to the kitchen. She reached for a glass out of one of the cabinets and fills it with water. She grabs a familiar orange bottle from her pocket and empties one pill from it. Down the hatch it went along with half the glass of water. She sat the glass down on the counter and sighed.

"I was wondering when you were going to come home." a voice, foreign and disembodied, called to her. Vanessa bit her lip and squinted her eyes closed, tight. Like she had a migraine or another type of pain.

"I told you my work schedule." Vanessa said, her voice underline with irritation. "Yes I know, but you get off of work at 7am. It's 9am. You're late." "I got a coffee okay? What do you want to hear? That I told him all of your secrets?" "Our secrets, Vanessa, our secrets." "I did my part, my job, you leave me out of the rest." Vanessa snapped and then he entered. He entered the living room. It was him. It had to be.

William Afton. In the flesh.

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He was tying his neck tie, or struggling to at that. Vanessa came around the corner and had to tie it for him upon his request.

"He doesn't even know who you are." Vanessa said. "William Afton is dead." He told her. Was he not standing right there? What did he mean by that? How could he be dead if he was standing right there? "Steve Raglan lives on." I'm sorry who? Who on earth was Steve Raglan? Unless- no it couldn't be. It just couldn't. Was Steve Raglan also William Afton?

"You better keep a tight rope on him." He told her. "And what about this Fancy girl you've told me about?" Her blood ran cold.

He knew. He knew about her. Did he know she was right here? Listening and noting and analyzing his every word. He couldn't he couldn't see her from the angel he was standing at. "She's just some kid thinking she can solve your case." Vanessa said. "But she won't." "See to it that she doesn't." William said.

Oh no that wouldn't do. She would absolute solve his case if it was the last thing she did. Child murder right here. Child murderer on the other side of this window. Child murder just a few feet away from her once again. Child murderer closing in.

"those brats will stay hidden exactly where I put them. And this little girl will never be able to find them. No evidence, remember? Perfectly hidden, perfectly concealed. Done. hidden. Safe." Vanessa didn't say anything. She finished with his tie and headed back into the kitchen. William picked up a brief case.

"Well, Steve Ralgan is off to work." He announced to his daughter. "Bye." Was all she said, no emotion in her voice whatsoever. Their relationship was weird, so bizarre. There was no family love or connection, just pressure. Just weight. The scene was heavy and- now was her chance. She slid her hand into the window between the crack and pulled the mike out. She pressed stop next to the record button and waited a few minutes before walking briskly back to her car.

She had it. She had the evidence she needed. A confession, or close to one. It was obtained by illegal means though. She had been trespassing and therefore her evidence would not hold up in court. She had to go get the confession from him herself. Formally. That would be her next plan. The confession of William Afton.

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She couldn't drive fast enough. Her hands had an iron grip on the wheel as she sped down the highway, praying to god above that no cops were out fine tuning their speed traps that evening. Her knuckles were white, her nails dug into the skin of her palm as they were tightly wrapped around the leather of her steering wheel.

" Trystan Myers was reported missing later that evening ." the true crime commentator announced on her radio as she drove faster and faster. " His body was never found but his dogs, which he was last seen with, have since returned home. If you or anyone you know has any information regarding Trystan Myers you are urged to contact the Samford police at ...."

She swerved her car into the parking lot at Freddy's. Mike had arrived not long before her and he was walking up to the building from the parking lot as she put her car in park. He saw her, and her reckless driving, and walked back over to her. Fancy was breathing hard, she didn't even realize it while she was driving. She was so focused on getting her to tell Mike. She had to tell Mike.

"Hey-" She flinched. "Oh," She opened her car door. "Were you listening to - true crime?" He asked slowly. "Yes." She admitted and Mike quirked a brow at her. "It helps me think." She defended herself. Mike chuckled as he shook his head at her again. "You're so weird." He said quietly. "Yes ha ha. I'm so weird." She said, waving her hands frantically as she stood and closed her car door behind her.

"Listen," She shouldered her bag, a frantic matter to her, urgent, rushed, anxious. "Something wrong?" Mike asked. Was that concern in his voice? No, couldn't be. He hardly knew her. But maybe he thought he did. Maybe he thought he knew her better than he really did. "No, yes, well actually no." She said. "We need to talk." She said before looking around. "Inside."