Eyes of Purple

Chapter Ten, Part Two

That... Went better than I expected?

-----------

For a boy of eighteen, Jeremy Fitzgerald was almost like a child. Small. Skinny. His hair was curly and soft-looking, and the brown tint contrasted deeply with the blue of his eyes. When he looked worried, which was often, his expression took on the likeness of a question mark.

But just like a child, he was smarter than he looked.

"Scott?"

"Yes?"

"If Fritz is really Michael Afton... Shouldn't he be dead?"

Scott let out a long, frustrated sigh, and squeezed Jeremy's shoulder. Then he smiled.

"Come with me. It's time I told you something."

------------

They were back into Scott's office before either spoke again. Jeremy sat down while the Security Head shut the door. With soft strides, Scott walked behind his desk and took his own seat.

Jeremy watched as Scott plucked his glasses off, pulled out a small cloth, and carefully began to clean a smudge next to the green rim.

"... Tell me what you know about the Afton family, Jeremy."

"Didn't-" Jeremy frowned, searching his memory. "There were five, right? The mother disappeared one day. William runs Fazbear's. The daughter and the youngest son... they died before '83. And Michael... Something about a Sister Location?" Scott shook his head, still cleaning his glasses.

"Most of what you said has only reached the public because of rumor. But like all rumors, there is always a hint of truth. My family, we grew up with the Aftons. Michael was and still is my best friend." He looked up at Jeremy for a moment, brown eyes filled with weariness and regret. "My sister and I practically lived at their house. Our families had dinner together at least once a week when I was little, and almost every night after my own mother left."

"...You have a sister?"

"Yes, about two years younger than me," Scott said. "My sister and Michael got on surprisingly well, just like both of our fathers. You would expect men and children with such drastically opposite personalities to hate each other but-" Scott shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. "Somehow it just worked out."

Jeremy tilted his head. "But then... What happened?"

Scott's expression hardened, and he finished cleaning his glasses, putting them on once again. "I'm not exactly sure. All I know is that after Michael's sister died, something happened between my dad and William. Neither of them spoke of it, but we all knew something was up. Things were frosty for about a year. William wouldn't talk to anyone, and would get very still if anyone mentioned his daughter..." He stopped speaking for a moment, letting out a shaky breath.

"An argument broke out between William and dad," he recalled. "It lasted several days, in little pockets of conversations. I'm not sure what was said, but I remember thinking that my father had never been so bold before- he was never able last so long when he or someone else was angry. Then one day, William burst out of his house, my father trailing after him looking angry and confused. They were gone for a long time, and when dad came back, he looked like he was trying to decide something... When I woke up, there was a note on the table, telling us that dad was leaving and he wasn't coming back. Sis and I were devastated, and for the next three years it was just me taking care of the two of us..."

"William was kind enough to give me a job when I was seventeen. That was the year 1983. I..." Scott became very quiet. "I watched the other son die... But what happened that day is not for me to discuss. I wouldn't recommend asking either of the Aftons, either. They both become very closed off whenever that day is mentioned, even in passing."

"What happened afterward?" Jeremy prompted softly.

"... My sister and Michael were the ones arguing now. Unless you knew them very well, you wouldn't be able to tell- but their body language the next month after the incident made it very clear both were angry at each other about something." He shook his head again. "I don't know. I thought maybe if I just let them blow off all of their steam, things would even out. I didn't even help them. Then one day, I heard shouting in the living room as both said things they probably shouldn't have. Then Michael tipped the scales- said he never wanted to see her again. And she said, "You know what? Fine. I'm leaving." She looked at me, told me she would write, and left."

"Just... Just like that?" Jeremy whispered. Scott nodded.

"It's not so bad, really. She kept her promise, we write to each other often. I see her on my birthday and Christmas. But to tell you the truth," he murmured, "I think she's almost as disillusioned as Michael is. She's convinced, every time I see her, that dad is still keeping tabs on us. She's trying to find him, actually. But one thing I know about Henry- if he doesn't want to be found, he is not going to be found."

"... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You deserve to know."

"One last thing?"

"Shoot, kid."

"Why doesn't Fri- Michael seem to like his father?" Scott leaned forward, clutching his hands together on top of the desk.

"Why don't you ask him yourself, Jeremy Fitzgerald?" His phone began to ring, and Scott rolled his eyes. "Well. That's your cue. Get out of here, kid."

"Yes, sir."

"Make sure to close the door on your way out, please- Oh, hello? Hello, hello? Hey, welcome to Fazbear's, how may I help you?"

-----------

I wonder, Michael... Has everyone moved on, but you?

(A/N: This isn't Christmas-y enough. Hmm...

(Dashing through the vents, this story makes no sense,
Balloon Boy's in the wall's,
Mangle's on the hall,
The Puppet's in her spot,
She doesn't move a lot,
That is unless you let yourself unwind her Music Box

OOOOOOOOOH UMMMMMMMM

*aggressively screams FNaF-isms to the tune of Jingle Bells until the neighbors begin to stare*)