Chapter Text
”Onslaught of missing children cases have started to rise back up!”
“That’s just great.”
A heavy sigh escaped pale lips. A hand raises up a cup that is full of steaming hot coffee. A gentle sip from the cup, and he’s already sighing again. If he knew that school was going to be this annoying, he wouldn’t have signed up for it. He wouldn’t have gotten himself so deep into debt, working a shitty job, paying rent on something that is falling apart. At least he can say that he knows the material like the back of his hand. His teachers are picky. They don’t want him to solve everything with shorter equations. They don’t want him to just know the answer. They want him to write down the tediously long step by step process, and if he doesn’t, his grade drops.
What’s the point in being smart, when you can’t even just smooth sail through everything?
He scribbles down another long equation. His homework has already been answered, but he’s going back in and writing down all of the equations. He’s learned long ago that it’s faster to just write them all out last. If he’s going to suffer, he may as well find any and all loopholes that he can. He sighs once more, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
He hasn’t really been sleeping well. He’s started to randomly get nightmares, and while night terrors weren’t uncommon for him, these seemed almost planned. It’s hard to explain, so he doesn’t. Instead, he lets caffeine fog up his mind, and he continues to lazily write out the equations. It’s nearing 7 pm, and this particular Cafe would be closing around 7:30. He won’t be there much longer, anyhow.
He scribbles down the last equation for the night. He then gathers up all of his things, organizing them in his bag. He shoves his homework back into his homework binder, face contorting into a slight grimace at the sticker stuck to the front.
It’s a sticker logo of Fazbear Entertainment. One of his classmates stuck it on as a joke, but it wasn’t really funny to him. He’s tried taking it off, but it’s almost like it’s indestructible. It has water damage and has been scraped at the sides, but nothing seemed to make it bite. It’s just there to remind him of who he is, and he hates it. An easy solution would be to get a new binder, or even cover it with another sticker, but he’s already in financial crises enough as is. He’d rather save the penny than spend it. Not to mention he has tried covering it up with another sticker. That sticker didn’t last a week.
He shoves the binder into his bag, zipping it up.
”Fazbear Entertainment is pulling out all of the stops with this one…”
He looks up at the television, cringing at the commercial coming from it. He finishes his coffee, before hoisting himself and his bag up. He lets the bag rest against one shoulder, and he quickly returns the cup to the counter.
“Ah,” the worker says, quickly coming up. “Thank you! Please come again!”
Michael responds with a hum, simply dragging himself away from the awkward blond barista, and out the door. He walks the short distance to the bus stop, letting himself get comfortable on the bench. Wind blows through, making sure to tussle his already messy hair, causing him to shiver. It’s mid October, and fall decided it would be fun to blast everyone with cold wind. He’s starting to wish that he brought a jacket, but it’s too late to regret it. He rubs his arms, fingers disappearing under the sleeves of his tee. Normally he’d take his car, but the old thing finally broke down on him around March. He’s had it since he was 17, so it’s been around the block and back. He got it as a present from Henry.
Michael hunches his shoulders, shivering. The thought of the man makes him a bit sad. He hasn’t seen him since he flat out left his house, just a few days after he got the car. The man tried to convince him to stay with him, but Michael refused. Not that he didn’t appreciate the kindness, but he was ready to just leave. He dropped out of school, and he wanted to get as far away from Hurricane as possible. What better way to leave, than drive 5 hours from it? That’s how he found himself in Brigham City. He needed to get away from everything.
He really should check up on Henry…
Michael is broken away from his thoughts upon the bus arriving. He doesn’t get up until it parks and opens the door. He pulls change out of his pocket, dropping it into the slot beside the driver. It flashes green to give him the go ahead, and he grabs the straps of his bag as he moves down towards the back of the bus. He lets himself flop down and close his eyes. He purposely tunes out the world, and he focuses on the slight ringing in his ears.
He should feel lucky. He met the easy requirements to get into a college, even without a high school degree. He got away from his dad, and he got a free car as a gift. He’s living on his own, he works, he sustains himself. He should be happy, but he’s not.
He hasn’t been happy in years.
The ride back to his apartment is short. He gets up, gives the driver a partial wave, and starts his trek to his apartment building upstairs. When he finally gets in, he slams the door shut, hearing a loud bang against the wall from his neighbor. He chooses to ignore it, instead letting his bag drop down onto the floor by the door. He purposely kicks his shoes off, making sure to kick them towards the wall that his neighbor banged against. He hears more loud thumps back, and just the fact that he can cause so much destruction by doing something so basic makes him feel more relaxed than it should.
He then plops down on the small couch, leaning his head back. He closes his eyes, letting himself bask in the warmth and emptiness of the small living room. He’s on the verge of falling asleep, when he hears a small and quiet ding. He lets out a sigh, pulling his phone out of his pocket, flipping open the front. He sees that he has a missed call, but the number is unknown. He lets out another sigh, deciding to listen to the voicemail left by the number. Probably some scam call or something insignificant.
”You have one unheard message. First unheard message:” followed by a ding.
”Michael, it’s Henry,”
Mike can feel the way his throat tightens at the name, let alone the voice. Henry sounds rather gravely. He briefly wonders if the man is sick.
”Man….hap-happened…gon-ne...I can’t…”
Michael sits up abruptly, one hand resting on his knee, the other gripping his phone tightly. He hears static, and some sort of ringing. Henry’s voice sounds as if it’s skipping and repeating. Mike clenches his jaw, hearing nothing for a moment, to the point he pulls back to see if the voicemail ended. He sees that it has 10 seconds left, and rushes it back to his ear.
”I need-d hel...the…Michael, yo-your father is missing, I do-“
The message is cut abruptly. Michael swallows the lump in his throat, pulling the phone back. He can feel his heart pounding a bit, and the first thing he does is try to call the number back.
”The number you are trying to dial has not been recognized. Please try again later.”
Mike tried the redial a few times, only to get the same message. He tried putting it in manually, only to get the same message.
The only thing that spooked him about the call, is the only thing he could make out.
His father is missing.