Five Nights at Freddy's Fazbear Frights Collection, page 179
Of course, Mary Jo wasn’t behind any of the doors, and Aimee’s head was hurting again. “This is stupid,” Aimee whined out loud.
Deciding that she was wasting precious time opening doors because Mary Jo was probably on the backside of the game, Aimee put her head down and just crawled at superspeed toward that area. She’d find Mary Jo there, for sure.
To get to the back of the game, Aimee had to pass the end of the main corridor. As she did, she glanced toward the entrance to see if anyone was waiting to play.
It looked like someone was. The grate was missing, and the entrance was open.
Aimee started to crawl on, but then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she nearly choked on her sharp inhale.
The man she’d seen in the arcade was peering in through the open entrance.
And he was looking right at her.
Frozen in midcrawl, Aimee could do nothing but stare at the man, who gazed back at her with the same wide grin he’d given Mary Jo in the arcade. The grin dropped Aimee’s body temperature so fast that she felt like she’d just been flash-frozen. Every hair on her body bristled.
Aimee wasn’t sure how long she and the man looked at each other. It felt like forever, but it was probably just a second or two. She didn’t seem to be able to move.
But when the man stuck his head farther in through the game entrance, a movement that coincided with one particularly loud screech from the game soundtrack, her body decided it was time to get going. Aimee let out a little squeal and started crawling as fast as she could toward the exit.
That was it. She’d had enough. Forget finding Mary Jo. Aimee just wanted out of the Hiding Maze.
Aimee panted heavily and scrabbled noisily as she crawled the first several feet away from the main tunnel, but then she slowed and did her best to control her breathing. Trembling, she looked over her shoulder to see if the man was catching up to her.
She didn’t see him.
But she heard him. At least, she thought she did. Even over the rain forest soundtrack, she could make out a few scuffles and thumps that seemed to be coming from the main tunnel. Forcing herself not to scream in terror, Aimee put her head down and started crawling again.
By the time Aimee was nearing the game exit, she knew more than three minutes had passed; it didn’t matter what she did next. Mary Jo would be telling Aimee what to do for the rest of the day.
As if that was her biggest problem. The truth was that Aimee no longer cared what she did later today. She just wanted to get out of the game and get away from the creepy guy.
Seeing that creep again was the last straw. Aimee didn’t want to be anywhere near Freddy’s. She wanted to go home.
Twisting toward the game’s exit, which also exited to the back alley of the building itself, Aimee checked over her shoulder to be sure the creepy guy hadn’t followed her.
She didn’t see anything. No one was behind her.
Aimee pushed the heavy wood door open. When the fresh air hit her, she breathed it in and then exhaled in relief.
As she climbed out into the bright afternoon sun, though, she paused and looked back at the tunnel. Mary Jo was still in there. What if the creepy guy found her?
Aimee chewed her lower lip. She frowned. Finally, she shook her head.
No, he wouldn’t find Mary Jo. She was hidden. It was much more likely he would have found Aimee, who was out in the tunnels.
Later, Aimee would explain to Mary Jo why she left. Mary Jo would understand.
* * *
Stringy hair falling over his dark, evil gaze, the creepy man reaches out and pulls on the cubbyhole handle. The door opens slowly, relentlessly, eventually revealing what it always reveals: Mary Jo, wide-eyed and pale. Launching herself at the man, Mary Jo screams and scratches at his bare arms. She’s a fighter, and she’s not going to let him take her easily. But Mary Jo is no match for the man’s strength. He clamps her arms to her sides and drags her from the cubbyhole as Mary Jo screams what she always screams: “Aimee! Aimee where are you? Help! Why did you leave me?”
Aimee’s eyes shot open. She rubbed them with trembling hands as she reoriented herself to wakefulness. Taking a ragged breath, she realized where she was. She’d been studying, and she’d fallen asleep.
Even though sun splayed over the beanbag chair where Aimee was curled up in the corner of her dorm room, she felt chilled. She always felt chilled after that dream.
Aimee hugged herself, rubbing her arms to try to warm up. Face it, she thought, you’re not going to be able to read today.
She never could read on this day.
This sunny day in mid-May might not have been a day that meant anything to anyone else, but to Aimee, this day had great meaning, just not “great” as in good. Aimee actually hated this date, and it never passed without her being aware of it … from the moment she got up in the morning to the moment she finally fell asleep at night, which generally didn’t happen until she’d done a lot of staring at the ceiling and even more tossing and turning.
Aimee sighed and dropped her book. What was she thinking, trying to read a book on the future of corporate economics on a day like today?
Stretching her legs, Aimee stood and wandered over to the window that looked out over the quad below. She twirled a few strands of her long hair, watching a couple guys she knew play Frisbee. They were good; the disc flew low and straight over the top of a couple dozen sun worshippers and last-minute studiers, and it never hit anyone. Aimee smiled and took a deep breath. This would be the last week she’d have this view.
Graduation was in a week, and three weeks after that, she’d be starting the new job she already had lined up. Before she did that, though, she was going to have to do something she’d been thinking about doing for a long time. There was no doubt in her mind now. She had to do it, if she ever wanted to be free from her past. She’d carried this weight around for ten years. That was long enough.
Turning away from the window, Aimee walked over to her neatly made bed. She sat and stared at the bare mattress on the other side of the room.
Aimee’s roommate had finished exams the previous day, and she’d already packed up and gone home. Her boyfriend was back home, so she’d planned to spend the week with him, and then return for commencement. Aimee didn’t have a boyfriend at home—or here at college, for that matter—and she had two more exams still to take. She just hoped she could concentrate well enough not to screw up her grade point average … but Mary Jo might make that impossible.
Mary Jo.
Did anyone else ever think about the frizzy-haired eleven-year-old who’d always thought rules were meant to be broken? Probably not.
Aimee shifted so she could see herself in the full-length mirror beside her dresser. She’d seen photos of herself at eleven years old, and she didn’t think she looked a lot different now. She was small and skinny then, and she was petite and slender now. Obviously, her face looked a little different because now she wore makeup, but the slight slant of her eyes and severe arch of her brows, the upturned nose, and the slightly pouty mouth were the same. In the photos she’d seen of her younger self, Aimee’s long blonde hair had usually been held back in a ponytail or a braid. That was still how she wore her hair.
What would Mary Jo look like now? Would her hair still stick out from her head? Would her smile still be as big?
At first, Aimee liked to tell herself that she never saw Mary Jo again after that day in the Hiding Maze because Mary Jo got mad and ran away. It was a reasonable conclusion. Mary Jo had often threatened to run away, and she’d always had that backpack with her, ready to go.
But years later, when Aimee was being honest with herself, it was pretty clear that Mary Jo hadn’t run anywhere. Aimee’s dream told her that. The reoccurring dream—no, not a dream, her nightmare—had been telling Aimee the truth for ten years.
Aimee pulled away from her reflection and lay back on her bed. She forced herself to travel into the past.
As she had done literally thousands of times now, Aimee tried to convince herself there was no way she could have known something bad would happen to Mary Jo when Aimee left the Hiding Maze. Even though she’d been afraid of the creepy guy, Aimee’s eleven-year-old mind hadn’t really believed he found Mary Jo and hurt her. And since then, she’d tried very hard to believe that Mary Jo was never seen again because of something else, something that had nothing to do with what Aimee did.
But in truth, Aimee knew she was, in part, responsible. Just in part, though. The true culprit was the creep Aimee had seen in the arcade and at the entrance of the Hiding Maze right before she left it.
The evening of the day she’d last seen Mary Jo, Aimee had also seen the creep on TV. He’d been arrested for the attempted kidnapping of some other kid. She didn’t normally pay attention when her parents watched the news, but she’d seen the guy’s face, and she’d heard his name, Emmett Tucker. She’d also heard the word kidnapping. When she’d heard that word, her stomach had turned into a rock that dropped all the way to her feet.
When it was clear Mary Jo had disappeared, Aimee just knew that creep had taken her friend. He’d taken her, and he must have killed her. Apparently, the police were never able to prove that he did, so the guy went to prison just for the attempted kidnapping of the other kid. Aimee took some comfort in that, but not knowing exactly what had happened to Mary Jo ate away at her.
For years after Mary Jo disappeared, Aimee had carried guilt like a backpack even heavier than Mary Jo’s. She’d known the creepy guy was poking around the Hiding Maze, and she’d left her friend there. She was sure Emmett Tucker had taken Mary Jo, and it was Aimee’s fault.
Just a few months after Mary Jo disappeared, Aimee and her family had moved to another state. Long before the time they’d left—actually, just a couple weeks after the last time Aimee saw Mary Jo—the Freddy’s where Aimee and Mary Jo had played in the Hiding Maze had closed. Aimee was never sure why. Her mother thought Freddy’s closed because it was “inherently unsafe” for children; she’d never thought the animatronics were a good idea. Aimee’s mom was very upset that the town they moved to also had a Freddy’s. She didn’t have to worry, though. Aimee never went to it. It reminded her too much of Mary Jo.
But last week, her mom had called her, interrupting the cramming Aimee was doing for her Commercial Transactions class. Stepping out of the library and into the cool night to take her mom’s call, Aimee had looked up at the stars as she’d said with a sigh, “I’m studying, Mom.”
“I know you are, sweetie. But I just wanted to check in on you. How’s it going?”
“Fine, Mom. But I do need to concentrate.”
“I know. I know. I just thought you could take a break and chat for a few minutes.” Aimee’s mom’s smooth and deep voice broke into a chuckle. “You know, a few seconds for your dear old mom.”
Aimee sighed. Through the phone, she could hear footsteps tapping on hardwood floors. She could picture her mom pacing back and forth in the kitchen. That’s what her mom always did when she was chatting on the phone. Aimee could see her mom’s lovely face as if she was right here. Blonde and blue-eyed like Aimee but with more classical features, her mom had large eyes, high cheekbones, and a full mouth.
“Okay, Mom,” Aimee said. “What do you want to chat about? You have two minutes. Go.”
Her mom laughed. “Okay, I’ll start the kitchen timer. Well, let’s see. Your dad has taken up racquetball. It might be too much for him; his shoulders and arms are so sore he can barely lift his coffee cup.”
Aimee smiled.
“Oh, and I saw a blurb on the news about that man we thought took Mary Jo. Remember him?”
Remember him? How could she not? Aimee felt all her muscles contract at once, as they always did whenever she thought about Freddy’s or Emmett Tucker. “What about him?”
“Oh, they let him out of prison. For good behavior, or some such nonsense. He’s back in his home, free as a bird. For some reason, I’ve never forgotten him. Probably because of Mary Jo.”
Aimee felt her stomach flip over and try to crawl up her esophagus. She thought she was going to be sick. Mary Jo’s kidnapper was free?
“Aimee? Are you there?” her mom asked.
Aimee tried to talk, and the words caught in her throat. She swallowed and managed, “Yeah, Mom. Has he talked to the press or anything?”
“What? I have no idea. I just saw a little report about him is all.”
“I have to go, Mom.” Aimee practically threw the words at her mother. And she didn’t wait for a response. She ran inside the library, straight to the bathroom, where she threw up. After sitting in the bathroom stall and crying for half an hour, she’d forced herself not to think about what her mom had told her. She had to study and take an exam.
But of course, she’d thought about it. She’d been thinking about it for a week now.
Even so, she’d made sure it didn’t mess up her studying because before she went back to cramming the night her mom called, she made a decision. As soon as she graduated, she was going to go back to the town where she spent the first eleven years of her life. She was going back, and she was going to find out what Emmett Tucker did with Mary Jo.
Ten years of uncertainty couldn’t turn into fifteen or twenty or more. Aimee could no longer live with the assumption that Mary Jo had been kidnapped by Tucker without proving that he really did kidnap her and finding out what he did to her friend. She needed to know where he put Mary Jo’s body.
Aimee was tired of the nightmares and the horrible visions that played over and over in her head. She was also tired of trying to delude herself with the idea that Mary Jo had run off and was living happily ever after somewhere. She was going to discover and prove the truth once and for all.
* * *
Aimee remembered her hometown as a pretty little place. Hugging both sides of a river that flowed out of the nearby mountains, the town was the home of a billionaire who had built his corporation’s headquarters here. The headquarters, designed to look like an old-time Western town, sprawled along the river on one end of town. That’s where both Aimee’s parents had worked. When the billionaire had a new complex, with a more modern design, built a few states away (probably so he could have a warmer place to visit in the winter), her parents were transferred. Aimee had never really grown to like the new state. Too hot for her. And she missed snow in the winters.
If it wasn’t for Mary Jo—or actually, the absence of Mary Jo—Aimee would have probably applied for a job at the corporate headquarters here in her old hometown. But she knew she couldn’t handle living in a place that would remind her of her friend every day. Instead, she’d taken a job in a town a couple hundred miles from here. It had the same climate but no painful memories.
Aimee pulled her cute little red hybrid compact into the parking lot of the Riverside Motel just before sunset. When she turned off the engine, she tapped the steering wheel a couple times. Should she go now or wait until tomorrow?
She squinted up beyond the motel’s redwood siding and river rock–covered pillars. A reddish sun was sinking toward the glacier-topped ridge to the west. Almost blood-red rays painted the white expanses. Aimee shivered. Tomorrow. What she needed to do could definitely wait until tomorrow.
Aimee looked away from the sunset. She turned and grabbed a bright-yellow sweater from the back seat. Slipping it on, she picked up her purse and got out of the car.
It took Aimee only minutes to check into the motel and find her room. Once there, she perched atop the beige coverlet on the queen-size bed. She was facing a mirror above the low pine dresser sitting against the exposed-log wall opposite the end of the bed.
“Well, here you are,” she said to herself.
The mirror version of Aimee spoke at the same time she did, of course. Still, she had trouble recognizing herself. She looked older in this mirror, like she was pushing forty instead of barely getting to know twenty-one. Why did her complexion look so gray, her cheeks so gaunt?
Aimee raised a hand to her face and brushed a few strands of hair from her eyes. It felt like a stranger was touching her. How odd.
A tremor skittered down Aimee’s spine, and she looked away from the mirror. She needed sleep was all. She’d studied hard for most of four weeks, and over the last three days, she’d partied just as hard. Aimee didn’t have a ton of friends, but the ones she had were close ones. One of them, Gretta, was Aimee’s closest friend since Mary Jo. She had superwealthy parents and lived in a mansion with a pool, tennis courts, a huge movie room, an equally large game room, and a massive ballroom. After exams were over, Gretta’s parents threw Gretta and her friends a three-day party, complete with live music and food catered by the best chef in town. Gretta and Aimee had spent much of that time alone in the movie room binge-watching old romantic comedies. They both loved the quiet solitude. But they’d balanced it with plenty of swimming, dancing, and eating.
Aimee had been friends with Gretta since she and her parents had moved to the new state. She’d gone to junior high, high school, and college with Gretta.
Gretta was the opposite of Mary Jo, a much better match for Aimee than Mary Jo ever was. When Aimee had met Gretta, she’d realized that her mother’s theory about friendship and balance had been a bunch of crap. Aimee and Mary Jo hadn’t been friends because they balanced each other out. They’d been friends because Aimee had been too shy to tell Mary Jo to go jump in the river. Mary Jo had decided they were best friends, and Aimee had gone along with it. From that point on, everything had been all about Mary Jo. As long as they were together, they were doing what Mary Jo wanted. The only time Aimee had gotten to be herself had been when she was literally by herself.
