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Elizabeth wakes to the sound of silence.
This is not unusual, not quite, but Elizabeth never wakes up on her own. Usually Daddy wakes her up— or, more often, Michael comes into her room to get her up for school. Even on the weekend she's woken up early.
A glance out the window shows the sun high in the sky. Normally the house is more active by now, even when Daddy is locked away for work.
Elizabeth hops out of bed. With silent feet, she peeks out the door.
Nothing. No sound.
But no, that's not quite right. When she strains her ears to listen really closely, she can hear the sound of ragged breathing somewhere in the house. It doesn't sound like Evan's whining, which makes it infinitely more concerning, because Michael rarely cries and Daddy never cries. She's not sure which would be more concerning to see.
She toes her way down the stairs. Elizabeth is not a cautious person, but something about today has set her on edge in a way she hasn't been since Mummy was taken away. Something small inside of her says something is wrong , and she trusts every part of herself, even the paranoid parts that whisper into her ear like they're too afraid to speak louder.
Elizabeth turns the corner. When she reaches the source of the sound, she stops.
Michael is sitting in the kitchen, elbows on his knees and hands cradling his face like he's afraid it'll break. His chest heaves with the strength of his breathing. There's a slump to his shoulders that looks both relieved and resigned. She can't tell which one— she's never been very good at understanding people without words. That's Evan's thing.
She's sure that she keeps her footsteps silent, but Michael looks up anyway.
He looks terrible. His face is dry of tear tracks, but his eyes are red-rimmed and wild. It seems like he's not all there.
When his eyes meet hers, he freezes.
"Micah?" She says. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong, because Michael looks like he's seeing a ghost instead of Elizabeth.
But no, that can't be right, because when she speaks he lets out a strangled, " Liz ?"
Elizabeth shuffles forward a bit. "What's wrong, Michael?"
Something settles in Michael's eyes at her question. The wild thing doesn't go away, but it calms. He coughs up a choked laugh, eyes tracing her as if she's going to disappear into thin air.
"Nothing's wrong." He replies. Then he smiles. "Nothing's wrong." He repeats, stronger. His smile is genuine, wide and wobbly but strong, so she takes his words as they are.
"Oh." A pause. "Then what was wrong? Because you never just start crying, that's Evan's thing."
Michael wheezes. He sounds like a deflating balloon. That's quite concerning to Elizabeth, because teenage boys definitely aren't supposed to sound anything like that.
"Evan's here?"
Elizabeth blinks. Did his brain empty out overnight? That'd explain why he seems so surprised at everything. "Why wouldn't Evan be here?"
Elizabeth jumps as Michael lurches forward, scrambling to his feet like dogs are on his heels.
She can only follow as Michael almost runs to Evan's room. His footsteps are heavy and loud, and she worries that Daddy is going to get mad at Michael for the disturbance. They reach Evan's door before she can get too nervous, and Michael comes to a sudden stop. Despite his frantic behavior, he slinks forward slowly, opening the door like he's not sure he's allowed to. He does it gentle and steady to keep the creaking minimal. Elizabeth watches as Michael sinks down to the ground, shoulder leaning against the doorway. He just sits there for several silent moments, watching Evan's sleeping form like it's something special. His eyes are wide and wet and shiny.
Something has happened to Michael.
The realization comes quietly.
It's still Michael , but something has happened, and Elizabeth isn't sure she wants to know what.
An arm snakes around her shoulders and pulls her tight to Michael's side. They sit there and watch Evan's chest rise and fall. Elizabeth doesn't get what's so important about it, but Michael's breathing is finally beginning to calm down, so she tolerates it.
She wrinkles her nose as his hands attempt to card through her hair. There's red-brown under his nails, and they smell like her old bike did after it rusted in the rain.
"Micah—h !" She squirms until he lets go and puts her hands on her hips. "Don't touch my hair with your gross hands!"
Michael doesn't seem to realize what she's talking about until he glances at his own hands. "Oh." He says, seeming almost surprised. "They are pretty nasty, huh?"
He hesitates for a moment, before something mischievous glints in his eyes. That's her only warning before he lunges at her, hands outstretched. Elizabeth shrieks.
"Hands off !" She dances out of his grip. "What did you even do , stick your hands in the dirt for fun?"
Michael pauses. "... Sure. Yeah." Then he lunges at her again, and she yells.
She only realizes something is wrong when Henry shows up at the door.
Daddy's been very quiet lately, but Daddy is always locked away and quiet when he's not being big and loud at Michael.
When the doorbell rings, Michael creeps to the door and opens it like he thinks it's going to explode. Elizabeth finds this funny, but carefully hides her giggles in the sleeve of her dress. Michael always gets so mad when she laughs at him, even if he's really silly sometimes.
"Oh— Michael, hello!" It's Henry at the door. He's smiling, but there's something strained about it. It looks a little like Michael's.
"Do you need something?" Michael asks, short. He looks a little pale, and his hands shake against the doorframe. She doesn't pay much mind to it— Michael has been strange for two days now, ever since she woke up and saw him in the kitchen on his knees, and she's starting to get used to this new, strangely soft Michael— but Henry falters in the face of it.
"Can I talk to your dad?" Henry asks. "He hasn't shown up to work in days. He never usually calls in sick, so I'm worried he's down with something bad. I wanted to bring him something nice." Henry shakes the thermos in his hand around in emphasis.
"We… haven't seen him." Michael says. "I thought he was working overnight again."
Henry's brow creases.
"No, he hasn't been at the diner at all these past couple of days."
Michael blinks. He doesn't look very surprised.
"You can check his office if you want. Maybe he's holed up in there." Michael moves to the side to let Henry in. Henry walks off, calling for Daddy as he walks in the direction of his office. Michael trails after him with a carefully blank expression.
Elizabeth goes back to coloring. Evan is holding a silent conversation with Fredbear, which is boring . Coloring is much more fun, no matter how much Evan swears Fredbear speaks back to him. Stuffed animals can't talk unless they're made to, and Daddy didn't design Fredbear to talk. He has no buttons.
A scream rings out, loud and piercing enough that she yelps and drops her crayon. The sound of retching fills the air.
Henry hurries downstairs, pale as a ghost. He's dragging Michael behind him. He sits Michael down on the couch next to Evan and sprints over to the phone, dialing a number with more urgency than she's ever seen in him.
Michael still doesn't look surprised.
Men in blue uniforms— cops, she remembers Daddy cursing— swarm the house like ants.
Henry is drawn away by one of them and speaks to them for a long, long while. One of the cops comes and asks Elizabeth what she's working on.
Eventually, she and Evan are drawn away into the kitchen and get sat down by the cop that talked to Henry. Michael is brought into the room a moment later. He settles himself in the middle of them, an arm dragging Evan close. Evan leans into it with a wet sniffle.
"Hello. My name is Officer Ramirez." She begins, soft. It seems like she's trying not to scare Evan too badly, which is hard, because Evan is scared of everything . "Can you tell me about the last time you saw your father?"
Evan sniffles again, but opens his mouth to speak. "Two— two days ago."
"And did he act… strange, in any way?"
Daddy always acts strange, but Elizabeth can tell she didn't mean it like that. "No," she pipes up. "He acted like he always does."
"And how was that?"
Michael cuts in. "Going off to his office again. I guess he was a little frazzled, but I didn't think anything of it."
That's a lie. Daddy was as calm as ever, gait soft and deliberated.
Elizabeth isn't sure why he's lying.
Officer Ramirez nods in understanding, though.
"Thank you. That's all I need from you. I'm sorry you had to see that, young man."
See what?, Elizabeth almost asks, but there is something very precarious happening right now, and she's afraid that one breath will send the whole tower toppling.
Later on, she has it broken to her gently that Daddy is dead. Gone, they elaborate, and not coming back.
Elizabeth doesn't really understand. Daddy always comes back eventually, even when he disappears for days on end, so why would it be different now?
She stews in these thoughts that night, curls tangled from all her tossing and turning. They're at Henry's house for the night, because apparently they can't be left alone in their own house. Elizabeth is in Charlie's room— which is unfair, Charlie snores — and Michael and Evan are in the guest room.
The door opens, light flooding in from where it's cracked, and someone steps inside carefully. Elizabeth stills and closes her eyes, because she really shouldn't be up this late, and father always gets mad when he finds her up and about at night.
Got mad. He can't get mad anymore, because he's not here.
She opens one eye for just a moment, and catches a glimpse of Michael standing in the middle of the room, gaze locked on her and Charlie. He looks sad, none of that careful blankness remaining. He creeps forward and sits, the bed dipping under his weight, and gently picks through the knots in her curls.
"It'll never happen this time." He says, and she can't tell whether it's directed at her or himself.
He sits there for a while, before leaving as silently as he came.
Elizabeth falls asleep shortly after.