"FANCY STOP IT!"

She took in a deep breath. Panic took ahold of her and her small frame. Her body shook, shivered, like she was cold. "No." "FANCY-" "NO!" Fancy screamed as her mom came over to her and grabbed her by her arms. She looked up at her mom. Her momma. Always supposed to be there. Always supposed to be here for her, through anything.

"There's no chanin' it." "I don't care!" Fancy snapped. "I refuse to listen to you." "Fancy please don't be this way." "You couldn't pick a worse time to tell me all of this." "That is not my fault and you know that." her mother shivered too. Both of them, rocked to their cores.

"Your pa's run off-" "please stop." "i'm real sick-" "Stop it" "And the baby's gonna starve to death." "No!" "Fancy...."

It was her fault. All her fault. If she had never gotten taken, her parents wouldn't have hit a rut in their marriage and separated. Her momma wouldn't have gotten so full of despair that her immune system failed and lost her will to live. And if she hadn't been taken her mom would have picked up more shifts instead of looking for her, and her baby sister would be fed.

But no, it was her fault. She may have been found but she had lost everything else on the way. And it was her fault. The guilt was overwhelming. "It's my fault." Fancy muttered. "What?" "It's my fault!" Fancy shouted. "Fancy what the hell." "The marriage, the sick, the baby, all of it! IT'S MY FAULT!" "baby how-" "If I never got taken-" "Fancy don't you say that don't you dare."

Her mother took ahold of her again and shook her gently. She swiped a few loose strands of hair out of her daughter's face. "None of this is your fault. None of it. It's just the way the world works sometimes." "Well it's not fair." "Oh honey, none of it's fair. Life ain't fair, baby." "But this was supposed to be our happily ever after, I came home. I came home! And this is my reward?" "I know sweety... I know."

Fancy sniffled and her mom blotted at one of her tears with a tissue. "This is what we gonna do, though. You're going to live with your daddy in New York. He loves you, baby, you know he does. He'll take care of you just as good. The welfare people are gonna come take the baby. God bless her, I don't think we'll see her again." "And you?" "And me?" Her mom sighed. "You don't worry about me." Her mom said. "You just worry about one thing, honey, you make me proud." "Momma-" "None of that, now. This is your chance." Fancy shuddered.

"Here's your one chance Fancy, don't let me down."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Fancy's hand cramped. She winced as she looked down at her notes. She had been reading over the interview transcript left for her in the case file. The interview was with none other than William Afton concerning his whereabouts on December 30th 1983 and he practically gave the same story as Mr. Patrick had.

They had been playing poker from around the hours of five to eleven pm. But that just didn't make sense. However, there were never bodies to assume a time of death from, so who's to say he couldn't have done a little child murdering that morning and then gone out for poker that evening? Was that an absolutely psychotic thought? Yes. but we are talking about child murderers here not minimum wage employees.

As if on que, Ness decided to interrupt her study session. "Watcha looking at?" He asked, looking over her shoulder as he held a tray of food on his shoulder. "Hm?" She looked up at him. "Oh." She said softly with a yawn. "An interview with William Afton transcript from 1984 like in early january." "What does it say?" "Well..." She began slowly.

"I can't tell you exactly." She replied. "Confidential." She said and Ness nodded. "Of course." "But basically, he has a solid alibi for the assumed time of death of the all the children." "But how can they assume a time of death without a body?" "Exactly!" Fancy said, almost a little too excited. "Have you been able to take a look at any of my theories, by the way? It might help, I'm not trying to intrude or anything, just want to help my community."

Like father like son. It was almost the same phrase. "No I uh haven't. I'm heading to the library later today I'll have a look at them." "By the way." He shifted the weight of the tray of food to his other shoulder. Must have been getting too heavy for him.

"When's the last time you got some solid rest?" He asked. "What do you mean?" "Well, Fancy, granted I have only known you for a few days, but you don't look so good. You look tired." "I am tired." Fancy said quietly, mostly to herself. "I guess it's been a while since I got some good sleep." She admitted. "Well, do that, please, sleep is good for you and you'll need it with a case like this conscious."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

There's a reason we don't tell certain people certain things. Especially like when you're about to make a really stupid decision.

For example, there is a reason Fancy didn't call Mike and tell him that she was currently following Vanessa home after she had stepped into the diner for a coffee while Fancy was discreetly making her way out as well. She saw the opportunity and she took it. No time to waste. If she had called Mike and said,

'Hey mike! I'm on my way to the possible house of a child murderer, don't wait up.' what do you think he would have said? He would have tried to stop her, no doubt, as most people would but Fancy didn't have time for that. This could be a break in her case.

Vanessa "Shelly" lived in a smaller house in the good side of Hurricane  Utah. it was an older looking home, painted white, with shutters at every window. It was one story and was honestly quite quaint. But Fancy wasn't here to admire home architecture. She parked her car several blocks down and slipped on a black hoodie over her YALE CHEER CAPTAIN t-shirt.

She made sure to put the hood up as she approached the house. She checked for cameras first, at no sign of them, she made her way to the backside of the house. She found a window that allowed her to see - and if she was lucky enough - to hear what was going on inside.

Oh- even better - the window was opened a crack. She pulled her tape recorder out of her pocked and hooked up the mike to it. She slipped the mike inside the window and on the table that sat on the other side, discreetly behind a vase of fake flowers that had obviously not been dusted in quite some time. And then? She waited. For anything.