This is just kind of an experiment. I've noticed that when I'm just goofing off, I get good stuff coming out of my head. So this has no solid plot and I'll write it as the wind takes me. I actually threw a lot of semi ideas I had written down a long time ago and threw them all together, so it's a big mesh of smaller ideas really. Anyway, just let me know what you think. The chapters are long since I'm trying to keep it to a four or five part story. Happy reading!
Truths and Lies—Part 1
My life is complicated, with being a ghost hybrid and having ghost hunters as parents and all of the rest of it. First off, I don't even know if I'm dead, alive, or something in between—as impossible as that sounds. Not knowing if I'm even alive anymore has really taken a toile on my mind, and maybe even my sanity. To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm sane anymore.
I don't fear death—of course I face the undead every day, plus I may not even be alive so I don't have to worry about dying anyway, if that is the case. My mind works differently than it had three years ago—no, I had always thought this way, I just never thought like this all of the time. I had been the clumsy kid in the background that everyone ignored; the kid that was too afraid to say something because he was afraid of being put down. I was now the confident mystery guy that always had something to say but wasn't sure if I would be wasting my time saying it at all. I could always read people alright, but ever since I gained my powers, I could read people better. It was probably their emotions clouding my senses, or it was because I had sharper sight and could tell the difference between a liar and a really good liar, whatever the case, I was different—or perhaps I was finally myself.
Ever since I was born, my parents had it all planned out for me. My whole life was a one way ticket to ghost hunting, although I guess nothing could have stopped that destiny. I had never wanted Fentonworks, I never wanted to be part of the family business. I wanted to go into space, find things that people had never found before, not chasing after something that didn't exist. Of course I didn't have the heart to tell my parents that; I was that last Fenton male after all. I didn't have any male cousins to take it over for me on Dad's side of the family, and Jazz wanted nothing to do with the company, so I was stuck with it.
Even though I was hunting ghosts now, I still didn't want it. The plan my parents had didn't appeal to me, it never had, but I didn't know what my future would be anymore. I had a clear cut plan before—get good grades, ace the ACT to get into a good college and put my past behind me, just like Jazz had, but fate intervened all of my planning when I was fourteen. Now I was a half-ghost freak with an even bleaker future then before if I did end up with Fentonworks.
Hybrids are a rare thing and—so far to people—impossible, but if any word got out and someone decided to act upon that idea, then my secret could be out and I would be taken to a lab for lots and lots of dangerous and painful experiments. I would be shunned by society, a mistake in their eyes, an accident that never should have happened. The government would have their way with me, experimenting and questioning—probably trying to make the perfect soldier—then when they were done with me—if I survived it all—I would he locked away for the rest of my existence in a cell, where I would be forgotten by all men, never to see the light of day again; and I wasn't sure if I could die of old age.
Needless to say, I was in a bind.
I wanted to find my own way so badly, but I couldn't see a path for me to take. I didn't know what I wanted to do, but space still appealed to me. Perhaps I could still go with my original plan, but I also had my hero responsibilities. I had become a guardian for this world, protecting it from the freaks of the Ghost Zone that slid their slimy hides back here every time I beat them back into their lairs. Plus, I had duties to my own guardian, Clockwork. I couldn't just ignore those duties, but I couldn't ignore the fact that I needed to plan my future as well.
I just didn't know how too, not any more with all of these complications in the way.
"Mr. Fenton."
I glanced up at Lancer lazily, my eyes fatigued from staring blankly into the text book for so long. Lancer only shook his head at me, seeming to be disappointed. I knew what he was disappointed about—me. He had always hoped that I would be the perfect prodigy that my sister had been, and I was, just in my own way—Lancer didn't like my way.
"I will not tolerate day-dreaming right now Daniel," Lancer told me strictly.
I bristled when he called me by my full name—I hated when people did that. I brought my emotions back under control; my head saying that I wouldn't get out of detention any sooner if I angered my teacher—or course my mouth and my brain didn't work together sometimes.
"It's detention, what else am I suppose to do?" I asked him, a little bitterly I might add, but I also couldn't help the smirk that came across my face.
Lancer just stared blankly at me, use to my witty and sarcastic remarks.
"How about studying for that test this Friday?" he intoned, turning back around to his desk.
I rolled my eyes while he wasn't looking—I had that test covered. One thing with ghost powers and being ready to fight for your life everyday—you have killer observation skills and a photographic memory of the things you desired to remember the most—that probably tied into the ghosts that were stuck here because of unfinished business. I would have to investigate that theory later, but right now, I really wanted to mess with Lancer.
"Is she pretty?" I asked him as he sat down.
"Huh?" he asks, taken off guard by my question.
"The woman you're dating?" I asked him differently. "Is she pretty?"
"How did you know that?" he asks, almost looking furious.
"Well, you've been giving lectures on love poems a lot more lately for one," I told him, ticking each fact off on my fingers. "Two, you've lost some weight, suggesting that you want to look your best for your lady friend. Three, that horrible odor you carry around is killer to both my nostrils and your chances of getting lucky. Four, you shaved your back hair—you don't have that little tuft sticking out of the back of your shirt collar anymore."
Lancer's mouth had dropped open, his face red—but from embarrassment or anger, I couldn't really tell. The clock on the wall ticked four and I got up from my place at the desk. I grabbed my bag, swinging it over my shoulder, and walked up to Lancer. I put my fingers under his jaw and pushed it up, hearing his teeth click together faintly.
"Try chocolates," I suggested as I made my way to the door, "women love chocolate, unless they're on a diet."
I walked out into the hall before he could call after me.
As was routine, I flew over to Sam's first to visit. Between school, my parents, her parents, and the ghosts, we barely had time to see each other anymore. I had tried very hard not to get a detention today, but fate was cruel and decided to cut into my free time again.
I ignored the door, as was my nature now, and phased into her bedroom wall. Sam's room was the only one not incased in pink and the only place she could be safe from her parents. I saw her at her desk, typing something on the computer—probably some project for school that I ignored as well.
"Miss me?" I asked, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and kissing her cheek from behind.
She slapped my hands away, her black nails sharp and cold as they made contact. I was shocked and backed away from her. I was confused, normally she would welcome me with open arms, but she was being very cold at the moment. My light mood melted away and I became much more serious, but I tried to keep my light tone. With Sam, a calm smooth exterior was a better defense if she decided to become enraged.
"What's going on?" I asked her, walking up to the side of her head so she could at least glance at me from the corner of her eye—she didn't even grant me that curtsey. "What is going on Sam?"
She didn't talk, but kept her eyes glued to the screen of the monitor. I looked as well, but she was just in a chat room with Tucker. I couldn't even tell the last thing she typed to him. She shut down the site before I could make heads or tails of her screen. Okay, she was mad.
"Why are you mad at me?" I asked, but she swerved in her chair, keeping her back to me. "What? What did I mess up?"
Sam knew I messed things up, she knew I wasn't that reliable since I almost never made it to our dates on time because of ghosts, but she understood all of that. If I messed up, she either rolled her eyes or smiled, almost as if she enjoyed it. Only if my ego inflated from Phantom's popularity would she get angry with me, and I always made an effort to be humble, even in ghost form before the TV cameras and photo lenses.
"Sam, I don't know how to fix this if you don't tell me what's going on," I tried to reason with her, she always saw reason, but she was too angry to listen to me apparently since she made no move to acknowledge that I was even there. "Come on Sam, I'm desperate here."
Pleading: my last resort. Sam always hated to see me beg—but still nothing from her. This was getting tiring for me. I never had to work very hard to get along with Sam, but this was different. I could feel that she was upset, and very angry with me, so angry that I bet she was wondering what a ghost sounded like with a combat boot up its butt. I could also feel betrayal, but no jealousy, so what was that about?
"A little hint?" I asked, but she was as silent as ever.
Great, not even using my pleading voice was breaking her shell. She must really be upset. Suddenly, my advice to Lancer popped into my head, but Sam wasn't the kind of girl to forgive you if you put a treat under her nose. I loved that about her, but at the moment, I hated it.
One of her bulbs flared with green energy from my anger and broke, putting the ceiling above her head in darkness, she didn't even jump. I took a deep breath and turned towards the windows.
"I'll call you later, when you're in a talking mood," I told her, but I doubt she would bother to answer her phone if I did managed to call her tonight.
Maybe Tucker had an idea as to why she was like this.
"Dude, you don't know?" he asked me incredulously. "I know you can be clueless, but come on!"
We were in his room, his whole floor covered in cables and walls with gadgetry that I thought only existed in the movies. I was sitting on his bed, blue comforter sinking into the mattress as I folded my legs on it, and locked eyes with him.
"Are you going to tell me or not?" I asked him, ignoring his outburst.
"Sorry, man, but she made me swear not to tell you."
"What did she threaten you with this time?"
"I don't think it's humanly possible, but I believe she can pull it off," Tucker said, clicking something together and making it whirr to life. "I kind of agree with her though, you should be able to figure this out by yourself."
"Can't you give me a hint?" I pleaded, I knew Tucker couldn't resist my desperate look and voice at the same time.
He hesitated, then he gave in, looking like he was going to hurt for this later if Sam found out.
"Check your calendar."
"What?" I quirked an eyebrow at him. "That's it? What good will that do me?"
"I can't tell you more, she'll kill me," Tucker whispered.
"She can't hear you Tuck."
"That's what you think."
I shook my head at him, rolling my eyes to the heavens. Tucker could be so paranoid.
"I'm going on patrol, you coming?" I asked him, already squatting by his window.
"Can't, I got family coming over tonight for dinner. Plus if I skip out on another meal, my mother is going to ground me until I graduate."
"I understand, I'll call when I get home, alright?"
"Sure dude."
I nodded my head at him and took off into the now dusky sky. I decided to start my patrol on the north side of town and work my way down south. There was something about the direction that soothed me, and my mind needed a little soothing at the moment.
I had Sam mad at me and I had no idea why. My parents were probably close to locking me up in my room and never letting me leave just to keep an eye on me. Lancer was probably going to kill me in school tomorrow if he thought I told people about his little romance. On top of that, Dash had become a little more violent in his bullying tactics against me. Sure I could take it, but it was becoming a little troublesome. Once he saw I wasn't intimidated by him anymore, who would he go after next? I would have to keep Dash focused on me, keep Fenton a little more spineless, but I wasn't sure that I wanted to do that anymore.
I might have been the same person, but Fenton and Phantom were two different sides to me, two different personalities, two masks. At first, Fenton was just Fenton and Phantom was just Phantom. I was Fenton and when I needed Phantom, he was there, ready to fight. He was like a medicine, taken only when needed to be taken. However, as the years passed and I became more confident, I noticed that Fenton was becoming less and less—a small fog of something I had been. Phantom was taking over—personality wise. Because of Phantom, Fenton didn't see the reason to be scared of Dash any more. He was fearless, determined, a little wreak-less yeah, but confident. Fenton had always been spineless, afraid, background noise. Being Phantom, I wasn't afraid to be background noise, I found its advantages; plus Phantom could come out of the woodwork if he wanted to and people listened to him, then he could melt back into the wall just as easily as he came out. Fenton was stuck in the wood, never to come out.
Over time, I began to realize that Fenton was being overshadowed by Phantom. Fenton had become the cover-up for my real self—which was Phantom. Fenton had become my mask and Phantom was my real-fleshy face. Fenton was becoming less and less as time went by. I was tired of being something I wasn't, but I also realized that I had never been Fenton, never wanted to be him. I think that, even if I hadn't gotten zapped by the portal, Phantom would have been there somehow. It probably would have taken a little more time is all.
The change hadn't become too evident until my teachers caught onto something. I still don't know what it was, perhaps a different look in my eye or the way I talked, but they saw it. Pretty soon, the whole school saw the difference in me and treated me a little differently. I was still the freak of course, but I was the respected freak. Kids cleared the way when I walked down the hall, they kept the three seats closest to the windows for me, Sam, and Tuck to sit in, they didn't bug us or bother to call us names anymore. It was odd, but flattering, for them to act this way.
Pretty soon, and I still don't know why people thought to do this, but people started to ask me stuff, thinking of me as some wise man or something. To be honest, some of the stuff was weird and not worth my time, but I couldn't just leave them hanging. My hero complex wouldn't allow it.
Now, I was the go-to guy; if somebody needed something badly enough, I would make it happen. Some of the happening was ghost related I will admit, but it was nothing dangerous. I was dependable, and the younger kids looked up to me to help them through the year, especially the freshmen. No one else stood up for the weaker or younger kid, I was the only one to do something about it. Soon enough, people started to follow my example, and I don't think I was the freak to them anymore. I was the strong guy in the background who just happened to listen and act.
That was all anybody needed, somebody to listen to, and I was good at that. I listened, I thought, I acted—just like 1, 2, 3 for me.
I circled around Amity General as the sun began to leave the sky, blackening the clouds with its absence. I phased through the wall on the children's floor and flew through the hallways, knowing that most of the kids were asleep already.
I found who I was looking for by room 368, a room with a terminally ill little girl. I knew Kat well, a bubbly twelve year old who loved soccer. Her dream was to make it to the Olympics someday, but her illness wouldn't allow her to do that. She had become steadily worse over the week and her doctors thought that she wouldn't make it to Christmas, which was only three months away.
I had visited Kat every day since I accidently stumbled into her room after a bout with Skulker left me dazed and with a dislocated shoulder. The nurse that had been in the room helped me out, and made me stay for a few hours until she was sure I was fine. Over those few hours, I got to know the kids here and my heart went out to them. Phantom made almost daily appearances here, sharing his stories and doing small displays with his powers for the kids.
It was all in secret of course, but the doctors found me to be a help around here, helping the kids get over the idea that they might die any day. In fact, the doctors saw that the kids' health really improved when I was around. No one had died in this hospital since Phantom came around actually. Sam and Tucker thought it was a ghost thing, and I thought it was too. I healed rapidly enough, who was to say that my healing powers didn't seep into other people? That was why I was here tonight, to try and help Kat.
I quietly slunk into the room, the beeping monitors being the only sound here. I saw that Kat's mother was in the chair next to the bed, looking worn and sad. Her eyes were red from crying, her skin blanched from the stress of it all. Her hair was in a frizzy disarray and her makeup looked only half done.
Her head bolted upward when she saw me. Normally, Kat's mother hated me. She had found out that I was visiting the kids and almost started a petition, but when she found out from the doctors that I was helping the kids, she kept her tongue in her head, but her eyes always glared daggers at my back. Right now, her face held nothing.
"What do you want? To take her soul away from her?" she asked me bitterly, but she was so tired that they came out in only a whisper.
"No," I said just as quietly, "I came by tonight to help."
"How can you possibly help her?"
I came closer to the bed, looking down on Kat's small frame. She had so many tubes and wires poking her that she almost looked more like an experiment then a patient. I took off my glove and laid my bare hand on Kat's forehead. I heard her mother take in a short breath, but she didn't say anything. I let my nature take over, the instinct to want to heal this girl took me over and I found myself bending closer to her face. I gently pried open Kat's mouth and blew into it, my cold breath seeping out as a green mist that floated down her throat.
"What are you doing?" Kat's mother asked me, almost shrieking.
Ignoring her, I shut Kat's mouth and kissed her forehead, being gentle not to wake her up. She shivered under my cold touch, but didn't wake.
"I'll come back in the morning to see how she's doing," I told her mother, pulling my glove back on as I did so.
I turned my back on them and started to go for the door when the mother's voice stopped me.
"Phantom, you're not a ghost," I turned to look at her in confusion—she couldn't possibly know the truth. "You're an angel."
I saw that she was holding Kat in her arms, the once fragile looking girl now had a healthy completion and was breathing normally. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. I walked out just as I heard the doctors racing up the steps and rounded the corner by the time they made it up to the floor and into Kat's room. She would be alright now; she would make it through life—even if she didn't get to the Olympics.
I had just left the hospital when I had the feeling that I was being followed. My ears picked up the sound of rockets and I quickly twisted to the right. To large red beams from ecto-guns slid past me and landed in the street, creating two nice shallow craters in the asphalt.
"Great, just what I needed," I grumbled to myself as Valerie flew over my head, her jet-sled clear in my ears now.
"Get back here spook!" she yelled at me, probably whining up another shot in her gun.
I dodged the shot, letting it land in a tree. Valerie had become predictable in her hunting strategy. She was the shoot first ask never type of hunter and with that came the obvious idea that they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. Valerie would hunt any other ghost carefully, like a hunter should do, but with me, it was an obsession that most ghosts would envy. When she saw me, she was all guns and no brains.
But she still had deadly aim.
I cried out as her next shot caught me in the back. I could feel the suit material start to burn away with my skin as I fell through the air like a jumper with no parachute. I tried to roll to break my fall, but I didn't have time. The ground met me like a hammer to a nail, no warning at all. I tumbled a few times down the hill and came to a rest at the base of it, trying to get back to my feet. I heard Valerie's sled come to a rest beside me. I heard her jump off and walk over to me, the grass crunching under her boots with each decisive step.
"I finally have you," she said darkly, aiming the gun at my head.
I looked up into her face, meeting her angry green eyes through her dark visor. She faulted for a moment, I don't think she ever looked me in the eyes as Fenton or Phantom, but she was now and I wonder what she saw there. I saw the gun shake slightly in her hand as she looked down on me, her eyes narrowing but she was having trouble with something.
"You don't have the guts do you?" I asked her, quirking an eyebrow at her.
True, she wanted to destroy me for years, but I was the only one that she wanted to obliterate. Other ghosts she just beat to a pulp and send back home, me—she wanted my after life is what she wanted. Right now however, she had me, probably just as she had dreamed this moment for three years, but she was finding it hard to pull the trigger. She thought she had the guts, but in the end, she didn't. She had never taken a life before and she didn't have the guts to do it.
I didn't have the guts either, but I never wanted to take a life before.
"I have plenty of guts!" she roared at me, pressing the gun to my temple, but nothing else happened.
"If you're going to do it, you better have the guts," I told her, looking fully into her eyes and weighing into her mind just how heavy this would eventually become. "If you do this, you can never take it back. There are no redo's and if you regret this action, you'll be miserable for the rest of your life."
"You're only saying that so I won't kill you," she hissed out.
"Maybe, but is that what you really think?"
Valerie looked at me, then closed her eyes, looking like she was about to cry. She pointed the gun at me for a long moment of silence, than she slowly brought her hand down, pointing the weapon at the ground. I then noticed that it was drizzling, not soaking us, but we would be pretty wet by the time we both had to go home.
I was about to say something about heading home to get warm, more to implant the idea into her head, but she was already walking back to her jet-sled. I wanted to shout after her, to say thank you, to say something, but my mouth didn't work at the moment. I just stared at her, making my face as blank as possible. She jumped back on her sled and looked back at me. Our eyes made contact again, but she pulled them away and shot off. I knew why she pulled away, I saw the tears in her eyes.
After my run-in with Valerie, I decided to do the rest of my patrol, but my back wouldn't allow me. I could smell the scorched skin, feel the blood pouring from my abrasions from my grapple with the ground, and my head was still spinning from said tumble down the hill. I felt miserable, I looked like I ran into a train, and I was cold and wet from the drizzle that turned into a downpour. All I wanted was to go home, fix myself up, and have some soup. Yeah, soup sounded really good right now.
I got to my feet and started to fly, but my head didn't like the altitude. I looked around me and saw that I was in the park, close to the entrance gate actually. I sighed in relief. My house was only three blocks from here. I bet I could walk the distance.
So I started to walk. Once out of the trees though, I had to change back into Fenton. People would wonder why Phantom was walking down the street with a limp then just take to the sky. No one would take a second look at poor little Danny Fenton walking down the street all by himself.
I got to my house with no one having spotted me. My back ached, my limbs were sore, my head was in turmoil from the throbbing that wouldn't go away, and I was cold. Forget fixing myself up, I just wanted soup and my bed. Maybe just my bed, I didn't think I had the strength to lift up the spoon.
I opened the door and walked in, only to see my angry mother tapping her foot and my father looking down on me with his disappointed look.
"Where have you been?" Mom asked me, her voice deathly calm, just short of shouting at me.
"Tucker's," I said, no effort to compose my face—I had become an expert liar over the years.
"We know you weren't at Tucker's," Mom said, eyes narrowing at me. "And we know you weren't at Sam's either."
"How do you know that?" I asked, letting my bag drop to the ground.
I winced in pain because of my back, but Mom didn't catch it, my dad did though. I saw his face become concerned when he saw my pain, but Mom had closed her eyes and taken a deep breath, so she hadn't see me at all in my discomfort.
"We've been keeping tabs on you Danny, for the past two weeks," she told me.
My heart leapt into my throat at that. Had they found out where I had really been going then?
"We know where you haven't been," Mom continued, "we still don't know where you go all of the time, but we know it has to stop."
"And we know Sam and Tucker have been lying for you," Dad said, his face back to serious, but he was watching me closely. "All we want in the truth Danny."
"We're tired of the lies and the excuses. We don't even know when you're telling the truth anymore," Mom sighed, looking ready to cry.
"We feel like we lost you son. You're a stranger in your own house now," Dad said when Mom couldn't continue. "We want to know what's wrong so we can fix it, to be a family again. You're not acting normally."
"I'm fine, you guys don't need to worry about me," I said, an automatic response to their pleas, but they wouldn't take that pacifier this time.
"No Danny, something is wrong with you," it was Mom who spoke now. "You're grades are bad, you look horrible, like you're torturing yourself. You sneak out at night and you get banged up so horribly that I wonder if you aren't doing it yourself."
That one took me for a loop.
"Whoa! You think I'm purposely beating myself up?" I asked her, almost disgusted by the idea. "I'm not some troubled teen Mom. You have nothing to worry about."
I tried to brush past her to get to the stairs and the safety of my room, but Mom grabbed the back of my shirt to stop me. As she grabbed the fabric, she brushed my back wound roughly with her fingers. The pain flared worse than before, making me see spots before my eyes. I must have screamed because both of my parents were looking at me as if I had grown two heads.
Mom, being gentle, but still firm, pushed my shirt up to see the problem and I could hear her sharp intake of breath through her mouth.
"Daniel Fenton, what have you been doing?" she asked me in horror.
I didn't realize it was that bad. I also didn't realized that my face had made it to the floor before either before my dad picked me up and put me, chest first, on the couch. Mom must have been rummaging in the closet for the first aid kit because I heard her muffled shouts and various objects falling from their places in her rush to help me. Dad pulled my shirt off and whistled at the damage when he saw it, but I don't think that was the only thing he was whistling at.
Over the years, I had collected a large amount of both scars and muscle. I wore long-sleeved shirts all of the time now because of both. My parents knew for a fact that I didn't work out, so they would wonder where I suddenly accumulated biceps and a six-pack—something my father would be jealous of by the way.
"Where is that first aid kit!" I heard my mother yell in frustration.
"Mads, check his room," Dad yelled to her. "Try under the bed."
I glanced up at my father, eyes wide that he knew exactly where it was. He looked back down at me with a knowing look. I don't think he knew the truth, but he knew about my late night escapades and that I had gotten hurt before.
"You came in late one night," he explained when Mom had gone upstairs. "Something had happened to you because you were out cold on your floor. I put you back into bed but I saw your hand was wrapped up, not well by the way. I wrapped it up better for you and put the first aid kit back under the bed, right where I found it."
I blinked at him, then closed my eyes and buried my face in the couch cushion. He patted my head and rubbed his fingers through my messy hair. It didn't comfort me much, but I knew he was there and that's all I wanted to know, all I needed right now.
Mom came back down the stairs with the kit and started to clean me up. She dabbed peroxide on my open wounds and my muscles tightened under the sting, but I didn't shout. She was careful stitching up one wound that was open to far, and she was amazed that I didn't cry, I could feel it coming from her fast hands. She washed the blood from my back and wrapped me up tightly before checking the rest of my body for any more scrapes. I told her I was fine, but of course she didn't listen to me.
"Danny, if this wasn't any worse, I would drive you to the hospital," Mom told me sternly. "This only justifies what we're going to do."
"And what are you going to do?" I asked her.
"Take you to a counselor."
I looked at her, than shook my head. They could take me to as many shrinks as they wanted, but I would never talk. I had plenty of practice ignoring those pompous know-it-alls, thanks to Spectra and Jazz; though if I had a choice between the two, I would have picked Jazz. At least she would have been some help.
Dr. Card was skinny, a stick really. He had a thin beard growing from what could have been his chin, and his large glasses looked ready to tip him over. Everything about the man was unimpressive. My parents were asked to sit in on the second session since Dr. Card thought I would talk then. I had been silent for our first session, knowing full well that I didn't have to talk if I didn't want to.
"He's stubborn, I'll give him that," Dr. Card turned to my parents after about half-an-hour of silence. "I had the pleasure of talking with some of your teachers Danny. They say that you're very bright, but lazy."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"They also say that you're a bit of a role-model for the other kids. People always seem to seek you out if they're having problems, and you can normally fix them."
I looked him in the eye, he was acting like a lion ready to pounce on the prey.
"How do you fix their problems Danny?"
"Not by illegal contraband if that's what you're thinking," I told him, my eyes narrowing. "Most of them come looking for advice, I give it to them, that's all."
Dr. Card nodded his head, but didn't look convinced.
"I also had a run in with Mr. Lancer. He tells me that you have excellent observation skills."
How did I know that stunt would come back to bite me in the butt one day?
"So, I just notice stuff," I shrugged my shoulders and looked away from him.
That probably wasn't a good move since now he would think that suspicious.
"Close your eyes Danny," Dr. Card told me, I did as he asked me. "Now, I want you to describe the shoes I have on."
"Dr. Card, don't you think that's a bit ludicrous?" I heard Mom ask.
"Now, now, let the boy answer my question."
"Sorry, but I can't tell you anything," I could of course, but I didn't want to give myself away any more.
"Well, I guess I was wrong then, he can't do it," Dr. Card said. "What a shame. For a minute there, I thought you were special."
I growled at him, he was trying to bait me, I knew it. Baiting was Spectra's tactic as well.
"You're parents must be disappointed in you," Dr. Card continued. "I heard that your sister was a really prodigy. Acing the CAT and the ACT within the same year. She's got a bright future ahead of her, but I can't really picture you anywhere."
"Stop it," I told him, still not opening my eyes.
"You have to talents to speak of, no extracurricular activities that I can see, other than your mysterious habit of beating yourself up. No wonder people see you as a looser in school, you don't do anything."
"Black, Armani, size 12. They cost almost five hundred a shoe. You're left shoe is more worn then your right shoe, suggesting that you have a limp, a barely visible one. The right toe is scuffed from when you bumped into the corner in the hall way, I saw the black scrape when I came in. One of your laces is frayed from the new kitten you have in your apartment, and you walk on the side of your feet, suggesting that you have a bad skin condition or a very bad wart on the side of your right heal." I opened up my eyes, meeting the completely silent gaze of Dr. Card and my parents, I couldn't help the sly smile that came on my face. "Is that enough, or should I go on?"
"No, no, that's quite enough," Dr. Card said, writing something distractedly on his paper.
My parents didn't say anything.
"Now, to move on to the real problem," Dr. Card said, looking at me again. "This compulsive lying has to stop."
"I am not a compulsive liar," I told him—I lied to protect my parents from the truth.
"I'm not so sure of that Danny, plus all of these beatings you give yourself-"
"I don't beat myself up!" I yelled at him, catapulting from my chair and staring him down. "There are other ways to get bruises you know!"
"Danny, settle down," my dad said, getting up and putting his big hand on my shoulder. "He didn't mean to insult you."
"Then when will he start listening to me?" I asked Dad.
Dad blinked at my question, confused. The idea dawned on Mom first.
"You don't think anyone is going to listen to you?" Mom asked.
"Well, they will, but it will only go in one ear and out the other," I told her, keeping my eyes on Dr. Card. "You guys think you can solve problems with other people's heads. I got something to tell you, you can't. You can tell them what to do, but it is up to them to take that action. You can't do a thing about it. You're paid to give advice, advice that I don't need, and you're so set on what you think is wrong that you know what is wrong. You never listen, you just know how to fix. Isn't that what you're doing with me?"
Dr. Card looked down at his expensive shoes. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I can't help you," he said at last, shocking my parents.
"What?" Mom asked. "Of course you can help."
"No, the boy is right," Dr. Card shook his head. "I can't help you. He already knows what to do, he just needs to choose if he will do it or not."
I blinked at him, shocked that he had taken my side, but also shocked that he knew that I knew what should be done. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it back out the same way.
Yes, I knew what had to be done, but I also had to fix up some other things. Like why Sam was still mad at me. I didn't have time to check my calendar like Tucker said, so that was the first thing I wanted to resolve. Then I would contemplate on whether I should tell my parents the truth or not.
Stupid! I'm such an idiot for forgetting the most important day of the year! No wonder Sam wanted to drive a stake through my heart, and I would probably let her.
As soon as we got back home, I jumped up the stairs and looked at my calendar. It was stuck on July. Telling myself that I should really pay more attention to the days, I took out my phone and turned the calendar to the right date. I froze the instant I saw the date.
In big, bold colors, I had written down the one thing, the most absolute thing in the entire universe that I shouldn't forget.
Sam's birthday.
I can't believe I forgot my girlfriend's birthday! What kind of idiot am I? That's why she was so mad at me, why Tucker didn't give it away. I should have figured this out on my own, and I was two days too late. I was in a crap-ton of trouble.
I picked up the phone and quickly dialed Sam's number. It rang three times before she answered it.
"Sam I—"
I didn't get a chance to say anything else. She hung up on me. Oh I was going to get cursed for this. She was probably doing voodoo right now, one Phantom plushy in her hands and a home-made Fenton doll on the bed, just ready to be thrown into the fire, or stuck with needles, or something that I really shouldn't say because that would be cruel and unusual punishment for you who are reading.
Anyway you looked at it, I was dead.
My father came into the room when he heard an odd thumping sound coming from upstairs. It was me, banging my head on the wall in my stupidity.
"Danny, why are you banging your head on the wall? You'll make a dent."
I stopped to look up at him and he saw that something was wrong.
"I can't believe I forgot," I mumbled under my breath, banging my head one last time on the wall and just letting it rest there.
"Forgot what?" he asked coming to stand beside me.
I pointed to the calendar and he whistled when he caught on.
"I am so dead," I said. "She's never going to speak to me again."
"Danny, don't get so down on yourself. So you forgot a big day. I've been forgetting my anniversary for twenty years in a row and look at me!"
I only groaned into my wallpaper.
"Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say," Dad said, now thinking about what he had said. "Look Danny, just get Sam something a little extra special."
"She won't go for that, you know Sam."
"Yes, but I also know that she won't turn down something you put a lot of effort into making."
My eyes snapped open and my head came up instantly.
"Dad, you are a genius!" I yelled at him happily. "I've get to Tucker's."
"You're welcome!" Dad shouted as I ran down the stairs.
"Where are you going young man?" Mom caught me as I grabbed my jacket.
"I got to get to Tucker's before Sam utterly destroys me for forgetting her birthday," I said quickly as I ran out the door. "Love you, bye!"
I had an idea, and I was sure it would work, but I failed to notice that there hadn't been a ghost attack in a while. Ever heard of the calm before the storm? Well, I guess I never took the time to think about the calm being the time to get prepared for the storm.
