In the End

Danny Fenton was dreaming when his mother knocked on his bedroom door to tell him a police sergeant was on the phone. Danny had received a call earlier that morning, so he had already been awake once, and had turned off the ringer and gone back to sleep.

In his dream Danny and several of his friends were Old West pioneers, who were crossing a desert on horseback. The glaring sun was burning into the tops of their skulls. They were out of water. Two of their horses had died and the others were ready to drop. Danny felt far too weak to use his ghost powers. It was a hellish situation. Danny knew that the flies that buzzed around his face were just waiting until he could no longer brush them away.

They spotted a little shade beneath a dusty cliff and dismounted. While resting and trying to figure out where to look for water, another of their horses collapsed. Everyone fell silent and stared stonily at one another. There were six of them: Danny's best friends Sam and Tucker; Danny's favorite fantasy, Paulina; Paulina's boyfriend, Dash; and Star, head cheerleader and Paulina's best friend. The fact that a girl whom he knew to be a cheerleader was part of an Old West expedition didn't seem unusual in the least.

One and all they sensed their doom closing in on them. There was no sign of shade across the wide parched plain, but then suddenly a huge black shadow like that of a giant Grim Reaper took shape far to the south. It was in the form of a dust cloud. They may have seen it with their eyes; they may have only sensed it in their hearts. In dreams it is often hard to tell the difference. In either case, something was coming out of the south, and it frightened them.

But what this thing turned out to be was Roger Foley, Tucker's brother. He came riding up on a white horse, and looked fresh, neither tired nor dusty. He had supplies with him, and his canteens were full. They accepted them gratefully, and Roger smiled at them as he dismounted. He wanted to know how they had gotten lost.

"You're far south of Amity Park," he said.

"How far south?" Danny asked. Amity Park was home—it was where they had all grown up. That fact didn't strike them as unusual, either.

But something did trouble Danny. The water in Roger's canteen tasted good but it did nothing to quench his thirst. He took another gulp, and still another, without experiencing any satisfaction. It was as if his body were pricked with a million invisible holes that allowed the liquid to escape the instant he took it in. Or else the water was invisible, unreal, and he were only hallucinating that someone had come to their rescue. Also, Danny couldn't completely focus his eyes on Roger.

"Hundreds of miles south," Roger said. "You're in the middle of nowhere."

"How do we get out of here?" Tucker asked.

Roger turned and stared at his brother. Sorrow touched his features. "Don't you know?" Roger asked.

"No."

"Do you have anything to eat?" Star asked. Star had been Roger's girlfriend—before. That was another odd thing—Danny couldn't remember why they had broken up, although he sensed it had been something important.

Roger brightened at the question. "I have cookies."

Star smiled. "What kind of cookies?"

Roger reached for his saddlebag. "Your favorites."

"Great," Star said, taking gulp after gulp from the canteen. She, too, seemed to be having trouble satisfying her thirst.

They sat in the shade of the cliff and ate Roger's cookies. They were very sweet and only aggravated Danny's thirst—he took only a few crumbs. They tried to get Roger to tell them more about which direction they should head to get out of the desert, but his answers were vague. After a while Danny noticed that none of the flies were pestering Roger.

"Roger," Danny asked. "Where did you come from?"

Roger nodded south. "From that way."

"And what's out there?" Danny asked.

Roger gave him a long look. "Some say the end of the world."

Danny chuckled. "Seriously."

Roger sat up and looked at his brother, Tucker. "It's good to see you again, buddy," Roger said.

Tucker became thoughtful, and lines creased his forehead. "I haven't seen you in a long time," Tucker whispered.

"Yeah, you have," Danny said. "We saw Roger just the other—When did we see you last, Roger?"

Roger stood up suddenly. "I better be on my way."

Tucker jumped up. "Wait. You just got here. I want to talk to you. I haven't talked to you in six months."

They all fell silent and thought about Tucker's comment. It was true that none of them had spoken to Roger in six months. It was up to Danny to figure out why they hadn't. He knew the evidence must be right in front of him. They sun was shining directly onto Roger's forehead but there wasn't a drop of sweat on his skin. Indeed, the sun could have been shining right through him. For the first time Danny noticed that Roger cast no shadow on the ground.

"Roger," Danny said, getting up slowly. "Weren't you in a bad car accident a while back?" They were in the Old West but he knew about cars—and that, too, was OK.

Roger climbed back on his horse and nodded gravely. "Yeah."

"You were killed," Tucker said, paling.

Roger looked down at the parched, baked earth. "Yeah, I died all right."

"Then how can you be here if you're dead?" Star asked, sounding bitchy and frightened at the same time.

Roger flashed a brief grin at the question. He scanned the surrounding desolation. "You'd be better off asking why you're here," Roger said.

"What do you mean?" Tucker asked.

In response Roger began to pull off his leather gloves. Like the rest of them, he was clad from head to toe in leather chaps, blue jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a dark cotton bandana. Like them, all they could really see was his face.

Roger took off his right glove slowly, finger by finger. When he finished and help up his hand, Star let out a bloodcurdling scream.

His hand was nothing but bones. He was a skeleton.

"This desert just sucks the life out of you," Roger said sadly, studying his bony fingers. Then he turned to Tucker again. "But the desert isn't to blame. The desert's just a place."

Tucker moved to his brother and grasped Roger's gloved hand. "How do we get out of here?" he asked anxiously.

"How did you get here?" Roger asked. "If you know that, you can get out." He studied the group. "Some of you, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Star asked, and now she sounded really scared, and not just because her old boyfriend had come back from the dead. She was worried about herself and stood shaking in her boots. Perhaps it was the rattling sound of her shaking that had her spooked.

"Take off your gloves, Star," Roger said.

Star took a step back. "No."

"Roll up the sleeves of your shirt," Roger said, showing no pity. "Go ahead, Star."

"No," she cried, "I'm not like you."

Dash, who had so far remained silent, grabbed Star from behind. She screamed and tried to squirm free, but not before Dash had ripped off one of her gloves. Then she screamed again, and this time couldn't stop.

Her hand had no flesh. It was nothing but bone.

"She's a monster," Dash swore.

"Get her away from us," Sam cried.

"Look at your own bodies," said Roger.

Dash and Sam backed hurriedly away from each other, and then froze. Neither of them wanted to look at their bodies, or what was left of them. But Tucker bravely ripped off his gloves.

He had flesh underneath, but it was covered in blood.

"What did I do?" Tucker cried in anguish. "Did I kill somebody? Did I kill Star?"

Roger ignored him for a moment. Instead he turned to Danny and Paulina. "Don't you want to see the real you?" Roger asked Danny. "Wasn't that always your goal?"

Danny paled. Was Roger implying that he knew about his powers? If so, who else knew? Why was this so complicating?

Danny nodded but said nothing. He knew he was nothing but dead bone beneath his clothes. He could feel the bareness inside without looking. Nevertheless, he began to pull off his glove. It was Paulina who stopped him—Paulina, whom he'd had a crush on since he was a kid.

"Let me do it for you," she said. "And you can do it for me." She took a breath and looked at the others. "It will be easier that way."

Paulina began to take off his right glove.

He took off hers—

"Danny?" his mother called.

Danny opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He was instantly awake, with the feeling Jazz was about to burst through the door. He sighed, remembering she had gone off to college two years ago. Annoying and overprotective as she was, he missed her terribly. "What?"

"May I come in?"

"Yeah," he said.

His mother opened the door. A glance at her told him she hadn't slept the previous night. There was a deep shadow across her eyes. It was something of a miracle he had slept at all, after what had happened.

"There's a Sergeant Fitzsimmons on the phone," she said. "He wants to talk to you."

Danny sat up. "All right. I'll talk to him on my phone."

His mother put her hand to her cheek, where it trembled. "Maybe you shouldn't," she said.

"Why not?"

"Maybe you should talk to a lawyer first."

"Don't worry. It'll be OK."

His mother nodded, and a tear formed in the corner of her eye. She grimaced. "Those poor kids. How did this all happen?"

"I suppose that's what Fitzsimmons wants to find out."

"But he already talked to you last night. Why's he calling again so soon?"

Danny shrugged. "It was late. We hardly went over anything."

"I know it wasn't your fault," she said quickly, wiping the tear from her cheek.

"I, uh, probably shouldn't keep him waiting. Could you have him call my cell?"

She nodded. "Be careful, honey" was all she said before leaving.

Danny carefully picked up his own phone, tensing as soon as it began to ring. Fitzsimmons spoke first.

"You there, Daniel?"

"I prefer Danny."

"OK, Danny. How are you this morning?"

"Fine," Danny said. Big burly Fitzsimmons sounded cheerful enough. Danny had noticed that about him right away, when they had met the day before, when they'd had only one body to explain. Fitzsimmons obviously liked being a cop. He liked doing cop things. Danny figured Fitzsimmons probably watched a lot of cop shows on TV.

"That's good," Fitzsimmons said. "I didn't wake you, did I? Your mom said you might be asleep."

"I was just lying here."

"I always used to sleep in on Saturdays when I was a kid. That was in Boston. Did you know I was from the East?"

Fitzsimmons fit well average person's stereotype of the ruddy-faced Irish cop. "I guess," Danny said.

"Do you work, Danny?"

"Yeah."

"Part-time job?"

"I go to school and work full-time at a manufacturing warehouse."

"What do you make?"

Danny hesitated. Fitzsimmons wasn't making idle conversation, and Danny knew there was no point in lying. The sergeant could easily check out the facts. "We assemble electronic boards, mostly for DVD players and stuff," Danny said.

"Really? I thought all that stuff was made it Japan."

"The boards are manufactured in Taiwan. We just assemble them."

"Do you know a lot about electronics?" Fitzsimmons asked.

"I know more about photography."

"That's what I hear. They tell me you're a great photographer."

"I guess," Danny said.

Fitzsimmons paused. "What's your schedule look like today?"

"Why?"

"I want you to come down to the station. We've got to talk about what happened."

"I can't come in right now," Danny said.

"Why not?"

"I have someone coming over."

"Who?"

"A friend," he said evasively, and then added, "I might be able to come in later."

"I think you should come in now. This is a very serious situation, and I don't think it's over yet. I think you know what I mean."

Danny spoke carefully. "There's no one else to catch."

"Are you sure of that, Danny?"

Danny sat for a moment and listened to his heartbeat. It sounded awfully loud for a guy who felt so sure of himself. "Why can't we just talk on the phone?" he asked again. Of course Danny knew the answer to that. Fitzsimmons wanted Danny right in front of him when he grilled him. That way it would be easy to tell when he lied.

"How did you sleep last night?" Fitzsimmons asked.

All of a sudden Danny's throat felt tight. "I've slept better."

Fitzsimmons said sympathetically, "It must be tough losing friends like that. It must be even tougher for the families. I talked to a couple of them this morning. Everybody's extremely upset, and they're all terribly confused. I think it could help everybody if we understood how it began. Could you tell me that, Danny?"

Danny closed his eyes and swallowed. His throat was dry. Bone dry. His dream flashed back right then. Roger Foley riding out of the south like the Grim Reaper on a white horse. Riding toward his friends—skeletons, screaming under a blazing sun.

"Maybe," Danny whispered. "But only on the phone."

"You're a stubborn young lad."

"I'm just tired."

Fizsimmons sighed. "Have it your way then. Where should we begin?"

"With Roger Foley," Danny blurted out.

"Who's that? Is he related to Tucker Foley? Wait, isn't he that boy who died six months ago in a car crash?"

"Yeah."

"What does that have to do with any of this?"

"I don't know," Danny said.

"Then why did you bring him up?"

"I had a dream about him last night."

"Danny—"

"He died at that same cliff. Don't you remember?"

Fizsimmons was silent for a full ten seconds. "But you don't know how this relates to what happened yesterday?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Tell me what you do know. How did you get involved in all this?"

"I wanted to take pictures of the cheerleaders."

"Yeah."

Danny cleared his throat. "I wanted to take nude pictures of them—if you know what I mean."

"Without their knowing?" Fitzsimmons guessed correctly.

"Yeah."

Fitzsimmons cleared his throat. He might even be smiling. Danny couldn't be sure. All he said was "Tell me the whole story."