What Are You? More Importantly, What The Heck Am I?

Chapter One

What am I missing?

The question again skimmed the violet-eyed woman's conciseness as she lay on her back next to her elephantine husband, Fenton Earplugs in place to block out the man's snoring and leaving her in relative silence.

So many pieces to the puzzle. I have every one of them, but no picture to form, no guide to follow.

Maddie rolled over on her side, her back to her spouse. What was going on to drive her to such a state of insomnia that she was wide awake at five in the morning was a mystery to her.

The martial arts session just a week ago... How he pulled that off at his age with only the most basic training—that took him months to complete—is beyond me.

Last Saturday, Maddie had taken her son and daughter to a karate class while their father spent the day working on the new Specter Speeder to replace the one Sam and Tucker had totaled a while back. Years ago, the two youngest Fentons had been trained in the entirety of the white belt level for self-defense. The girl, Jasmine (Jazz for short), had taken just a month to complete the training, but the boy, Daniel (preferably Danny to his mind), had taken nearly a year to achieve the yellow belt rank. Obviously, it was Jazz who had inherited her mother's fighting skill. And yet, Danny had been elevated in one day to the red belt level, a very big improvement from the simple yellow belt and skipping several other belts along the way, while Jazz only improved her old moves a bit and learned some new ones. Obviously, Danny was actively using martial arts, probably on a daily basis. And not just on on thin air. His flying-jump-kick had not only made the seasoned veteran (Sensei) who was testing his power in the attack fall flat on his butt, but had actually sent him skidding for a couple feet. And, in a sparring match, he'd blocked or dodged every one of his mothers attacks, and defeated her with a single, powerful roundhouse kick that sent her sprawling. You didn't get that kind of strength from fighting imaginary enemies.

Lately he's been more than just missing his curfew, he's completely omitted it, except for the very occasional day when he actually does make it. His excuses are continually less and less believable. He looks more than just tired some days, like even though he usually heads to bed right after dinner he still doesn't sleep for more than a couple hours. And I know teenagers usually stop talking to their parents as much as they used to, but our lack of communication is getting a little extreme.

It was true. Danny and Maddie had not had an actual conversation since a couple months ago when they went bowling together. Maddie wasn't blind to this, and found herself wondering where she'd gone wrong. She knew Danny disliked his lack of a normal family, and yet had never given it a thought before. But if that was the whole reason he actually seemed to be avoiding speaking with his own parents...

Come to think of it... Danny hasn't been the same since that accident about a year ago. I know a near-death experience like that, turning on the Portal and nearly getting killed by way of electrocution if he hadn't gotten out in time, can cause trauma, but he hasn't shown any signs of that. He hasn't seemed to be afraid of going anywhere near the Portal at all. On the contrary, he seems to be spending even more time down there than ever. Jack thinks he's just getting into ghosts, but that seems unlikely somehow... Well, that's another piece to the puzzle.

Maddie came to glare angrily at the alarm clock, which now showed five thirty. Obviously, she wasn't going to be getting any sleep tonight. The alarm would be going off in half an hour, anyway. Somewhat annoyed, she got up and moved to the bathroom in the hallway so as to remove her earplugs without going deaf. Once that was taken care of, she proceeded to her shower. Letting the warm water run over her exposed skin, Maddie again contemplated the puzzle.

And what about yesterday? He went up to his room, never seemed to leave, but he came back into the house through the front door an hour later and limping, but he was fine when he went to bed later. He's keeping something from us... And it might be dangerous, to himself more than us I think. He and Jazz seem to be getting closer though... Maybe she can help me figure out what all this points to.

She turned off the shower and toweled herself off, pulled on her typical blue hazmat. Upon leaving the bathroom, however, a flash of brilliant white light came from beneath her son's bedroom door, through the crack between the wooden door and the carpeted floor. This stopped the mother in her tracks, her eyebrows arched high in a mixture of surprise and curiosity, all worry forgotten. That, to her knowledge, had never happened before. The flash was quickly followed by a thumping sound, as if something had just leapt onto her son's bed. Worry returning to her features, Maddie grabbed hold of the doorknob and twisted hard, throwing the door open.

Danny lay still in his bed, his back to the door, looking to be fast asleep, but something wasn't right. His breathing was too quick, and she could have sworn he'd abruptly stopped moving, hoping to fool whoever had thrown his door open like that.

"Danny?" Maddie questioned, watching her son. He seemed to stiffen slightly, but otherwise showed no reaction. She stood silently in the doorway for a full minute before he cracked open one eye and turned his head to check if she had gone. He groaned when he realized she had not and sat up on his bed, staring guiltily at his mother. She came and sat down next to him, remaining silent for a second before asking,

"What was that flash?"

A look of terror flitted across his face for just a split second, and then it was gone. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he answered in a would-be casual tone of voice,

"Flash? What flash?"

Maddie raised an eyebrow at his edgy behavior. Obviously, he wasn't comfortable with that particular subject. But why?

"I saw a flash from your room."

"Umm... Well... I can't imagine why..."

"Is there something wrong, Danny?"

"Well... Yes, actually. But there's nothing you can do."

"Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Nope."

Maddie sighed. If Danny wasn't going to tell her, there was no point pushing it. Instead, she turned her attention to a different question.

"What are you doing up at this hour anyway? Have you even slept at all?"

"Well... an hour or so I think."

"Why not longer?"

"More stuff I'm not about to tell you."

Maddie was at a loss for words, until she noticed his right arm was dripping something red onto the floor, and there was more on his sheets. A feeling of cold dread seeped through her, and before Danny could so much as blink, she grabbed his arm and flipped it over so his hand was palm-up. All color drained from her face as her suspicions were confirmed.

His forearm was slashed down the middle, from elbow to about three fourths of the way along his palm. The cut started shallow, became deeper, then shallow again, like some kind of horrendous claw mark. At its deepest, the cut looked about half an inch deep and it was bleeding heavily. Also, strangely, when she looked close it was as if she could see his flesh slowly knitting back together and the bleeding was steadily slowing. The injury itself, however, was not what disturbed the mother so deeply. Rather, it was Danny's actions while he was so badly hurt. His voice and expression hadn't showed any signs of any pain whatsoever, meaning he'd endured far worse than this before. He also seemed completely unconcerned with his injury, despite the fact that quite obviously the artery that ran through his wrist had obviously been seriously damaged. And now...

She became aware of the fact that he was struggling frantically to break free of her grip, eventually taking hold of the back of her neck with his left hand, squeezing tightly and forcing her to release him with a sharp gasp of pain. He in turn relinquished his hold on her and moved his arm out of reach, smiling apologetically at her as she fixed him with the same frightened stare as before.

"Sorry. It's...nothing. Just a scratch."

"Just a scratch?" She repeated faintly. "That's not just a scratch, young man, that's a life-threatening injury. Don't they teach you anything in Biology!"

"Trust me, mom, I've had worse." His tone was as if he were addressing an everyday issue as simple as trying to catch the bus on time, casual and unconcerned. This shocked Maddie for obvious reasons. "This should be gone before noon. See?" He presented her with his forearm again, and what she saw drove shock away in favor of curiosity and confusion.

The shallowest parts were already completely eliminated, his palm now unscathed, and the deeper areas had shallowed. The blood flow had slowed to a steady trickle, and there was no doubt that he wouldn't even have a scar once it finished healing. She turned to stare at his face in confusion, silently asking,

'How the heck...?'

He grinned sheepishly, withdrawing his arm once more.

"I heal fast."

"But... Ho—?"

"How? Another question I'm not going to answer." He replied, cutting her off. He slid off the bed and reached beneath it, pulling out one of the Fenton First Aid Kits and proceeding to bandage his arm. Halfway through the process he glanced back up at his mother, who was still staring.

"You know you're not getting any answers from me. Why don't you go get dad up?"

Realizing she'd outlived her welcome, Maddie nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her... and pressing her ear to it. If her son was treating injuries like that the way he was and keeping secrets from them, it was her right to invade his privacy a little and figure out what was going on with him. It wasn't long before he began muttering to himself angrily.

"Damn Box Ghost... If it weren't for him distracting me, I could have kept from getting clawed up by Bertrand, but no, he had to show up right then. Argh... At least we caught both of them, so that's one threat and one nuisance down. For now anyway. They'll both come back eventually though. If only mom hadn't caught me, I could have shoved them back in Ghost Zone where they belong." At this point there came a sound vaguely like one of the Fenton ecto-guns being fired. "Still, been a quiet week so far. Only five attacks in one day... These days it's usually more like twice that. But I'm not complaining, that's more time to just hang out for me. Better check and see if the lab's still empty, see if I can get these two back in the Ghost Zone after all..."

Maddie jerked away from the door, expecting her son to come through it at any moment. But there was nothing, not even the sound of approaching footsteps. Curiosity getting the best of her, she opened the door a crack and peeked back inside... To find the room was empty. In fact, there was no sign Danny had ever even been there. The bed had been made and the blood on the floor had been cleaned, probably with the cleaning equipment kept in the Fenton First Aid Kit, which, judging by the fact that it was no longer in sight, Maddie assumed had been returned to its position beneath the bed. The window wasn't even open to suggest he'd climbed out for whatever reason. Confusion resurfaced and she decided she'd rather not wake Jack but instead go and figure it out over a cup of coffee.

Maddie moved downstairs and into the kitchen, lost in thought.

"Damn Box Ghost..."

Box Ghost? That annoying one who's always obsessing over boxes? What was Danny doing with that ghost? Or any ghost at all, for that matter? I thought he hated them...

"...If it weren't for him distracting me, I could have kept from getting clawed up by Bertrand..."

Getting clawed up? Is that what gave him that cut? Why'd he say it as if he were fighting an animal? Who's Bertrand?

"...At least we caught both of them, so that's one threat and one nuisance down..."

We? Is he in some sort of gang?

Caught? Is he in a ghost hunting group? Why wouldn't he tell us about it?

Threat? Which one, that Bertrand character or the Box Ghost?

Nuisance? That has to be the Box Ghost. So then Bertrand's the threat... Threat to what? His life?

"...If only mom hadn't caught me, I could have shoved them back in Ghost Zone where they belong..."

Well that certainly sounds like ghost hunting to me. But why wouldn't he want me to get involved?

...a sound vaguely like one of the Fenton ecto-guns being fired...

What was that noise anyway? None of our inventions sound quite like that. Could that be something he built himself? Why'd he use it?

"...Still, been a quiet week so far. Only five attacks in one day... These days it's usually more like twice that..."

Five attacks? Ghost attacks! But we didn't even get one call!

Usually ten a day! No wonder he's so tired all the time! But we only got three calls all month... Did fight off all the others by himself!

"...But I'm not complaining, that's more time to just hang out for me..."

He makes it sound like he doesn't have a choice in whether or not he fights these ghosts. Have they been targeting him? Singling him out for attack?

"...Better check and see if the lab's still empty, see if I can get these two back in the Ghost Zone after all..." ...But there was nothing, not even the sound of approaching footsteps... ...the room was empty... ...The window wasn't even open to suggest he'd climbed out...

If the room was empty, and he didn't come through the door or climb out the window—or, for that matter, move at all—how'd he get out? It's not like he could've just phased through the floor.

Maddie sipped her coffee, thinking back to their earlier conversation.

"What was that flash?"

...A look of terror flitted across his face...

Why was he so scared at the metion of a flash of light?

"Flash? What flash?"

"I saw a flash from your room."

"Umm... Well... I can't imagine why..."

He knows what that flash was, and he obviously doesn't want me to.

"Is there something wrong, Danny?"

"Well... Yes, actually. But there's nothing you can do."

What is it, Danny? What's wrong in your life that I can't help you with?

"Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Nope."

Why? Why, Daniel James Fenton, won't you trust me with whatever you're hiding?

"What are you doing up at this hour anyway? Have you even slept at all?"

"Well... an hour or so I think."

"Why not longer?"

"More stuff I'm not about to tell you."

Whatever it is, it must be extremely dangerous. What are you hiding? Why are you afraid to tell me?

...His voice and expression hadn't showed any signs of any pain whatsoever...

How much worse than that can you get in the way of pain? He must have had several injuries as bad as, and worse than, that before. But why does he think we can't help? Especailly if it's ghost-related?

...seemed completely unconcerned with his injury...

That must have been because of his fast-healing thing. How often has he come home with something like that and we had no clue? He's all too good at hiding it.

...he was struggling frantically to break free of her grip...

Why'd he freak out that badly? He obviously wants to keep us oblivious, but what of?

...taking hold of the back of her neck with his left hand, squeezing tightly and forcing her to release him with a sharp gasp of pain...

He sure knows his pressure points. Obviously, he pays more attention in class than his grades show. Which means it's interupting his schooling.

"Sorry. It's...nothing. Just a scratch."

How can he take something like that so lightly?

"Just a scratch? That's not just a scratch, young man, that's a life-threatening injury. Don't they teach you anything in Biology!"

"Trust me, mom, I've had worse."

...His tone was as if he were addressing an everyday issue as simple as trying to catch the bus on time, casual and unconcerned...

How much worse!

...no doubt that he wouldn't even have a scar once it finished healing...

How many scars would have if he didn't heal the way he does? How many does he have?

"I heal fast."

"But... Ho—?"

"How? Another question I'm not going to answer."

How does he heal like that? I could look through the entire hospital files and not find even one other person who does. Is he useing some ghost-related item or something?

"You know you're not getting any answers from me..."

That was awefuly forward of him for talking to me. What made him think he had the right to talk to me like that? For that matter, why'd I not only let him get away with it, but do as he said?

So many peices to the puzzle, and none of them fit together.

Another sip of coffee accompanied her decision.

I have to watch Danny. I'll figure out what he's hiding...

If it's the last thing I do.