For a moment, I was too stunned to talk, and I thought that if I hadn't been, I would not have known what to say. In that moment as I laid my eyes on the baby-blue bedroom, complete with a crib—it wasn't like any crib I'd ever seen, though; it was the size of a twin-sized bed, and so were the light blue sheets, the fabric of which printed with little yellow ducks—, a play area and toy chest, a rocking chair, and (it gets better yet!) a changing table, stocked with diapers and bottles of unknown substances, my previous cool—or so I'd tried to appear—demeanor vanished and it began to show. My palms and face were sweating profusely now, and my throat became very dry. My mind began to race, because no longer did I believe I knew what Vlad had in store for me; my perception that he would chase me around the castle until he caught me—which might have been fun, because I'd actually begun to enjoy the adrenaline and endorphins my fights with ghosts conjured up—at which point he would attempt to clone me again or brainwash me or something along those lines had completely vanished, and it seemed that everything I'd ever been told was right was suddenly making itself known as being wrong; it was, in reality, like a revelation, one that is so unexpected it shakes the very structure of your mentality until you are left staring into space, bug-eyed and dripping drool from your mouth. I felt as though I did not know what to believe any longer—I mean, would you feel confident about the sanctity of your thoughts when you were presented with the idea that…?
That what? Of course, I knew what it was, and clearly, too—though my mind was racing and my thoughts were fleeing in all directions, I was not ignorant to what he planned to do to me. It did not involve a brainwashing device or a chamber my half-ghost clone "cousin" would strap me into, although now I would have welcomed it, probably getting into the thing myself if I could. The fact was, I knew what he was going to do but I didn't think I could really comprehend it; but, hell, I don't think anyone in my situation would be able to grasp the idea that their arch enemy, the person who had tried to kill them time and time again, planned to treat them like a…
The speakers inside my head did not want to advertise this, however—I would not let them. Though it seems crazy, and maybe it was, it was so much easier for me to believe that my enemy planned to kill me and my father and rape my mother—do things so disgusting they become unspeakable—than…do what he really planned to do, because this would undoubtedly involve a lot of given affection. And affection was not a term that suited Vlad Masters, not in the least, so of course I could not simply turn to him now and say, "Yeah, okay, I'm down for this. It's better to be babied than shot at, I guess", because such an idea was so farfetched even I couldn't believe it, and in general I'm open to accepting a lot of farfetched things, so I've been since gaining these powers of mine. Rather, it actually seemed safer to buy into the idea that Vlad was always plotting against me, attempting to work things so that my dad and I would end up dead in a gutter somewhere and my mother would end up in his arms; the idea that Vlad could actually care for me was really very foreign feeling, especially in that I lost all sense of self, seemingly losing the ability to distinguish good from evil, right from wrong, and causing me to question my decisions in the past, wonder what I could have done better. If I simply believed what the jumpy little man inside my head chanted was correct, I would not have to venture into this unfamiliarity, and therefore danger.
But how couldn't I now, faced with the sight of a baby's nursery which Vlad had said to be my bedroom as he'd led me up the stairs? How could I simply go about believing that Vlad really intended to hurt me as he…did whatever he planned to do, because, of course, I still didn't really know. But, of course, I had a really good idea—no, I had a certainty, because why else would Vlad had shown this to me if I wouldn't have any connection to it? In fact, why would Vlad even have a nursery in his house? Some part of me—the shaky little man who liked to play things safe—was broadcasting that Vlad had perhaps lost a baby and wife to some tragedy before the nursery could be filled and was showing me as a way of displacing his sadness. But of course, I knew this was incorrect—at least, this is what the rational guy told me, the one who longed for adventure and uprootal—because Vlad loved my mother and my mother alone, and when we'd arrived here for the reunion and my parents had been downstairs catching up with Vlad, I had been touring the castle using my ghost powers, and of the rooms I'd seen—all of them, I thought—not one had been a nursery. So he had to have just added it. But why? For Danielle? Of course, Mr. Rational was shrieking in response Shaky's theory, because what type of sense did that make? Dani was only a few years younger than me, and on top of this, I'd heard Vlad say it himself—she was a mistake. Though I did not feel this way about her, Vlad cared for her about as much as he cared for my sister—like a pawn—and I doubted if he would go to the trouble to build a nursery for her, of all things. No—I knew he wouldn't. So what was this?
"Do you like it?" he asked softly, drawing me out of my thoughts and the brief period of speechlessness they had evoked.
It took a moment or so, but I did manage to talk, although my voice came as a harried croak rather than a powerful, commanding tone as I'd desired before. "What is all this?" I gasped, staring at the room with eyes that could not have grown wider if zombies had suddenly broken through floorboards and windows like the music video of Sam's favorite—actually, only—pop song, Thriller. I sure did feel like Vlad's eyes would suddenly turn that eerie moon-yellow, and I really wanted to cower in fear with my hands over my eyes like the girl Tucker could swoon over for hours, watching and re-watching the video just to stare at her body until his eyes were bloodshot. Making this parallel, I realized how much I really missed Sam and Tucker, and that no matter how this all turned out, it was going to be one painful summer. That was a for-sure.
"Your bedroom," he repeated gently, and suddenly one of his warm, moist palms was pressed against my forehead.
I stumbled backward a little and I almost fell, but Vlad's other arm wrapped around my waist to steady me and I realized dimly that he was…holding me. And upon looking into his eyes, I saw immediately that he looked bemused, but beneath this there was something else. Something underlying that was unmistakable but I could not believe—he was concerned.
"You feel warm, Daniel. I think we'd better take your temperature," he said, brushing the locks of hair from my forehead as he removed his hand.
"No," I protested, and pulled weakly away. "I'm fine."
"Come here," he said, and held his arms out to me. The concern had not left his eyes, but I could tell he was growing frustrated but trying to remain patient even still. "You need to lie down for awhile."
"It's two o'clock!" I protested, my mouth agape in disbelief at what I was hearing. Of course, it wasn't as if I never took naps—I actually loved them—but there was something inside me that did nottake kindly to the idea of someone else telling me when and where to take them. I guessed it was some hormone that has to deal with masculinity, the desire to be the alpha-male, or something—I fell asleep in health class once too often to know for sure—, because the idea of Vlad putting me in bed to sleep in the early afternoon was almost as bad as if Sam were to do it.
"You'll be taking a nap at this time every day, Daniel," Vlad said softly, and then he continued, as if he'd only casually mentioned my need for new socks rather than this upsetting revelation—to Shaky, that was—Rational seemed to excite at it—, "Now, come here. I need to take your temperature."
In those outstretched arms of his, I could see my fate with such undiluted clarity it sent chills up my spine. Staring at him now, an image came to mind that just about summed it all up, and it was not one I particularly cared for but could recall the humiliating moment in my past with the same clarity. It was one of the pictures Tucker had taken of me after Spectra had forced me into a diaper and top hat with that stupid sash. I could hear the laughter and I could see my dulling features.
Vlad had started to say something else, but I wouldn't hear it.
Instead, I turned and bolted down the hallway.