The police cars parked in front of the house, their lights flashing silently, taping off the house, was enough to gather a crowd together. Dan was standing on the sidewalk, off to the side as men and women marched in and out of the house, wiping brows, murmuring their sympathies to him. A small towel was around his shoulders--it probably was to help him get rid of the vomit. But now, he just needed to feel something other than cold and numb.
The worst part was that he knew everyone on the Amity Park squad, having both lived in the area for 18 years and regularly met up with them on jobs. For some reason, he thought it would have been better for strangers to see him like this, stained and staring off in the distance like doing so would make his parents come back to life.
Chief Connors and his cruiser was pulling up now, and suddenly Dan felt a large hand on his shoulder. Just the size his dad's would be.
"I'm sorry boy," the man said through his mustashe. Dan was silent, hugging the towel around him closer. "If there's anything we can do..."
"I need a phone." His voice was hoarse and choked, the first time he'd said anything after calling 911. There was one inside, but he didn't want to go anywhere near the house. He didn't want to be here at all.
They stormed in and out of the big brick building like little army ants, until one of them finally pressed a cell phone into the palm of his hand and he just looked at it for a moment. In his hand it was small and cool, pressing up against a cut he'd gotten when falling to the floor to heave away lunch and pain. Soothing it.
And without him knowing it he was dialing the familiar number 555-8825 and it was ringing, ringing, the ringing in ears of his own screams echoing around the basement.
After an eternity, a click.
"Tucker. Get over here. I need you, man."
It was ten minutes. Just ten. Tuck had never made the trip in less that 15 but here he was in ten, the brakes squealing and car swerving to a stop a dangerous inch from the cruiser, the familiar man leaping out almost through the window, in such a hurry he hardly touched the ground.
"What happened?" A dead stop beside his best and only friend, staring at the line of policemen filing in, out, around, the area finally taped off with yellow and black lines. Danny was on the ground now, head in his hands as his emotions were pouring out of his eyes through his fingers onto the pavement. The numbness was gone. He missed it. Missed it like he missed them.
And he didn't even look up to say, "My parents. They've been killed."
Tucker didn't need to hear any more. He grabbed the black-haired man by the shoulders, hefted him up (Tuck had grown taller, stronger since high school) and pulled him into a bear hug. Now was not the time to worry about awkward situations. Danny was sobbing already, understandably, and better it be on Tucker than the sidewalk.
There was a crowd gathering, now, of nosy neighbors and bystanders, all peering at the scene, wondering what was going on. All of them gasped when the two gurneys were wheeled out, white sheets stained with ruby droplets being pushed gingerly into the back of a van, driven off. Body bags being taken to a morgue.
"Oh, God," Tuck said, his face paling, suddenly looking as though he may be sick. "Wha...What happened?"
Police Chief Connors was walking out of the house now, a team behind him wearing white gloves, face masks, holding little packets of evidence. "They were murdered. By our Night Mistress."
Dan had gotten enough of it out to stand up to his full height, if shaking, a professional at his best. "That's impossible. They can't have been muh--murd--" He stumbled upon the word, swallowed hard. "Killed by her. She only strikes at night."
Connors sighed, his mustache fluttering. "Not today. Son, your parents were full off bullet wounds that match those of the other victims. The same bones were broken. The same blood patterns spattered around. They were even cut open the same way. It can't be mere coincidence."
Shaking, wobbling, Danny furiously shook his head, tilting violently, so that Tucker had to catch him to keep him upright. "No. No no." She'd seemed so far away. Too far away. Like she could never affect him. First Valerie. Now his parents. Within the last six hours his world had shattered.
"No!"
And he hit the ground again, a new wave of sorrow and rage and hate passing over his, and all he saw was that image of a concealed woman holding a gun to their heads, in turn, and then his, and pulling the trigger too fast for him to move away.
--
Samantha Manson sat in her kitchen, sipping her morning coffee (black, of course) as she leafed through the Fezville Times. Most of the articles didn't hold her attention for more than a few seconds, and she completely passed over the classified ads. No, there was something very specific she was looking for today.
Another flip of a page--two articles, back to back. The first one she was expecting. Fezville and Amity Park Police Depertments Team Up to Catch Night Mistress. It was about time, wasn't it? And they always had an article in here about her.
The second article, and she gasped.
Amity Park's Most Famous Ghost Hunters Slaughtered in Home by Night Mistress.
This surprised Sam. This surprised her very much.
"I didn't do this..." she murmured to herself, scanning the paper voraciously, as though she could eat the words with her eyes.
Oh, no no. She may hate him, and hate him a lot for what he'd done, but killing an old friend was one thing--killing his parents? She adored his parents. Sent them a Christmas card every year. His mother still called to chat, even through everything that had happened. Jazz was one of her closest friends, as was Tuck. This...even she would not stoop to such a level.
But it coincided with her newest mission quite well. Indeed, she thought she could pull this off with much ease.
Painful as it was going to be...the rewards at the end would be marvelous.
--
"I want you to do something simple," he said, druming his fingers together, leaning on his desk. "Very simple. It's almost a basic mission."
She nodded.
"The character known as Danny Phantom," he said slowly, pushing towards her a recent newspaper clipping of her old companion flying through the sky after another daring rescue. "I want you to kill him."
She smiled. "Gladly."
He held up a finger. "Not immediately. You see, I need information from him. I want you to infiltrate his base and hack his systems. His technology must be mine."
Another nod. "But how?"
He smiled. "Charm him."
--
He was back at home, now, Jazz and Tucker on either side of his broken couch, his sister weeping. Her hair, normally neat, had fallen out of it's bun, and there were mascara tracks running down her cheeks and onto her clothes. Jazz's husband, Trent, held her close, trying to comfort her to no avail. Little Sally was still at school, thank goodness. Dan didn't think it would be good to see her mother so distraught.
As it were, he was staring out his window at nothing, wondering what kind of sick woman would kill an elderly couple. And be able to do it without signs of a struggle.
"I just...don't get it," he said, half to himself and half to Tucker, who was walking to his little kitchen to get Jazz a glass of water.
"Get what?" he asked cautiously, turning away from the cupboard slightly to look.
Dan turned slightly, glanced at his shoes, continued. "Why would she kill my parents? Valerie I understand, I mean..." He swallowed. "She was dangerous, she hunted down criminals. But, my folks?" Daniel shook his head. "Wouldn't hurt a fly. I mean, this woman isn't a ghost, is she?"
Tucker shrugged. "They don't think so. It's possible." He shot his best friend a worried look. Danny must have been in shock from this whole thing. Losing his parents? He should be a wreck. But, then, Fenton did work with the police on a regular basis. Saw people hurt and killed because of ghosts. Was he just acting normal out of instinct? Habit? It really was not normal.
"Just don't get it," Dan was muttering to the window. Tuck set the glass of water beside Jazz, whose sobbing had been steadily decreasing in intensity.
And then there came the knock.
Four pairs of eyes turned to the door, the room suddenly silent. For a moment all was still. Then the knock came again, twice this time, a bit more urgent and as the others traded looks of confusion Dan raced over to the door, yelling, "Coming! Hold on!"
The doorknob was cool in his hand as he turned it, not bothering to look through the peephole because, really, he'd kept the person waiting and he had ghost powers for Christ's sake he'd be fine.
Or so he thought.
With a creak, the door opened to a scene that had Dan's jaw on the floor. Standing before him was a woman of about medium height, with jet black hair that hung, straight and with a perfect little wave in it that gave it a shine down to her shoulders. Her face was pale and she was wearing a black jacket over what looked like a light blue dress, a summer dress. She was thin and yet full-figured and very, very pretty.
That is not what made him gape, however. No, what had him staring were the eyes--bright, saddened, and lavender.
"Hey Danny," Sam said quietly. "Mind if I come in?"
