Over the past five days, they had managed to keep their promise to him. They kept it against their better judgment. They kept it despite hour long discussions that always convinced them otherwise. Once or twice they'd nearly broken it, because they knew their silence was harmful, deadly even. In the end, they kept it, whether from love for him, or fear for being wrong, or pure loyalty to their word, they couldn't tell. But regardless, they kept their lips sealed until his deadline passed. Five days in, the deadline broke, and they arrived at his house near the crack of dawn. She had a videotape clutched in her hands, he merely ran his nervous fingers over the PDA in his pocket. His hand was too shaky to hit the doorbell on his first try. He took a moment to calm his shaky breathing, and pressed the bell on his second try.
At 5 am, there wasn't any background noise to in contest with the bell. Through the heavy wooden door, the chiming reached both their ears. It died away after a moment, leaving the two to shiver in the silence. She ran her hands over the videotape for good measure, before one bulky hand opened the door. No formalities, no greetings, just two tired eyes met them at the entrance, eyes less than surprised to see them.
"Sam, Tucker, come on in." The man stepped backward, clearing the way for the two smaller teens. His hand fell from the door, and his pink slippers hissed softly on the cold floor. "Maddie has some coffee on. We've got enough for you two."
"That's alright," Sam answered. She put one hesitant foot over the doorway, the other quickly following. Her eyes darted to the tape in her hands, then back to the man. "We don't want to be a bother."
Jack cocked an eyebrow at the tape, and she held it closer to her chest. "What have you got there?"
Her gaze wavered, to Tucker and to the man and to the tape. The purple eyes finally rested on her friend. "It's something we have to show you. You and Mrs. Fenton. It's important."
Jack's eyes widened a bit, pronouncing the dark circles under his lids. He didn't ask them anything further. His feet dragged across the floor, making more room for Tucker who hadn't yet moved. In truth, there was plenty of room for the second teen, but his nerved kept him in the cold. Jack waved him inside, until Tucker's reluctant feet followed. "Of course. Come inside; it's cold out."
Tucker nodded in agreement, watching his feet as he stepped over the doorframe.
"Mads! Sam and Tucker are here. They've got something to show us."
Maddie's head poked around the corner. The heavy white lighting of the kitchen shadowed her eyes, bringing out the bags like her husband's. She blinked a few times, and Sam noticed the older woman wore no makeup. "Oh?" she asked, not quite able to keep the hopeful tone out of her voice. She ran one hand through her disheveled hair, keeping the other one clenched firmly on the steaming mug in her hand. "Would they care for some coffee?"
"No, no. I asked them already. They said no."
She nodded her head, disappearing for one moment to fetch Jack's mug. She came back around, handing the slightly bigger cup to her husband. He didn't bother drinking any of it.
Jack watched the ripples sloshing in his coffee cup, before his gaze strayed to the tape again. His fingers tightened around the handle, a few drops of coffee inadvertently spilling over the side. "Should we get Jazz too?..."
"…Sure," Sam answered after a quiet moment, caught off guard. For some reason, the question seemed to surprise her.
"Here, let me have that," Tucker whispered from beside her, and she dropped the tape in his hands. He moved slowly to the television set, kneeling down beside the VHS player. Tucker ran his free hand over the dusty top. A thin layer of grime came away with his fingers, but he paid it little mind. "Does this still work?" he asked.
Jack glanced quickly at his coffee cup before following Tucker to the VHS player. "It should," He bent down too, balancing his too full cup of coffee on his leg. "I think it's plugged in."
Tucker nodded, slipping the tape into the dusty flaps. He silently flipped the TV on and quickly silenced the news program before it could make a sound. He worked diliengently, but his movements were sloppy, conscious that the other three were watching him.
Maddie glanced to her husband, opening her mouth to say something. After a second's thought she shut it and simply motioned toward the staircase. Jack nodded.
"Jazz!" Maddie called upstairs, moving only a few steps until she was hovering between the kitchen and the living room.
"Yeah?" Jazz's voice came back muffled, but the pounding of her steps came louder, closer, overhead.
"Sam and Tucker brought something for us."
Jazz's face appeared over the banister, her hair swinging over the edge. "What?" She surveyed the room, taking in what she could.
"A video."
Surprise flickered across Jazz's face, but she didn't bother responding. Silently, curiously, she made her way down the stairs, her little feet barely making a sound. Maddie, Sam, and Jack watched her join crowd. Suddenly, Sam felt sick looking into the tiny spark of hope that burned in Jazz's eyes. Her gaze traveled around the room, and she could see the same kind of hopefulness in Maddie and Jack. She wanted to end it now, make that look disappear, but it didn't feel right snuffing out their hope so soon. The videotape would do that just fine once they realized it wasn't going to solve anything.
"Don't get your hopes up…" she muttered into the ground. At least, she thought she did. She might have spoken so softly nothing actually came out of her mouth. Sam couldn't tell.
"Got it," Tucker announced, not as triumphant as he usually sounded with his technological expertise. He simply motioned for the standing audience to take a seat, and he retired to the chair in the far end of the room.
"What is it?" Jazz asked, taking a seat beside her father. Tucker waved his hand, silencing her as the video came on screen.
"Alrighty then…" Tucker's grainy voice broke through the speakers, the screen filled with the floor of Danny's bedroom. "I think that got it working…Yeah…Yeah the light's blinking."
The video camera swung upward, settling just slightly off-center of the black haired boy standing in the middle of the room. The cameraman, Tucker by the sound of it, slowly centered the shot. Danny stared back with a blank face, his video-self looking nearly as tired as the real people watching from the living room.
"You sure it's on?" He sounded less than amused.
"Yup." Tucker's voice overlapped Danny's. "The blinking light's on. That means it's going."
"Are you sure?" Danny raised an eyebrow to the camera. "Because Jazz tried to record our second grade play with this and she didn't get any of it. I don't think the light mean it's g—"
"Dude, you're fine. I promise it's recording." From the shift in the camera, Tucker likely poked his head out from behind. "I spent my childhood ripping these things apart. It's recording."
"Alright…" Danny muttered, less than convinced. "Just don't want to do this twice," he said, quieter now, looking off-screen. The camera followed Danny's gaze to the dark-haired girl sitting on his bed.
"You won't have to," she answered him, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "Tucker knows what he's doing."
"So let's get started!" Tucker cleared his throat. "I'm here today with the infamous Danny Fenton, the only boy known to trap himself in a box smaller than himself."
"Dude, serious," Danny grumbled.
"-for three days straight!"
"Tucker!"
"Just trying to lighten the mood," Tucker laughed. "Come on, you look like you need it." The camera zoomed in slightly. "I mean, you're pale as a ghost!"
"You're not funny." Danny narrowed his eyes, but honestly, he was pretty pale. Dark circles poked out from beneath his eyes, the shine dulled in his pupils. It was kind of an unsettling sight.
"You'll be laughing about this in a week," Tucker said flippantly. "You escaped, didn't you?"
"Hardly." Danny shifted his weight onto his other leg. "Skulker had me in there pretty long." He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "Basically blind once I got out…three days without light sucks."
"I'd feel worse for you if it wasn't the box ghost who trapped you," Tucker giggled off screen.
"It was Skulker's technology!" Danny snapped. "That counts as Skulker."
"Sure." Tucker was happily unconvinced.
"We're wasting time…" Danny muttered to the camera. "You can crop this part out of the video, right Tucker?"
"Sure thing dude."
"Good." Danny blew a few loose strands of hair out of his face. "I don't want to be remembered as 'the only ghost to be trapped by the box ghost'." He stared into the screen. "Which I'm not! Skulker did all the work."
"You just trapped yourself in the box."
"Shut up dude."
"Alright alright," Tucker answered, clearing his throat again. "Time to get serious. This is serious."
The anger left Danny's eyes, suddenly replaced with a kind of anxiety as he met the camera head on. Neither of his friends spoke, and after a silent moment, he spoke directly to the camera.
"Alright…It is," he glanced at his watch, "4:36 pm on Monday the 27th."
"28th, Dude."
"Crap, 28th. And I'm…well I'm grounded in my room. Sam and Tucker aren't supposed to be here, but hopefully you'll never see this. So yeah…I won't get in trouble…" Danny gave a weak chuckle to the camera, his nerves getting the best of him. He looked away, suddenly unsure how to continue. Tucker egged him on from behind the camera.
"So why are you grounded in your room?"
"I disappeared for three days without telling anyone beforehand. Also I didn't take my phone with me."
"Where'd you tell everybody you went?"
"Don't know that yet." Danny looked off to his right toward his bed. "I'm kind of counting on you guys to help me come up with a convincing lie." He looked back to the camera. "I'm not allowed to leave my room until I tell Mom and Dad where I've been. So uh…here I am." Danny motioned around himself. "In my room…Grounded…Yeah."
"We've got that," Tucker pressed from behind the camera he held. "You need to get to the point. Why are you making this video?"
Emotion wiped itself almost entirely from Danny's face, save for a tiny twitch in his lips, he'd completely frozen. Quickly he looked over his shoulder, focusing on the closed doors, before turning back to the camera. "No one can hear us, right?"
"You tell me dude. It's your house."
"Okay. Yeah, I don't think so." Danny's voice dropped anyway.
"Any day now Danny—not like the rest of us have a life or anything."
Sam chuckled off camera, but Tucker chose to ignore it.
The camera never left its blue-eyed subject. Danny remained silent, scratching nervously at his neck while the silence waited for him to speak.
"I…should have written some lines down or something," he finally muttered, glancing around like he might find notecards stashed in the carpet.
"No Danny, this should just be you." Sam's voice carried a little louder than before, despite the fact that she didn't enter the screen. "Just say what you're thinking."
"Okay…" he grudgingly answered. His eyes trailed around the room, and finally settled silently on the camera. "I'm making this video because I've been gone for the past few days—unexpectedly—and I almost didn't come back. I did escape…eventually, but for a while there—trapped, that is—I didn't think I would. And I was alone there, for the longest time, wondering how I'd ever…explain anything to my family, if I really never got out. Wondering what you guys would ever really know. So I'm making this now, because I want to explain, in case I disappear one day and never come back."
He rubbed his neck, finally breaking eye contact with the camera. "This is weird, talking like this. I feel like I'm writing my own obituary."
"Well you are dead, aren't you? It makes sense."
"I'm not dead dead." Danny glared at the camera. "Just kind of…like in a way."
"Well that's a good jumping off point," Tucker spoke from behind the camera. "Tell us why you're dead 'like in a way'."
"Yeah…" Danny rubbed his neck more violently, completely avoiding eye contact now. "Ow," he muttered, wincing as he lowered his hand.
"What?"
"My neck's still pretty bruised. I think I'm making it worse."
"Well stop then."
"It's not like I mean to." Danny started twisting his fingers together. "Well the thing about that. About my neck I mean. The thing about why it's bruised is, like, I've been in a box?" His eyes widened a bit. "Crap, can you cut that out of the film? That sounds stupid."
"Sure." Tucker didn't sound too honest.
"By box I mean an ectoplasmic prison—like a Fenton thermos but more…box like."
"But Danny, humans can't get trapped in the Fenton thermos." Bravado pierced Tucker's voice, theatrical at best and sarcastic at worst.
"Can you cut that out? I'm trying to figure out how to say this."
"Sorry dude, just trying to lead you on."
Danny rolled his eyes. "Humans don't, but I can. Because I guess…I haven't really been honest. With any of you. What I'm about to say, I want this to stay hidden—no one can ever see this unless I honestly go missing. And not like I'm gone a night, or two nights or any of that. That's not what I mean. I only want you guys to see this if I've really gone missing." He stuck up his hand to the camera, all five fingers spread. "Five days. If I'm gone five straight days, then I want you guys to see this…because maybe I'm not coming back after that point."
Danny paused, but Tucker didn't answer. The cameraman finally seemed to realize they'd hit the point of no return, that any further joking would be in bad taste.
"Because…" Danny continued, "it's possible something might happen to me. And I might not come back. Not intentionally—I'd never leave on purpose. But there are some people…well 'people'" Danny made finger quotes, "that wouldn't want me alive anymore. I've made some enemies, not like on purpose, but I was purposely doing the things that made enemies for me."
"Maybe you should get to the point dude. This would be pretty brutal if I didn't know what you were talking about."
"Okay." Danny's hand shot back to his neck again. "Okay okay you're right. I just mean, I've been having kind of two lives…lately. I'll…I'll just show you, I guess. That's the easiest way to explain it." Danny stepped backwards, his whole body coming into frame. His head twisted around to the door, like a nervous tic, before facing the camera again. "Just first, I'm not evil. I really really promise I'm not."
His eyes shut in concentration, but his body remained motionless for just a second. It seemed as though the tape had frozen, until a glowing ring formed around his midsection. It split into two, one falling while the other swept over his head. Danny's clothes disappeared, replaced with a midnight black suit. His hair ruffled as the rings shot past it, leaving it bleached white. He opened his eyes—green now—and lowered them, terrified, to the camera.
"I never really want to tell you this way, through a video, but if I really have gone missing, I don't want to leave it for Jazz and Tucker and Sam to explain." The sheer terror in his eyes was hard to look past. "Mom, Dad, I'm Phantom…" His body shook a bit. "I didn't mean to become a ghost—I didn't even mean to start the whole superhero thing. It just kind of happened. And I was going to tell you about it at first—I really was. But I never found the chance without…being afraid what you'd think."
His eyes darted around the room, suddenly far more tired than they appeared at any point in the video. His legs wobbled a bit, and his eyes finally settled again on the camera. "I'm going to sit, okay? I'm tired."
He didn't bother finding a chair. Instead he bent down, steadying himself with one hand on the ground until he was settled on the floor. The cameraman, Tucker, stayed standing, but bent the camera down to face its subject. In the corner of the screen, the cylindrical edge of a Fenton thermos was resting on the floor.
"It's not that I don't trust you," Danny continued, looking so much smaller than before. "It's not that I don't love you, I promise. I just really wanted nothing to change with us, ever. And maybe there's that part of me that's still afraid how you'd react." He looked around, unable to maintain eye contact. "I want to tell you some day, probably. Maybe I'll work up the courage someday. But for now, just trapped in the ghost zone for three days, I couldn't shake the thought of how horrible a son I'd be if I died and never told you why. So I want to tell you in person, someday at some time. But maybe, if I don't get that chance, if I die or something, I at least want to tell you guys in my own voice." He looked over to the bed again at the girl who never entered the screen. "Sam and Tucker know everything—and Jazz too—if there's anything else you want to know." He looked back into the camera. "I love you guys. A lot more than I've probably ever said. And I don't care how many times you've gone after Phantom, I've never held it against you. I don't know how you feel, if you're angry I never told you. In that case, I'm sorry. But I do want to tell you, someday at some time, but in case—just in case I can't—I made this. Sam's going to keep the tape hidden. And they'll bring it to you guys if I've been missing long enough—five days, okay? I think I'd be able to last at least that long. Or…you know…if I die, you guys should see this tape too. I don't plan to. Really. But just…in case."
"Kay, I think that's good." Tucker's voice came through the speakers again, most of its energy gone.
"No! No wait, I…there's got to be more to say." Almost reluctantly, Danny phased human again. Without the ghostly glow, he looked so much weaker, so much younger. "The records. I've got records of all the ghosts I've fought stored on my computer. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz know the password. I never actually told them, but they know it. It's kind of a sucky password." With each passing second, the strain became more and more evident in his eyes. The shine had disappeared completely, and the husk of the boy they left behind was almost terrifying to watch.
"No reason to push yourself." The camera swiveled over to Sam, moving upward to put her in screen. "You can be done."
"Wait…no, there's got to be more." The camera moved back to Danny. He kept his eyes lowered, boring into his hands. "What about Vlad? Should I talk about Vlad? Or maybe the accident itself? Both? I could do both."
"We've got plenty on Vlad," Sam answered. "Talk about the accident first."
"Yeah, that's a good idea…" Danny's ghostly dead eyes looked up again. Before he could start though, the audio cut out on the TV. The video flickered a few times, staticy lines running up and down the screen until it died completely, the blue eyed teen blinking out of existence.
"Oh no." The present-day Sam pushed herself off the couch, kneeling beside the VHS player. She dusted off the top, jammed her thumb into the play button, pressed and re-pressed most of the buttons on the machine, but it did little good. Tucker crouched down beside her, silently inspecting the problem while Sam looked around the room. Her eyes settled first on Jazz. The girl's orange hair was unkempt, pulled into a loose pony tail with strands escaping from both sides. Her eyes had adopted a quiet, painful understanding, subtle tears having left streaks down her face. Mr. and Mrs. Fenton looked entirely different. Their eyes were wide, hurt. Both clutched their full coffee mugs without seeming to realize it. Their mouths had fallen open just the slightest bit, exhaustion or disbelief making Maddie's lower lip tremble.
"Is it broken?" Sam whispered to Tucker, not bothering to look at him.
"Yeah. It's eaten up the tape too." Sam glanced over quickly, just enough to see Tucker pull the video out of the player, trailed by ribbons of iridescent black tape. "It's an old player."
"We'll just have to explain the rest," Sam admitted quietly. She pushed herself to her feet, stepping her way to the side of the couch. She put one hand out to Jack, who looked up at her, uncertain what to do. When he didn't take her hand, she gave in, and fell back into her seat on the couch. "I guess we can talk here then…" Sam watched as Tucker gathered up the remains of the tape ribbons splayed across the floor. "On Wednesday, when Danny went missing, he snuck out of English class to go fight something off. He never came back. We don't know who or what took him, or if he's alive or not, but we're almost certain a ghost is responsible."
"And you didn't tell us sooner?" Maddie finally croaked from beside her husband.
"You saw the tape," Tucker answered, on his feet with the chewed up tape. "We promised him."
"My baby could be dead," she whispered into her mug, "and you didn't bother telling us why? Maybe we could have found him. Maybe we—"
"Don't you think Tucker and I have been looking?" Sam answered, almost defensively. "We've tried everything to track his ectosignature, but it's just gone. We've tried everything to find him, ghost and human."
Two silent tears rolled down Maddie's cheeks. She might have wiped them away, but that meant letting go of her coffee mug, her only tether to reality. "Why would he do it then? If he made this video, why wouldn't he just tell us instead? We would have listened." She choked on her words, her eyes widening as the full weight of the situation hit her. Slowly, her rigid posture loosened, and she fell quietly sobbing into her husband's side. Coffee leaked from the brim of her mug, but no one bothered to stop it.
"Let's get into the kitchen," Tucker said with a tired sigh. "We can try to explain everything we can."
Jack nodded weakly. He picked Maddie up as he rose to his feet, keeping her clutched firmly against himself. They followed Sam almost silently into the kitchen, save for Maddie's muffle cries. Jazz pushed herself from her seat, following right behind them. Tucker glanced down quickly at the mess of glossy ribbon in his hands, spilled out from the chewed up cartridge. After a moment of silent debate, he set the ruined video down on the coffee table, glancing back at it as he followed the rest into the kitchen.
"I hate outdated technology…" he muttered, his back finally turned on it entirely, and trekked after the other four
Behind him, buried underneath the unending mess of black tape, a part of the ribbon stayed firmly lodged in the edge of the cartridge. The end of the video had been completely lost, as that length of film had seemingly been burned over. Not done maliciously, not to destroy evidence, but the burns were fresh—still hot to the touch. The scorched part of the film spelled out a message, the handwriting of the sender no more improved despite years of penmanship instruction from Mr. Lancer:
Stop Technus.