Chapter 10

I stare in horror at the ghost standing in the doorway to my son's room. But then I remember myself and I scowl dangerously at him.

"Where is my son?" I hiss at him. There's no need to draw any attention to the situation, as long as I can get this thing to leave quietly. Poor Jack means well, but he can be a bit dense sometimes, okay most of the time. But that's only one of the reasons I love him. This ghost doesn't look like any of the ones we've come across though, he looks somehow more dangerous, his large muscles tense from the immense power so obviously rippling through them. No, I can't risk Jack letting this one get away, and I certainly don't want Jazz getting involved either. She has never wanted anything to do with ghosts, until recently. She's more of a ghost sympathiser than a hunter though. She'd probably want to sit down with the ghost and talk through an emotional, traumatic backstory. I look at those evil, red eyes and mentally scoff at the idea. As if any ghost, least of all this one, could ever be capable of feeling.

"I will ask you only one more time," I grit my teeth, "Where. Is. My. Son."

The ghost backs away into the room, holding its hands out in surrender. Good, it better be afraid. I follow it into my son's bedroom, whom I can see no sign of, and close the door quietly behind me. I eye the ghost warily. It is like nothing I've ever seen before with glowing, sinister, red eyes, large, dangerous-looking fangs, muscles that ripple with ectoplasmic power, and a mane of brilliant white flames. Yet, something about it is oddly familiar.

It still hasn't said anything, though.

"You'd better answer me if you know what's good for you," I warn it. I'm too considerate sometimes.

"I do not want to hurt you," he says ominously, with a rich, deep voice.

"Oh, but I definitely want to hurt you," I reply with a growl.

"Tell me where my son is!" The ghost pulls one of its strong hands down its face, as if it is almost irritated with me. The nerve. No more Mrs nice Fenton, I think as I pull out the new Spector-Deflector from behind my back. His seafoam-coloured face pales when he sees it. I grin wickedly at his expression. So he knows what this is. I have no idea how I would get it on him, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Listen, Mo – uh – human," he winces, "I don't know how to tell you this but-,"

"What have you done with my boy?!" I shout, forgetting that I'm supposed to be being subtle. In response, light footsteps come scurrying up the stairs and I involuntarily look towards the sound. The ghost takes his chance and before I know it, the Spector-Deflector is knocked out of my hand and my wrist is grasped in a firm grip. I try to struggle out of it, but the ghost is too strong. I look at him defiantly, but my expression falters when I see the deep sadness written on his own face.

"What -?" Is all I say before I gasp at the iciness of his large hand. It's exactly the same feeling I had just minutes ago when Danny…

Wait. Danny?

Realisation dawning on me, I look up desperately at the ghost's face again, this time really paying attention to his features. His face is framed by a strong, defined jawline that still holds some of the roundness of my teenaged son's. His red eyes too, which I'd previously thought looked evil, contain the same softness and concern that I've seen in my baby's ones so often. I shut my own eyes tightly and try to swallow the large lump that has suddenly formed in my throat. As if sensing that I would no longer put up a fight, the ghost releases his grip on my wrist. He steps backwards and flops onto my son's bed, putting his face in his hands. I stare at him, no longer afraid or defiant, or even suspicious.

It couldn't be, could it?

All of the gadgets going off whenever he was around, the Booomerang homing in on his signature, the sudden disappearances. I fall to my knees as the truth hits me like a truck. Why wouldn't he tell us? Didn't he trust us? My heart breaks at the thought.

"Let's catch the ghost Mads!"

"No, Jack let's dissect the ghost!"

"Let's rip it apart molecule by molecule!"

I feel my cheeks flame in shame and guilt. How could he trust us? We never gave him reason to. I swallow again, if the lump gets any bigger I won't be able to breathe soon.

"D – Danny?" I call out softly. The ghost on the bed looks up instinctively, as if he'd been responding to that name for his whole life. I hear a choked sob escape my throat, but I feel numb. The ghost looks taken aback either at his exposing himself so easily, or at the fact that I actually called him Danny.

"What happened to you?" I barely whisper, and that deep sadness enters his face again. I try to get up, but my knees are still weak and I almost fall to the floor again. I look up into my son's red eyes as he catches me in his strong arms, and carries me to his bed. He lays me on it as if I'm as fragile as a porcelain doll, and would break any second.

I reach out to him and the surprise that flickers across his face inexplicably hurts my feelings. Tentatively, he leans forward and I cup his cold cheeks in my warm hands. I draw him closer to me and hold him against my chest. It is rather awkward, but I hug him tightly nonetheless. I hesitate before I put my hand on his fiery head. I'm surprised to see that I can withdraw my hand unscathed. With this revelation, I run my hand through his white, flaming hair and stroke his face like I've done countless times before when my baby woke up from a particularly scary nightmare. I would comfort him with ghost-hunting stories and he would go to sleep with a smile on his sweet, little face, secure in the knowledge that his mommy would keep him safe from all the nasty ghosts that haunted his dreams.

And look at what a great job you've done, Maddie.

After a while, Danny gently pulls his head out of my protective grasp and just looks at me, with tears shining in his ruby eyes.

I touch his cheek again, and he nuzzles into my hand.

"You'll always be my baby boy," I say.

And I mean it.

I don't know how long I sit here with Danny's face to my hand. He looks so content, so peaceful. I just about think that he's fallen asleep and I sigh sadly, but contentedly too. It doesn't matter that my son is a ghost. He is still, and always will be, my son. It's a bit strange, though I have to admit. But then, in what world wouldn't it be.

I hear Jazz's light footsteps on the floor outside Danny's bedroom and I tense up when I see the doorknob turn.

"Danny?" her gentle voice calls out, "Are you awake?"

I am unable to move as I wait for the inevitable. I look across at Danny, but his eyes are still closed, totally oblivious to the drama that will no doubt ensue.

I turn my head to face Jazz's entry and as her head rounds the corner of the door, her eyes widen. After about one second, we both scream the same thing:

"Don't do anything! That's DANNY!"

The ghost to whom we had referred to jumps sky high, and remains floating near the ceiling, looking confusedly back and forth between Jazz and I, as if he were watching an invisible tennis match.

"Wait mom, what did you just say?" My daughter demands incredulously.

I look sheepishly at my hands, realising that, based on her reaction, Jazz had known her brother's secret for a while.

Before I can say anything, Danny speaks up, "She figured it out, Jazz." His voice. It's so mature, so adult, so – dark.

"She did?" Jazz looks at me wide-eyed. I simply nod.

"And you've known for a while, young lady," It was a statement of fact at which it is my daughter's turn to nod guiltily.

I look at my ghostly son, who looks back at me and grins his signature grin. That is unmistakeably my Danny. Well with a few added extras, I think, eyeing the fangs, warily. He alights gracefully on the floor and draws both me and his sister into a crushing, bear hug.

"Man, I love you guys," he says, his deep voice thick with emotion.

"We – love you too, little bro," Jazz wheezes out.

"Ditto," I manage to squeak out. Sensing our rapidly decreasing lung capacity, he releases us and lets out a booming laugh. I stare at my son and glance quickly at my daughter. She just shrugs and joins in the mirth. I smile weakly, but happily, before a thought crosses my mind.

"Jazz, where's your father?"

"Oh, he's passed out on the couch. Nothing will interrupt his snoring session," she grins mischievously at me. Danny looks down at her and nods his head brightly. Then he rubs the back of his neck and a serious look crosses his face.

"But, just in case," he starts and to my surprise, glowing white rings appear at his waist. I gasp involuntarily as they move along the length of my son and slowly begin to reveal him as his teenaged, not to mention human, self. When they disappear, I am left looking down at my totally normal-looking son. He grins sheepishly and says in his normal voice, "Yeah that's going to take some getting used to. Sorry, mom" he shrugs his shoulders while I just gape at him, my knees weakening.

I close my mouth to swallow. Danny grins at me, his blue eyes glinting impishly.

I frown at him, "You and I have a lot to talk about, young man."

Finally, something nearing normality.