"It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace."
― Chuck Palahniuk
Sam opened her laptop and put her headphones on. She might as well have been strapping herself into the electric chair. Tucker had called this video ammunition, so how could it not be graphic? else. Sam swallowed. She never, ever wanted to see her best friend like that again. Even the thought made her feel faint and queasy. Enveloped in her comforter with pillows in her lap and behind her shoulders, she shivered.
She had to watch it. Tucker was right—she couldn't give in now, just because of some setbacks. If anything, now she had even more reason to put a stop to this. Mrs. Fenton had done all that working with a branch of the government. Perfectly legally. Getting frustrated over her own hopelessness, at the blindness of this stupid town, at Valerie, at her parents, that was missing the point. Which was Danny. This was for Danny.
Pressing her lips together and squaring her shoulders, Sam clicked the file.
She flinched, expecting the grainy low-color image of that awful lab. Instead a shaky but decent-quality video flickered on. A sidewalk jumped and bumped in the frame, accompanied by the sound of running and Tucker's slightly asthmatic breathing.
"Oh man," he wheezed over the wind popping through the mic. "Oh man."
The camera swung up and locked onto a blob of green. Some audible fumbling and it came into focus— a huge green tarantula clung to the crumbling brick of a four-story building. Its eight scarlet eyes rose up on stalks and were shooting lasers in all directions. The tiny, distant figure of Phantom swarmed around its head like a vengeful wasp, his ectoblasts leaving smoking holes in the thing's huge furry abdomen.
Sam leaned toward the screen. She remembered this fight, from last fall when there had been a weird rash of huge animal ghost attacks. They'd eventually traced it to Skulker, but— why was this here? It had nothing to do with the GIW. What was Tucker thinking?
The film cut, and suddenly the camera framed the spider up close from below, leg hairs bristling like railroad spikes. Red and green blasts flashed. High-pitched shrieks and the sharp whine of ectoblasts filled the air. The building the spider clung to groaned, whole chunks of bricks crumbling off with every movement.
Tucker's camera panned down to a cluster of people gawking up at the battle, some with cameras. Sam saw herself standing in front of them. Her voice came clear and frustrated over the racket of the ghost fight.
"I'm telling you it's not safe this close! You need to get out of here!"
Count on Tucker to find the one and only time she'd advocated running away from a ghost fight and get it on tape. A skinny guy near the front of the group stared her down. "Phantom's the hero! He's handling it."
"You're making his job harder! What if that thing suddenly grabs you? You think getting this on camera is worth your lives? That's—" Sam's past self glanced back, and broke off when she caught sight of Tucker. She glared into the lens. "Not helping, Tuck."
The image bounced as Tucker shrugged. He was still wheezing slightly. "Hey, I'll leave when you do."
She answered with a withering glare and then turned back to the group. "We're all leaving. Now come on before someone—" A shrill whine and a boom, just overhead. Everyone looked up. A woman in the group screamed. Sam saw herself go pale.
Several things happened at once: A green streak. A flash of light. A chunk of brick and concrete the size of a bus dropped into frame, obliterating any sight of the people standing there. It landed with a deafening crash.
The image jumped, then blurred in a whirl of pavement and hairy green spider and black sky. Tucker must've been thrown off his feet.
Seconds ticked by. The camera lay still, its crooked angle capturing the ghost spider crawling up over another building and out of sight. The thing's horrific screech echoed in the distance.
Tucker groaned somewhere off camera, then gasped. The image became a jerking montage of rubble and puffs of dust. "Sam! Oh, man, oh man..."
The camera returned to the spot where Sam had been standing, now a mass of solid stone dusty with pulverized concrete. An odd green glow came from within.
Dust settled. Cracks formed in the concrete. The light intensified and suddenly the stone burst, sending fragments flying in all directions. The camera bobbed as Tucker ducked, then refocused on the bright half-sphere of green energy resting on the street. It flickered out, revealing an out-of-breath Phantom, Sam, and the cluster of photographers, all safe and sound.
The ghost boy rose in the air and put his hands on his hips. "Everyone alright?"
Danny spoke in that bold, corny way he did when he was trying to be heroic, obviously aware of the cameras that some of the people still clutched in their hands, though he was looking at Sam.
"Thanks," Sam heard herself say, obviously shaken.
"Nice save hero!" someone else added, and a wobbly cheer rose out of the group.
Danny struck a pose. "Anytime, citizen!"
What a dork, Sam thought, pulling the laptop closer.
"Next time stand somewhere safer, okay?" Danny said, sounding a little more like his regular self. "You guys got lucky this time, but I can't be everywhere at once."
An obedient murmur bubbled up from the crowd. Then someone raised their camera and snapped a photo. Danny rolled his eyes and took off, his legs wisping into a tail as he shot toward the distant flashes of ectofire.
Sam paused the tape. Damnit, Tucker. She wasn't going to cry.
She'd forgotten this Danny. How corny and strong and brave he'd been. Somehow she'd gotten used to that sad, shadowy version of her best friend who had turned up at the hospital a few months ago. He was still himself—and she had no right to expect him to come out of— out of that without being changed, but... seeing his old self like this just made everything worse.
This was what Danny had lost. Not his hand, though that was awful. Not his ghost half. He'd lost himself. No wonder he'd been miserable coming back like that. No wonder he'd wanted to leave.
Sam swiped at her eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed play.
More tapes. More of the old Danny. Some of them were Tucker's, other ones he must've found on the internet. Danny pulling people from a burning building. Danny rescuing kids. Danny holding up a bridge as cars evacuated. Danny deflecting an ectoblast for a police officer. Danny saving Danny Fenton— Sam had to snicker at that one; it must've been during that whole crazy splitting incident.
Sam herself, she noticed, was carefully absent from all but that first clip. Maybe Tucker understood her parents more than she'd given him credit for. This didn't expose her as a ghost hunter, or even hint at how much danger she'd deliberately faced.
It showed Danny for what he was—what he'd always been. A hero. Someone who'd saved countless human lives. If anything would convince her parents that Phantom was worth protecting, this was it.
If anything could, that is. Sam bit her lip, winding the cord of her headphones around her thumb.
Showing them would be a huge risk. They didn't need more than one ghost incident to go into full freakout mode. They'd probably never let her out of the house again. They might just take it as one more reason ghosts should be outright outlawed. Sam scowled. No, it wouldn't be enough. Her parents were always the same.
She was about to turn off the tape when the scene changed again.
This was another hand-held video, with grainy green night vision. It showed a thick forest, trees and undergrowth filling out the frame around what looked like an armored ATV. The vehicle had military-style serial numbers spray-painted onto the side, along with three letters: GIW.
Sam felt an instant rush of dread.
"Experimental trap designation FT531 has been tripped," a man's gruff voice said from behind the camera. "I have been given permission to record the findings in order to—" the video dissolved into pixels, the sound cutting out, then reformed, focusing on a bright glowing mass in the distance, suspended in the trees, the only sound the crunch of leaves under the cameraman's feet.
The glowing mass flared bright, blowing out the image, then the camera adjusted and Danny came into focus, entangled tightly upside down in a net, arms and legs sticking out at uncomfortable angles, swinging slightly. A pair of glowing eyes, bizarre and alien on the infra-red, blinked up at the camera.
"Oh hey, company!" Danny chirped, all bravado and nerves.
"Phantom?" The man's gruff voice pitched up in surprise. "What's a high-level ecto-entity doing all the way out here?"
"Just, you know." Danny wriggled, then winced and went still. "Hanging out."
Ectoplasm, which glowed like white fire in the night vision, dripped from the net and made little splatters on the forest floor.
A pause. The camera lowered slightly.
"Call this in," the man behind the camera said. Then lower, to himself, as if he had forgotten the camera in his hand. "They'll make me a letter agent for this." Leaves crunched as he circled the trapped ghost.
Danny craned his neck to follow the man's path. "Look, this was obviously a mixup. Don't worry, I'll totally give you your net thing back. So is there like, some paperwork I need to file? Because I'd really like to be on my way."
The man chuckled. "You won't get off that easy. Our scientists are going to have fun with you."
"Uh, trust me, I suck at science. Try Technus! He's got a lab coat and everything."
The man ignored him. "Take a good look at the great outdoors, ghost freak. This is the last time you'll ever see it."
"Wanna bet?" Danny sounded sure, cocky even, but as the camera circled around to his face it caught his expression: Wide-eyed, trapped. Scared.
The image dissolved in a spasm of pixels.
Sam stared at the black screen, blood boiling. How could men like that exist? What was wrong with people? How could that creep just... just...
She shoved the laptop away and pressed her fists into her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose. She wouldn't cry. Damn it, Tucker.
He'd said this tape was for her parents, but... would it even matter? Would they care? This was her stupid, blind, paternalizing Manson mom and dad. They picked what they wanted to believe out of a situation and ignored the rest. Wouldn't they just see Sam putting herself in danger and ignore Danny? Wasn't that what they always did?
She had to do something. But what could she do?
Shannon woke to the smell of coffee. She rolled over in bed, trying to remember why she felt so discouraged. Hazy dawn was creeping through the curtains, turning her dresser, her mother's old vanity, the bedside table into familiar silhouettes. Yesterday took shape.
The dinner party, cut short by Danny's unsettling episode. The hours after that, packing away the remains of the food, sitting by the bathroom door, waiting, a cup of tea growing cold in her hands. Whatever demons Danny wrestled with, he'd done it alone.
Shannon got up and dressed. If she listened closely, she could hear the TV murmuring away in the living room downstairs. She left her room and made for the stairs—but paused at Danny's room when she noticed the door standing open a crack, light streaming out into the velvet dark of the hall.
Shannon hesitated, then pushed the door open. The soft thump of Harley's tail against the floor greeted her.
The warm yellow light in the room made a bright contrast with the soft greys of the hallway. Danny's bed was made, a pair of jeans flung across the foot of it. His backpack, still bulging with whatever he kept in there, sat neatly at the foot of the bed. Ready to leave, she realized, and her heart sank.
Danny sat next to it, hand on the zipper, back leaning against the wall, dozing. He wore that old oversized orange hoodie again, and had an arm slung over Harley's back. The dog lay close to Danny's side. She looked up at Shannon, tail wagging, but didn't move.
Shannon smiled. Wasn't this exactly how they'd met?
She'd learned so much about this boy in the weeks since that night in the rain—and yet still knew absolutely nothing about him. What had cast Danny her way? What was he running from? It was like a shadow hung over him; some spiritual wound that refused to fade. There had to be a way to free him from it. Shannon just wished she knew how.
She glanced at the clock on the dresser. Two hours until she had to leave for work. Enough time for a cup of coffee, some breakfast, and a much-needed heart to heart.
Shannon slipped out, leaving the door open, and went downstairs. The TV chattered to the empty living room, tuned, oddly enough, to a local news station rather than the movie channels Danny preferred. Shannon went into the kitchen and stopped, surprised. The dishes she had piled in the sink had vanished, leaving spotless counters. The dishwasher hummed and the coffee pot chortled throatily to itself, two thirds through filling the pot.
Shannon poured the mugs of coffee, then after a moment's thought, poured the rest of the pot down the drain with a sigh. Danny wouldn't like it, but it was for the best. Too much caffeine wouldn't help any of his symptoms.
She took the mugs upstairs and nudged open Danny's door. "Danny?"
"Mmm," he stirred, eyes still shut. He frowned and rubbed at his eyes. "Mom? ...time is it?"
Shannon winced. That sounded so trusting, so normal. Last night they'd discussed the very real possibility of Danny's parents being monsters, yet he still subconsciously called for her. Either they had grossly misunderstood, or that was terribly sad.
"It's Shannon, honey," she said. "And it's morning."
Danny's eyes shot open. He glanced at her, then looked away, embarrassed. "Right. Sorry."
"Don't apologize, you haven't had your coffee yet." Shannon said briskly. She sat on the foot of the bed and handed him one of the mugs, taking a sip of her own. "I appreciate you doing the dishes, by the way."
"I just ran the dishwasher a bunch of times. Not like I had anything better to do." Then he hadn't slept; she'd suspected as much. He shrugged. "I felt like I should at least clean up since I screwed up your party."
"You did no such thing."
Danny just gave her a look.
"It wasn't your fault."
"Wasn't it?"
Shannon tilted her mug and watched the morning sunlight reflect off the coffee, interrupted by swirls of steam. "Do you know…" she paused, trying to choose the right words. "...what post-traumatic stress is?"
Danny let out a huge sigh and tugged at the neck of his hoodie. "Yeah. But I'm fine."
It was Shannon's turn to give him a look. She rested her coffee in her lap. "I know it'll take more than just saying it, but… whatever you went through, it's over. They can't hurt you again."
Danny stiffened. "Who can't?"
"You tell me."
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. Harley whined and Danny stroked her head mechanically.
Shannon traced her thumb along the mug's handle. "Suffering from PTSD means the brain is misfiring. It's not like just losing your cool or having a bad day. Your body keeps jumping back into fight or flight mode on reflex. It's tricky too, you know? Just when you think it's gone, some little reminder crops up and it sets things off. That happens whether you want it to or not. Feeling guilty over it or denying it will just make things worse. It's not a character flaw. If anything, it shows that you had the willpower to make it through a bad situation."
Shannon had mentally combed over the details of the night before during all those hours of sitting and waiting, and only one thing really stood out to her as remotely threatening: the turkey knife. Its small motor had been noisier than she'd expected, more like a dentist's drill or a jigsaw than a kitchen appliance.
Like Patrick's findings, the idea seemed bizarre—disconnected from everything she knew about runaways and abuse situations. Yet nothing else quite fit. The implications, if she was right, horrified her. Had someone threatened Danny with a saw? Or even used it? It felt like a plot device from one of Danny's cheesy horror movies. Tying it to Danny's parents only further obscured the meaning.
"So," Danny said, bringing her back to the present with a start. "You've got me all figured out." He was scowling.
Shannon winced. "Not in the least, kiddo," she said softly. "I'm only saying that it wasn't your fault." She nudged the stuffed backpack with her toe. "And you most certainly don't have to leave."
He hunched his shoulders. "I should."
She watched him sip his coffee. "Why is that?"
"You could get hurt. I don't have the right to risk your life just because I'm a wimp and don't want to face my pa—my problems."
"I have a right to my own life. I made a choice to have you here."
"Based on what, that you felt sorry for me? You don't know me. You have no clue what I might bring down on your head." He tugged the backpack closer.
Shannon glanced at it. "Then how about cluing me in?"
He groaned and let his head drop back against the wall with a thud. "It's not that simple, okay? I can't."
She stared at him, caught between frustration and pity. He'd gotten so used to carrying this around by himself, and he was stubborn. Probably more stubborn than her. She sighed and leaned back on her hands, glancing up. There were still glow in the dark stars taped to the ceiling. Shannon smiled; she'd forgotten about those.
"Do you know whose room this used to be?"
Danny shook his head.
"My brother's." Shannon smoothed the bedspread. "He was the youngest, almost ten years younger than me, but we'd always had a special bond. We shared the same temperament. At least I thought so at the time."
"Where is he now?"
Her mouth turned up in a wry little twist. It was funny when it wasn't painful. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?"
Danny looked at her, waiting.
Shannon sighed. "He disappeared," she explained. "He'd just finished freshman year up at State, a couple of hours away. He was supposed to come back for the summer, get a job—we'd planned to go camping after my RN exams. He just... didn't show up. We couldn't reach him by phone, none of his friends had heard from him. We found out later he'd flunked out of his classes. He'd been kicked out of his apartment for not paying rent and no one had seen his car in weeks. No warning signs, no messages. He was just… gone. That was ten years ago."
Danny looked at her, then glanced around the room and paled. His eyes settled on a spot just behind the open door. "You never found him."
Shannon shook her head. "I hope that wherever he went, whatever he's doing, he's happy. And maybe… someday, he'll find a way to come back to us."
She glanced around the room, barely different now than it had been a decade before. Same curtains, same dresser, same bed. Same air of uncertainty and emptiness, even occupied.
"I tell people I stay in this big old house because the mortgage is paid and nobody else wants it, but to tell you the truth it's the last place we all lived together as a family. If Todd ever came home, it would be here." She wrapped her arms around herself and sighed. "I'm the worst out of all of us, in that respect. I'm still waiting."
Danny kept his eyes on the far wall. "He could be dead," he said slowly. "You could be waiting for nothing."
"He's not," Shannon returned calmly. "If Todd died, I would have felt it." She wasn't what you'd call superstitious, but there were some things you just knew.
"Feelings aren't cooperative like that."
"Maybe."
Danny sipped at his coffee, which had stopped steaming. "So that's why you helped me."
"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't related. You're not the first kid who's borrowed this room. There was Charlie, and Leisa, and Mark. It's become a habit, I suppose… I just want to give you the chance that maybe Todd needed." She sighed again and reclaimed her coffee. "I just wish he'd talked to us. There's so much I still wonder about. If he couldn't handle it, or didn't want to, if there was something else going on. Why did he feel like he had to face it alone?"
"Maybe he knew exactly what kind of a mess he was in and wanted to keep you out of it. If it was dangerous enough to—"
"He's not dead!" Shannon snapped, surprising herself.
He flinched. "Alright, sorry."
"No hon, I'm sorry, it's… I guess it's still a touchy subject."
"Yeah."
"I know your situation is different, but this is one place you can stay, always." Shannon glanced at him. "If you leave, do you really think you'd be safer?"
"Maybe not, but you would."
"You're a good kid Danny, and I'm glad that you care, but forget about me for a second. Forget these—these ghosts you think are chasing you, the people that hurt you. Tell me what would help you. What do you want? What do you need?"
He hunched his shoulders, running his hand down Harley's silky black fur. "I...I don't know. I don't know what to do."
Shannon rested her elbows on her knees and tipped her head. "Can I tell you what I see?"
"Why not?"
"You didn't jump out of your skin when I woke you up right now. You're holding that mug with your right hand, when a month ago you couldn't make a fist. Living here has been good for you, and I think it could still do you good. And you don't want to leave. Otherwise I would've found an empty bedroom this morning."
"I was leaving. I just dozed off for a minute." He frowned and gulped his coffee. "I am leaving."
"If you really want to, I can't stop you." She stood up, taking both now-empty mugs in one hand. "But I think you should stay."
Shannon went downstairs. She turned on the stove and started whisking eggs, vague plans of french toast and bacon forming in her head. She couldn't tell whether she'd reached him or not. She hoped so.
The stairs creaked as Danny came downstairs. Shannon paused, staring down at the bright yellow eggs, whisk dripping into the bowl.
The front door opened and shut. Shannon closed her eyes and sighed.
Harley whined at the front door. The dog ran to the back door in the kitchen, nails clicking, barked, ran back, returned. Shannon turned off the stove and set aside the eggs. She crouched down and stroked Harley's head. "I know, hon. Me too."
Minds that Move :: tbc...
A/N:
Well there he is, poor kid.
Hi everyone! Wow, it's only been a week so I have nothing to ramble about, haha. I hope you're excited about these rapid-fire updates, because I sure am! Posting new chapters on Fridays, which won out by a hair over Monday, thank goodness. I can barely get my shoes on the right feet on Monday, forget about posting a chapter.
Many thanks to my impeccable beta readers, MyAibou, Anneriawings, LunarMothim, Misfit-Toy-Haven, Pumpernickel Muffin, Attu, Chintastic, and Cordria! Couldn't have made it this far without these lovelies, give 'em a hand.
And thank you, dear readers, for your reviews! It's so nice to be getting reader feedback and having that connection with my readership again. I've seen some new faces crop up which has been super cool. It's also great to see those of you who have waited patiently through the hiatus. Welcome back! :D
I got some really sweet messages about enjoying my 'nice, relaxing' hiatus, which was SO nice, though honestly guys, it made me laugh. The only thing I took a break from was posting. Definitely not writing. I've been working my butt off since April to get this thing done. I'm still working my butt off.
I've set a goal to reach 10k of new wordage for Part 5 by the end of the weekend, which will hopefully be all I need to get to the end, end of SoaD. 3k down thus far! I'm definitely hitting some writer's fatigue again, but I also really want to push through to have the story complete and assure the future of this fic. Three more weeks, and the beta readers will be returning the final chapter to me. Three more weeks. I can do this.
Till next time,
-Hj