LOST
Chapter 37: Dubious Deals
It was getting dark by the time I finally landed in an alley close to Tucker's house. Weary beyond exhaustion, I transformed back human and staggered against the wall. Standing there for a moment, I tried to collect myself. I turned around, leaned my back against the wall and looked up at the darkening sky. Unbidden, my hand slipped down to the bottle in my pocket.
Careful not to drink too much this time, I let the liquid burn itself down my throat. Then I screwed the lid back on, put it back into my pocket and wiped the moisture – not tears, I wasn't crying – from my eyes. I pushed myself from the wall, took a moment to steady myself and then purposefully strode to the front door of Tucker's house.
As I rang the bell, I quickly popped another piece of strongly minted gum in my mouth. I was fairly sure I could fool Tucker. After all, I had just fooled Vlad for several hours.
I had no idea how a man who had acquired so much power by being devious, could miss something so obvious it had taken Mrs Crown and Jazz only moments to notice. I was almost constantly half-drunk. The alcohol gave me the confidence I needed and suppressed the terrifying flashbacks. I hadn't had one since that afternoon. The world seemed an easier place now, and my constant fear – still there, nagging – only a slight nuisance. It also helped quell the guilt.
The door opened and Mrs Foley smiled brightly at me. I smiled back, glad that there was at least one person who was genuinely happy to see me. She let me in and told me to go right up to Tucker's room. I, of course, didn't know which room was his, but I wasn't worried. I was sure I'd recognize it and I did. I grinned at the huge Fantastic Four poster pinned to his door and knocked, saying, "Hey, Tuck, how's our state of the art remote collar opener coming along!"
A thump, then a scraping sound as if a chair was pushed back, and the door opened. Tucker blinked at me, stepped back and allowed me to enter his messy room. I looked around, taking in the posters on the walls – various superhero movies -, the three computers crammed on his desk, the boxes with all sorts of wiry objects sticking out – half dissembled electronics – and finally my sister, sitting on Tucker's bed, fumbling with the camera attached to the Fenton Phones. Next to her, laying on the crumpled covers, the battered and now also slightly dusty thermos that contained the body of the ghost-knight.
"Jazz?" I asked, taken aback, "What are you doing here?"
She looked up at me, her face blank. "Helping Tucker. Like you should be doing too. What were you doing with Vlad?"
I raised my hands, refusing to take the bait. "I'm here now. What's the score?"
Tucker sat down in his desk chair again, but didn't return to his work, a half disassembled PDA attached to an oscilloscope. He looked up at me through his new glasses.
"Why are you still seeing Vlad?" he asked, "I don't get it, Danny. I thought your parents had custody again."
I shook my head. "Not until Monday. And it doesn't hurt to humor Vlad a little. We need his portal."
"You went and asked if you could use his portal?" Jazz asked incredulously, "What did he say?" She frowned. "What did he ask in return?"
Jazz really was too smart for her own good. I scowled at her, and wondered what she would say if I told her.
"Nothing," I said, "I can use his portal. He probably hopes I'll kill myself in the zone."
I purposefully turned away from her and approached Tucker. "Well?" I asked.
He looked at me curiously for a moment, and I could see his mind turn. What was he seeing? Why did he look at me that way? I blinked and tilted my head a little.
"What?" I asked.
He shook his head and finally turned away from me, mumbling something. The flash of anger came unexpected, hot and burning, and I gripped the back of his chair tightly. Something else alcohol did, besides numbing my feeling of anxiety, was that it loosened inhibitions. I almost punched him. Fortunately, he had his back to me, and I managed to gain control of myself before I could do serious damage, not only to Tucker's health, but also to our friendship.
Behind me, Jazz got up and joined me in staring over Tucker's shoulders.
"I' not sure," he said, "I can't get my laptop to communicate properly through the Fenton Phones. I don't know what's wrong. The connection just isn't there."
"Did you consider the fact that ectoplasm may increase the noise factor?" Jazz asked.
They started a discussion on ecto radiation which I stopped following after two words. I had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. Instead, I turned away from them and sat down on the bed, leaning my back against the wall and letting my feet dangle. Now that I was sitting down, relaxing a little, the weariness covered me like a blanket. I stared. My eyes glazed, but I kept them open.
Vlad had found me on the hill, where, according to him, I had been sitting for almost three hours. He had seized my by the neck and had lifted me up in the air, ignoring my squeaking protests and gasping for air.
"Transform," he had growled, "That way you won't have to breathe."
Not having any other option, I did as he said and transformed into Danny Phantom. He didn't let go of me, and somehow my brain had a hard time convincing my body that I really didn't have to breathe. Obviously, the reflex was stronger than death. Which meant that I was sort of choking all the way to his house, without blissfully passing out or dying from a crushed windpipe. Because that's what it felt like.
He only let go of me when we reached his lab, and I drifted to the ground, gasping for unneeded air, holding my sore throat. The air didn't do anything for me of course, so it took me a long time to settle down a little. Finally, I looked up and checked my environment. Vlad – as Plasmius – was sitting in the air, comfortably leaning back, regarding me as if he might regard an untrustworthy underling.
"You took off again," he said.
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I had nothing to say. Mostly because he was right.
"Your mother was frantic," he continued, "I called her just now to inform her you are with me. She said the GIW are looking for you. You've really made a mess of things, Daniel."
I knew that. I didn't need him to tell me that. "They were going to inject me with some anti ecto stuff," I said, "What was I supposed to do?"
Vlad frowned. "It wouldn't have killed you," he said, "It'd have been uncomfortable, yes, but the stuff is basically harmless. Next time, you let them inject you, to avoid suspicion."
Yes, of course, and by uncomfortable he probably meant painful. It wasn't like life was going to go easy on me every once in a while. I picked myself up and straightened a little, if only to have a better view on the lab and the swirling green of Vlad's ghost portal. I stared at it. Sam was there. I needed to rescue her, and now that my parent's portal had become inaccessible to me...
"I need to use your portal," I said.
"Oh, you do, do you?" Vlad asked, "To search of your girlfriend? No confidence in our good GIW, have you?"
I turned back to him. "They're gonna sit there and wait for her to come out all by herself," I growled, "They're useless and incompetent and cowardly. But they're sitting on the doorstep of my parents' portal, so I cannot use it. I need yours." My hands started to glow a bright green. "With or without your consent."
I should have known. I was an idiot for even trying. The last word had hardly left my mouth when Vlad blasted me with a huge pink ecto blast. It slammed me all the way across the lab and into a wall with all sorts of equipment, screens, dials and buttons. I crashed right into it and just hung there, between the smoking remains and sparkling wires. Vlad drifted closer, flicking an imaginary peck of dust off his cape.
"Of course you can use my portal, my dear boy," he said, "Be my guest. Mi casa es su casa and all that." He reached, grabbed me by the collar and pulled me out. "But you are going to do something for me first."
That had been over four hours ago. I was trying to stay awake, listen to Jazz and Tucker, but thoughts kept randomly popping up in my head, distracting me. The machine the GIW had brought into my house, the spotless mobile lab in the white truck, the glowing pink liquid in the syringe agent X was holding up... Vlad, making demands, ordering me about. The swirling of Vlad's portal, the lure, the way it resonated through my body. Sam's face, from the picture in my wallet, permanently engraved in my mind from staring at it for so long. And of course the things I didn't want to think about. My mind deftly skipped the small assignment Vlad had me do and fast-forwarded to the here and now.
Pushing myself up from the bed, I sluggishly made my way to Jazz and Tucker, now both bent over a completely disassembled Fenton ear phone. Tucker was holding a soldering iron, attaching some wires, Jazz was scribbling and sketching on a piece of paper, complex schemas that meant nothing to me. She looked up.
"I called mom," she said, "Told her you were with us, and that we're watching movies at Tucker's."
She pointed at the TV in the corner, playing, from the dark look of it, 'Constantine'. I remembered that movie, but I didn't remember watching it, or with who. I nodded.
"OK," I said, "What can I do?"
Jazz studied me. I tried not to squirm under her gaze and looked back steadily, but I didn't know if I succeeded. Some day she was going to be one hell of a psychiatrist. But I knew her too well, knew her weakness. I smiled at her.
"Come on Jazz," I said, trying to sound confident, "We'll make this work. We always did. Together."
She smiled back, hesitantly, and relaxed a little. I kept the smile on my face, stretched out and then yawned.
"Seriously though," I said, "I know I'm a complete moron in these sort of things, but can I help?"
Tucker shook his head, not looking up from this work. "Nah," he said, "Maybe later, when we need some ectoplasm. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"
That sounded like a plan to me, so I retreated to Tucker's bed and properly laid down on it. I stared at the TV for a while, not really taking in what was being said or done, trying to avoid the memory of overshadowing the business man who had thought he could outwit Vlad. He should have known better.
I had entered the hotel with Vlad, invisible, floating beside him. The man – tall, but not as tall as Vlad, heavy built, gray hair and wearing a immaculate business suit – had come up to Vlad and had jovially invited him into his room. Then he had shivered, and I knew it was because I was in the room, my ghost form dropping the temperature by several degrees. Fortunately, he was from out of town, because if he had lived in Amity Park, he would have known instantly what it meant.
I glided past Vlad and into the business man – Clark, his name was, Gregory Clark. He stiffened, I stiffened, and I gently took control, brushing his brain, suggesting, in the way Vlad had thought me, to him that he would really like to strike a deal with Vlad, without actually taking him over. His bulk felt strange to me, and I had to restrain myself from seizing control, from moving his arms. This sort of thing required concentration, the ability to move with the victim, the willingness to let him move you around as if you were the one being overshadowed.
Of course, concentration wasn't something I was famous for. My mind drifted away a few times, and I had to catch myself when I felt Clark frown in surprise at a random thought that came from me, but I couldn't help myself. They were talking business and numbers and return on investment which were simply too boring. For a while, I amused myself by shifting through his memories, until I decided that I didn't like him. He was a little too sure of himself, a little too self absorbed, a little too sleazy. I didn't feel as bad about my tiny little suggestions as I had before. It wasn't like he came out of it with nothing. Just a whole lot of money in exchange for his company.
Of course, he hadn't really wanted to sell.
After he finally signed all the papers, I slid out of his body and retreated through the window. I met up with Vlad outside the hotel, and he ordered me into his limousine to ride back with him to his mansion. I didn't really want to go with him, but I had given up on trying to fight him every other step. Because he'd end up getting what he wanted anyway.
"You could have done this yourself," I said accusingly when we were both sitting comfortably and the driver pulled away, "It's not like you need me for this."
Vlad looked both pleased and annoyed at me. "Of course I could have done this myself," he said haughtily, "But you need the experience. And try to pay a little bit more attention next time, Daniel. I can't have them twitch and jerk their arms and suddenly blurt out strange words because you lose control."
Next time. There would be a next time. I sank back deeper into my seat and looked morosely out of the window. The town was gliding by, busy traffic, buildings, people, but somehow I wasn't part of it. I felt like puppet on a string, forced to move whenever Vlad, or anyone else for that matter, made me.
The memory of the comfortable interior of the car, the tinted windows that allowed us to see outside, but prevented others from looking in, the image of a laughing puppet, me, strings attached, dancing and swirling all merged together and I finally managed to drift off into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
I awoke with a start. My arms jerked, and I almost let out an ecto blast in surprise. My eyes shot open, but I remained laying down on the bed. Slowly, the room came into focus. Light shone through the window, reflecting on the monitors on the desk. The TV was still on, but its moving images didn't really register in my hazed brain. I was on my back, still fully dressed.
That was when I became aware of the achy feeling in my head and the foul taste in my mouth. I groaned and pushed myself up, rubbing my eyes. Tucker's room. I was still in Tucker's room. And it was morning, judging from the light coming through the window. I glanced around and found the alarm clock beside his bed. Six thirty. I had slept the whole night, while Tucker and Jazz were working...
The slight weight on my right leg made me look down. Jazz was sitting on the floor, leaning her head on the edge of the bed, her hand on my ankle. It looked awkward and uncomfortable, but she seemed to be sleeping nonetheless. Then I looked up at Tucker, still sitting in his chair, his head on his desk. Completely out of it.
Slowly, I moved my legs, freeing them from Jazz's grip, and swung them out of the bed. I leaned my elbows on my knees and I sat there for a moment, trying to think what to do, looking at my hands. They were shaking.
It wasn't much, just a small tremor, but it was there. My breathing quickened. I could feel the anxiety rise again, and I realized that if I wanted to be able to go out into the ghost zone today, I'd need to fix myself up. Quickly, I scrambled around a little until I found the pocket with the bottle and took it out, keeping a suspicious eye on Jazz and Tucker. My hand was already moving to unscrew the lid when I realized it was empty.
A wave of panic washed over me and I gasped. I almost dropped the bottle, but fortunately managed to hold on to it. The noise would have woken Jazz and Tucker, and then I'd have to explain the empty vodka bottle to them. I somehow didn't think they'd see things my way.
How come it was empty? Then I remembered, vaguely, getting up in the middle of the night, grumbling something at a still working Jazz and Tucker about going to the bathroom, then actually going to the bathroom and downing the last remnants in the bottle, before stumbling back to bed again.
I drank it all. And now I had nothing left. Which meant I needed to get some more.
I shoved the bottle back into my pocket, resolving to get rid of it somewhere else, and tiptoed to Tucker at his desk, mentally checking the contents of my wallet. I probably had enough for at least one more bottle, and that would have to do. I retrieved a piece of paper and a pen, quickly scribbled a note about getting some air and being back in a little while, and then simultaneously transformed, turned myself invisible and intangible and drifted out of the house.