More from Sapphireswimming's, "Turning Pages."
TOO LATE.
He gets home late. It doesn't feel late. It's the time he usually gets home. It's just that the lock on his bedroom door has finally rusted over and broken, after so many years of usage, and it's been that way for nearly three weeks now. It constantly drifts open without his consent, giving away one his biggest secrets: he's hardly ever asleep in his bed at night. Where does he go? With the way his parents are panicking, you'd think it was the seventh layer of Hell.
Danny empties the thermos into the Portal, and is halfway out the lab again before it registers. There's something on the largest, shiniest table, the table his parents primarily use for dissections. Something that doesn't belong there. Backtracking, he finds himself staring mistrustfully at a sleek handgun. Despite growing up among weapons, neverendingly warned against their dangers, to the point that he's become a little nonplussed by the violent action films all the other boys his age fawn over–few weapons reload that quickly, Master Chief–the sight of the compact killing machine–because, that's what it is, there's no sugarcoating it–sends a distinctly uncomfortable chill down his spine. It's different than the chills his icepowers bestow.
FENTON blazes across the barrel, informing him blatantly that it's just another one of his parents' designs. But the slender silver bullets beside it, although glowing with what he presumes to be ectoranium, implies this gun won't only kill ghosts.
That's what unnerves him.
Jack got fed up with waiting. He's already given his two cents on the matter, every morning for a week straight, and now it's his wife's turn. Said wife practically had to shove him into their shared bed so he could get some of the rest he needs. Maddie decides to wait, alone, no matter how long it takes. She faces the door, determined to catch him coming in. She needs an explanation; she is done with the half-lies and evasiveness. She won't get mad, no, though the thought tempts her. She's gotten angry plenty of times before, and it never helped. She's going to change her tactic. She's going to listen. Or that's what she thinks, until 10:37 PM becomes midnight, and midnight becomes 2:30 AM. He staggers in, then. He finds her silhouette in the dark immediately. She wonders how. She can't see a thing other than the whites of his eyes. They are round.
"Danny…"
He tilts his head.
"Are you okay?"
No answer.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?"
The response is rushed, like he's speaking only because despite not wanting to, he knows he must, "Right."
"Sweetie, what's happened to you?"
…
"You're like the ghost of the person you used to be."
Danny doesn't make a sound, and the silence threatens to choke Maddie, "I'm going to bed, Mom. Love ya. Could you get out of my room?" The no offense goes unspoken, or, maybe this is the first time Danny's not going to be polite.