Chapter 23: Someone Else's Pawn

There were lights, flickers of red and blue. It was like the Christmas lights on the family tree. That stupid tree … mom loved decorating it with white ornaments that looked like ghost heads. It felt like it belong to the Spirit of Halloween and not Christmas in all honesty. Nonetheless, the family always decorated it together. Dad wasn't allowed to touch the lights anymore because he always got tangled up in them somehow. The lights were Jazz's job because she had the most patience in untangling them. And Danny got the tinsel. Dad always put the ghost on the top of the tree.

It looked ridiculous, but it was home and it was family. Sometimes, Sam and Tucker would even join in.

He missed them.

Wait, Sam!

Danny's eyes fluttered open, his mind groggy as pain shot up his arms. He nearly bulked when there was a flash like there was a camera going off.

There was a set of gasps, one voice swearing, "Shit. Who checked the boy? I think he's still alive."

A second voice came forward, surprised, "But I thought the Burning Hand never leaves survivors."

"Well, he did today," said another voice, the sound of footsteps carefully moving forward until the feel of two fingers on his neck made him groan and and wince. " I swear he didn't have a pulse earlier, he was cold as death, but it seems strong now. Let's get the EMTs in here and something to clip the handcuffs. I'll take a few more photos before the scene's disturbed."

The flashes continued, a soft male voice muttering, "Everything will be fine, kid. Just keep your eyes shut. You don't want to see this mess."

The memory of Christmases passed still in his mind, Danny did that very thing. He allowed his mind to sink back into itself, careless of the rush of voices coming his way. The waking world was a mess. He … just didn't want to be in it for a few minutes. He just wanted to open his presents and spend a few moments with this family. He just wanted some peace.

...

Vlad pulled at his tie as he stormed through the house. It had been a few hours since he'd seen his godson and the party was over. Yes, this was usually normal behavior for Danny, to just disappear when he pleased, but it was honestly in bad taste to leave so early without at least saying goodbye to some of the guests. It had been a party for him in some ways. He needed to take the time to teach that kid some social politics.

Rubbing the back of his neck, the billionaire headed to the nearest deck and stepped outside, the cool air hitting him. He needed to calm down. Danny was a teenager. The staff said he snuck off with his school friends. One of them was even Hawthorn's boy. Strong networks and connections weren't all built in a day. And honestly, part of him knew he should just be glad that the teen had made a friend group so quickly.

This was good for Daniel. He needed to socialize if only to help improve his mental health.

Leaning against the railing, Vlad was about to head back in and see if you could scare up Danny's whereabouts from the undead staff that had been lurking about in hidden places when he heard a soft curse come from below in the back garden. Was there still a guest left? He was sure they were all gone … except Linx's 'friend' that is and he honestly didn't want to think about that. Instead, the billionaire was overcome by curiosity and quickly turned into Plasmius. He then became intangible and seeped through the floor like an invisible shadow. He halted when he saw someone hiding in the shadows talking to … that stupid floating eyeball.

The dark figure paced among the high hedges, his tone carrying a slight panic, "And why didn't you stop him from going outside with a strange person? You know infiltration is one of his favorite tactics."

Vlad's ears perked up slightly. Firstly, that didn't sound good at all, and secondly, that was the Fenton's lawyer wasn't it, Mr. Smith? It sounded just like him, but that couldn't be. Could it?

The half ghost's invisible form shifted closer, careful not to disturb any of the shrubberies around him as he tried to see the speaker's features.

"Master please, don't punish me," whimpered the eyeball as it flapped around in the darkness. "I followed him as you asked and when he sneaked off with the girl I thought little of it, so I didn't warn you. I just figured that he was going to suck on her face or whatever it is humans do when trying to choose a mate. He is a teenager and the right age to start looking, I believe. I'm sorry Master."

"Damn your stupidity, Gibgit. We are in trouble," grumbled the figure as he sighed deeply, resignation in his tone. "I suppose what is done is done. That forsaken nephew of mine was bound to get a hold of him sooner or later. Did anyone see you at the ceremony? I don't need anyone knowing where I am, especially not him."

"No, Master. I followed his pawns and saw that he was left alive. It's obvious that he has chosen. You were right all along," continued Gibgit, the eyeball's tone forlorn. "Is there nothing we can do for the boy?"

"My foolish champion should have been watching him," grumbled the man before he added, "Did you stay long enough to see if the boy's powers returned?"

The small eyeball was about to speak, but the shadow grumpily interrupted, "I was being facetious. I already know the child has awakened. I can feel the curse from here. I wouldn't be stuck in my base form otherwise."

At this, the shadowing figure waved his hand, showing that there was billowy smoke all around him, following him like entrails.

Yep, that was not a guest. It was defiantly a ghost and an uninvited one at that. Vlad bared his fangs in irritation and floated closer. It has been a while since he had to remind another ghost that this was his territory, but a good fight sounded good.

Immediately, as if feeling his presence, the interloper's gaze turned from the cowering eyeball to Vlad's direction. Its glowing yellow eyes became slits causing Plasmius to still. Had he made a noise because there was no way the spirit should be able to see him. He also didn't seem to have ghost breath.

"You are a terrible champion. I hope you realize that," said the shadowy figure while looking in Plasmius's direction, those yellow eyes haunting in the thick darkness.

Instinctively, Vlad looked behind himself. Unsurprisingly, no one was there. The figure had some sort of ghost sense, didn't he? Wonderful, intangibility was going to be useless to him.

"You're apparently dim as well. Disappointing, to say the least, but I guess beggars can't be choosers. It's not like there are a lot of half-lives around these days," said the shadowy ghost, the spirit waving for him to come nearer.

When Vlad stayed where he was, knowing better than to draw near an unknown entity without first assessing them, the misty figure grew impatient and groused, "Fine, the hard way it is then. Bow, champion."

A shock ran through Vlad's entire form, straight from the scar near his neck. He could feel it then, the power that wasn't his under his skin. It pulled at him as if he was little more than a puppet, strings pulling him down to the earth. Then, before he could even put up a fight, his form was visible and he was sinking to one knee before the unknown entity like a servant. He didn't even get a good glance at the perpetrator, his gaze forced downward as he panted.

Vlad gritted his teeth as he stared down at the black mist in the grass, feeling his muscles bulge as he struggled to move, but this foreign energy inside him was an old and ancient thing. He could feel his very ghost core cowering away from it, not knowing what else to do but obey. This was wrong. This was his body! How had it even gotten inside of him?!

Gritting his teeth, panting harder as he fought against such a simple command, Plasmius ground out, "W-who are you … and … what … have you … done to … me?"

"Well," said the male figure as he drew closer, his misty tendrils reaching out and curling around Vlad's legs like living vines, "I called you back to life on the bridge when you stopped breathing. I then overwrote the demon's mark with my own, and you should be glad for that. Being one of my Champions means he can't claim you to be one of his war dogs. There are other benefits as well, but only if you prove yourself worthy of them and obey."

Vlad merely sneered at the dirt, unable to raise his head.

"As for who I am," continued the black figure, his mist nearly encasing Vlad's entire lower half as he walked around him, "I'm an old thing. Older than the Ghost Zone. Some would call it my realm even after all this time. I'm sure that even with a half-formed ghost core as your own you must feel that."

The billionaire ground his teeth, hating that a part of him knew that the intruder was right. His ghost core knew something he did not and seemed to flounder in his chest. If he was in his human form, he probably would be having palpitations and be covered in a cold sweat.

The misty figure made his way back to the front of the halfa, his tone irritated as he asked, "Now tell me, what have you overheard?"

"Enough to suspect you are speaking about my charge, Daniel," hissed Plasmius as he tried to raise his head once more. He at least needed to see this intruder's face. He had to know what he was working with. Black fog and yellow eyes were not a description he could work with. He needed to know this enemy. Honestly, if he could get a name and live through this, he'd take it.

The figure before him sighed and carefully lowered a skeletal-like hand downward, slowly pushing his champion's chin up so that they could really look at each other. Smith had grown to hate this form over his living one. It screamed of death with his sunken cheeks and tight skin. He basically looked like a skeleton with patches of skin. The protruding spikes out of his skull did not help his harsh appearance, even if some said it looked like a crown. But, despite all of his boney features, it was obvious that Vlad recognized him as the half-blood's eyes widened.

"Rodger Smith … What? W-why?" choked Vlad, pink energy seeming to bleed off him in surprise. This was completely normal for young ghost-cores when emotions ran high. It almost made Smith frown, recalling how young Plasmius was compared to his other champions. Hopefully, this one wouldn't be such a screw-up as his last warrior-caste. Pariah had ultimately given in to his own madness, the crown too heavy for his head. At least Clock Work still handled his task admirably though he was no guardian. Guarding the damned and dangerous should have never been the time keeper's task to begin with.

Sighing at the thought of having to deal with ghost politics and power struggles again if he did this, Smith relented. He had been gone too long the way it was. He had gotten his centuries in the sun and the Ghost Zone would collapse at the rate things were going if he did nothing. Plus, nothing but complications were bound to arise if the dead were left to wander the realm of the living. There was a reason the dead had been given their own plane.

"Because I had hoped you'd be able to deal with this mess without my physical interference," grumbled Smith as he let go of Vlad's chin, using one of his long nails to slit open his own palm, a weird ectoplasmic mix dripping from the wound. "But, I forget that you are merely a pawn and must be given some direction. And the direction you will be given, Plasmius of Wisconsin, along with the tools to get the job done."

Still under the command to kneel, Vlad could only close his eyes as a bloodied finger came forward and made some kind of symbol on his forehead. He once again tried to regain control of his form, even going so far as to bite into his lower lip with his fang causing it to bleed, but even that pain couldn't pull him from this skeletal being's will. He was still left there kneeling as the ghoulish figure continued to write on his skin, down the side of his head and his neck. His capturer even undid the top part of his ghostly wardrobe so that the burn mark was revealed there. Vlad twitched, horrified that his ghost form even had the mark, showing just how cursed it really was. He knew of cursed items and marks, but to have one on his skin in both forms made him ill.

"Traditionally, there would be some kind of ceremony for this, but we haven't the time," Smith said simply, drawing on the burn wound itself before he lifted his glowing hand up about to place it directly over the hand-shaped burn wound. "This may sting. A lot. There will probably be some screaming on your part, but all good things require a little sacrifice. And what good is any champion without a weapon?"

Vlad frowned and was about to demand something a little less cryptic before that glowing yellow hand pressed down on his burn scar making him wince. He expected there to be a burning sensation or some kind of pain. Instead, he felt breathless as all the power in him seemed to swim upward in his chest. Uncomfortable, but not crippling. Then, just when he got used to the heavy feeling forming in his rib cage, Smith drew one more symbol right over his heart. The older spirit's words were almost poetic, "Champions fight with all their heart and soul ... and using this tool may break yours."

Even though he felt breathless, the bachelor gave the skeletal figure a cold glare, but before he could even offer some witty reply, the hand on his scar tightened and started to glow yellow. It was then that the pain started, a power that wasn't his own being pressed into his body.

Immediately, Plasmius started twitching even though the command to kneel was still strong. Not knowing what else to do, he locked his jaw to keep his pained wheezing to a minimum. He had his pride. The power just continued to grow though, Smith's glowing gaze unblinking as if he was gauging just how much power could be pressed into the spell.

Seemingly unimpressed with Vlad's pain tolerance, the hand near his shoulder flared with glowing light, even more power rushing into him like lava. It was this that finally made the halfling bark out in pain, a keen in his throat as he started falling forward only for his tormentor to catch him by his other shoulder and force him to stay upright. Vlad's form was shaking at this point, his ghostly aura flaring with colors that weren't his own. It was too much. Just too much! It was burning at his core and yet his ghostly side just kept drinking it up and gathering it in his chest. He felt like his veins were about to burst.

It was at this point that Smith lean in, his thin lips near one of Vlad's ears as he asked, "Isn't this the power you've always wanted? That you've tried to claim time and time again from the dead things in the Ghost Zone?"

Vlad was shaking too much. He couldn't even move his head for that matter speak.

Smith seemed to know his answer regardless, his words soft like it was a lesson he himself had learned far too many times, "Power comes with a price. Now, know that you are forever entwined with me, Champion. Do your job well ... even if it breaks your very soul."

It was at this point that the power had built up to such a point that Vlad was going to start screaming. It felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside, ectoplasm had even started to drip out of his nose and eyes.

Smith, seemingly satisfied, pulled away from the ear he had been whispering in, offering a bitter smile to Vlad as he placed his spare hand over the half-blood's heart. His words were calm, "You've done well, Plasmius of Wisconsin. Now comes the hard part. Forming the tool and pulling it loose. It's always a wonder of what shape it will take."

And then that hand sunk into the halfling's chest, going intangible until it seemed to bump into something. Smith merely nodded in satisfaction as he grasped at this thing and then he started to pull. It didn't help that all the power inside Vlad was now rushing toward that hand in his chest. All the billionaire could do was grit his teeth. He tried to keep it in, but then something seemed to rip loose like muscles were ripping and flesh was snapping deep inside him. It was as if a part of his rib cage or even his core and being tugged free. Finally, he wailed, his ghostly cry echoing over the entire garden.

Smith winced at the noise but continued to pull, something akin to a hilt being ripped from his chest first, followed by a crossguard, and just the smallest hints of an upper blade. A sword was being pulled out of him. Vlad could even feel parts of his ghost-core being dragged away as more and more of the weapon was revealed.

"Just a little more power and we'll be done," said Smith, the being seeming to pant like this was taking a lot out of him as well. Not that Vlad cared as more power was poured into his scar causing him to throw his head back in another scream, the sound echoing.

And then, as if his scream of agony was the final push needed, the sword was pulled from Vlad's chest.

Even with his vision fading, Vlad couldn't help but noticed that it was a decorative blade with a pink glowing hue to it. The pommel and crossguard were a collection of sharp curves that danced and reconnected with each other like a torrent of rose vines. It even dripped with touches of his own ectoplasm as if to fully confess to who this tool belonged to.

It was at this point that Plasmius finally noticed that the command to kneel was gone, his hands shaking as he reached forward for the weapon. It was his. It had a part of his core in it. Please don't take it away.

Surprisingly, Smith didn't take it. Instead, he actually offered it up, placing the ghostly weapon in the halfa's shaking hands as the skeletal man murmured, "Fight well, my champion. Hopefully, I will not have to call on you again anytime soon."

And even though Smith's ghostly form started to pull away with his collection of black tendrils, the darkness around Vlad still gathered. He was going to pass out. Too much power had been taken at once. All he could hope was that one of his ghostly underlings found him and not the human staff. And with that thought, the world went dark, allowing Vlad to have a moment's rest.

…

Detective Rodrick Gatzby tried not to groan as he laid his head down on his desk. A headache was setting in. Luckily, all the files on his desk had piled up into an almost pillow-like pile. Yep, he was going to sleep here tonight. Just like this.

It was his own fault, he knew that, trying to do the work of a whole task force. He just didn't think he had enough evidence yet to request a full task force to work on this. Plus, there was the question of Danny Masters. Yes, every detective in the precinct knew they probably had a serial killer on their hands, but no one else knew about the Fentons and the struggle that would come with Vlad Master's lawyers if he tried to question the boy regardless if he was a victim or a perpetrator.

It seemed unlikely that a fourteen-year-old was the criminal mastermind, but at the same time the kid had a motive for killing his parents: his godfather was Vlad Masters. Going from the income of two half-crazed inventors to the household of a billionaire seemed like a good reason to start a house fire and even maim himself. The rest of the murders seemed unconnected though, almost random. Thus, the migraine, especially when Detective White jokingly said that maybe they were looking for a dead man with all the ghost sightings around.

Sitting up, eyes bloodshot, the man reached for a cold cup of coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste as he stared at the picture of Danny Masters. He was trying to dig into that boy's past with requests to Amity Park's precincts and even for medical records on the fire. The kid didn't have much of a record in a legal sense, but there were pages and pages about the residence he had lived in. Mostly about disturbing the peace. Apparently, his parents were inventors of ghost tech. That would have been laughable months ago … Nowadays, not so much.

There was probably one or two ghost sightings a night in Madison, WI alone. In fact, the whole world was now reporting the same thing. It was like the dead had nowhere else to go but to remain here, in the world of the living. Governments were scrambling, trying to decided what to do about the matter. In fact, there was talk of officers getting additional training for ghost suppression and capture. Rodrick was not looking forward to it because that meant that they would likely order the technology from the largest ghost tech provider in the United States: Vladco.

Sighing at the thought of pissing off the corporate powerhouse, the poor detective just sat there stirring his cold coffee and staring at the pictures of the crime scenes. He knew that there was nothing more to these photos, he had basically memorized them, but he couldn't look away. These people were murdered by a violence-hungry psychopath. And what a ferocious hunger that was. It could not be filled until the perpetrator was brought in.

If they ever discovered who it was.

Feeling hapless at the lack of evidence, the man slammed his coffee onto his desk causing it to explode all over him and his work area. Immediately, the rest of the late-night staff turned to look at him as he swore and tried to mop up his mess with spare napkins before it stained all his folders.

He was only halfway through mopping up everything when his phone rang, making the detective stall. He glared at it for a moment before grumbling and picking it up, his mopping continuing even as he started to run out of napkins.

"Detective Gatzby's desk," he answered simply, his exhaustion evident in his voice. He really should go home to bed, but he just felt so damn useless.

"Detective?" came the slightly familiar voice of one of the precinct's officers, the sound of sirens echoing in the background. "You're the detective working on burn scar cases, right? The Burning Hand or whatever he's nicknamed, right?"

The man stalled, his stomach sinking. Oh no, not another body.

"Yes," stated the detective wearily, already knowing what was coming next. A disfigured body with a single burn mark. It was the killer's modus operandi at this point. All he could do was pray it wasn't another child.

"There was a report of screaming from one of the old factories in the warehouse district. A couple of officers went down to check it out, thinking it was just some dumb teenagers or something. It was … its … there's blood everywhere. It looks like some creepy satanic shit with bloody writing and candles. Then there's the body of a young adolescent girl and a young adolescent male handcuffed to a pole in the middle of all of it."

Fuck, not kids again.

"The thing is," added the officer in a weary tone, keeping to just the facts. "We thought the male was dead, but he's got a pulse and minor injuries. He even has one of those hand-shaped burns. We already called an ambulance and the techs were on scene."

"I'll be down there in a few minutes. Try not to move the boy until some pictures have at least been taken. I don't want the scene disturbed unless completely necessary," said Gatzby as he grabbed his jacket and service weapon. He didn't know why the Burning Hand, as the murderer had been dubbed, had left a witness ... if the boy was a witness at all. Either way, he finally had someone worth questioning, suspect or not.

...

Knock, knock.

It was almost timid, the first knock on the guest room door. When there was no response, there was some whispering and then another knock, less formal and more rushed.

Linx Nikolli groaned and rolled over at this, the warm body next to him muttering something about it being too early and that the sun wasn't even up. The knocking just kept coming though, becoming more and more insistent.

Finally, rage forced Linx to sit up and throw his sheets off. He barely had the sense of mind to grab a robe before throwing open the door to his room, his tone barking as he stared at two of the castle's staff, "What?! It's the middle of the night! I have a guest and a hangover. The castle better be on fire."

The two overnight staff gave each other a look before one of the staff offered a phone to him. Her words immediately made Linx's stomach sink, "We tried to find Mr. Masters, but he's nowhere in the castle and his phone is going to voicemail. It's the Madison Police Department. Young Daniel has been found at a crime scene. You were the only one we could ask about this."

Lip twitching, because this was going to make Vladco look bad no matter what it was, the vice present cursed, "Well, fuck. Let me get some damn clothes on."

…

"Why hasn't he gone back to his human form? I thought both of the halfas lost their ghost forms when knocked unconscious?" came a voice, Vlad's body being jostled slightly like someone was moving him.

"I don't bloody know. The gardens reeked of another ghost's energy. It was like a miasma. Ugh, I can still taste it," complained another voice.

"And what's with this blade? It just keeps showing up like it's stalking him. And honestly, it almost feels … like a ghost-core but not," came a whisper, the tone entranced.

"Please, put that down. It's not yours to touch, and it'll likely wake him," came a calm familiar voice. In fact, all of them were familiar.

"It's a tool, isn't it? I recognize the energy around it," said another being, his tone almost exhausted.

"Yes, it would appear so," replied one of the deeper voices, something being placed at Vlad's side.

Immediately the halfa's eyelids fluttered open, the chill of someone touching his ghost-core going away as quickly as it came. He stared up at a familiar ceiling, realizing it was his basement lab before a bulky figure leaned over him.

"Plasmius? What happened? Were you defeated in battle?" asked Skulker, the armored ghost frowning down at him. "We heard you scream and found you unconscious in the gardens … with that blade at your side."

Plasmius's eyes widened at that, memories of what happened with Smith and the burn mark cascading down around him like stone pillars. He immediately sat up, the ghosts gathered around him floating back slightly as the halfa patted at his neck before placing a hand over his heart. He sat there a moment, staring at his glowing form like he couldn't quite comprehend what had happened to him.

In fact, it became an awkward silence until his Second, Skulker, asked carefully, "Vlad, what happened? Was it the demon?"

His mind rewinded the events and it took the billionaire a moment to whisper, "He … he placed a curse on me. Called me … his champion and then ripped apart my core. I … could feel it tearing deep inside my chest."

Most of the ghosts around him withered away as if physically struck at the motion of a ghost-core being damaged, an internal fear of all ghosts, but surprisingly Fright Knight and Clock Work seemed unaffected as if they were expecting those words.

"So you have been approached by one of the old gods with a tool of power. A fine-looking blade no less. To be chosen is an old and great honor," said Fright Knight, shouldering past Spynx to pick up the glowing sword that was lying on the metal exam table next to the halfa.

Once again it felt like someone was grasping at his core and it was at this moment that a terrifying realization occurred to Vlad. A part of his ghost-core was in that blade. A part of his soul had been physically ripped out of him. Was that why he was still in his ghost form even after losing consciousness? Was he … dead?

"Some beings confuse blessings and burdens, Fright Knight. Unlike your sleeping Master, I don't think Plasmius had much of a choice in the matter," said Clock Work as he floated around the examination table, waving a hand over the blade which caused yellow runes to appear on its surface. "Nor did I, on recollection, but it was better than the alternative."

"I did not know you had a blessed tool, Clock Work," said Fright Knight, almost in awe as he stared at the forming writing that Clock Work had called to the surface. The old runic symbols were yellow while the rest of the blade was a pinkish color like Plasmius's ecto-signature.

"Yes, I do. My staff has been chipped though. The demon came after me early. It will probably take years to heal on its own ... unless you can tell me where our Master is, Plasmius? He could repair my staff," said Clock Work calmly as he picked up the blade and offered it to Vlad.

The billionaire hated how desperately he reached for it, how the thought of a piece of himself being away from him made him sick. Yet, the second he had it, it still felt like something was missing. What was more troubling was that he had tried to turn back into his human form but nothing had happened.

Worried now, all Vlad could do was place the sword awkwardly on his lap and stare at it. What had that skeletal bastard done to him? He wasn't dead, was he?

Vlad had to think for several seconds before he could even get the words out, hating how weak his voice sounded, "Does this mean I am truly dead? That I can't turn back?"

Fright Knight merely rubbed the back of his helm awkwardly while Clock Work frowned, the timekeeper carefully shaking his head, "I doubt you are fully of the deceased Plasmius since your physical body wasn't left in the gardens. Besides, our Master has had half-blood's serve him before. Demigods, they were called back then. As for being stuck in this form, it's likely just an after-effect of forming the sword from your body. Your human form probably needs to heal before you're allowed to change back. As for the tool, you'll get used to that disconnected feeling. I don't really even notice it anymore."

Staring at the blade, the yellow runes disappearing slowly, Vlad Masters tightened his hands on the blade, caring little if it caused his one hand to bleed. He was now someone else's pawn and he doubted that any amount of power gained was worth it.

…

Danny tried to remain calm like the EMTs kept saying as they wheeled him towards the ambulance while on a stretcher, but there was so much chaos. His mind kept skipping scenes, distorting the past and the present. Sam was laughing and they were at the Nasty Burger, Tucker butting his way onto the booth seat. And a flicker later, the demon was reaching for him, teeth bore and his eyes full of greed. And then it was back to Sam, the two of them sharing a smile in class. Then, blinking again, Sam was in another skin, bleeding all over while pain dredged up his arm.

Crying out, the sirens echoing in his head, Danny didn't notice as a strange man entered the ambulance with a flash of his badge.

"Is this the survivor?" asked Gatzby, the ambulance doors closing behind him as Danny squirmed against his restraints, the teen's eyes unfocused. "Has he said anything? Did he have any ID on him?"

The EMT, checking the straps before he shined a light in each of the youth's eyes, gave him a dry look before stating, "No ID. And he's obviously in shock. He keeps mumbling but it's mostly incoherent. I think it's going to be a little bit before you can get anything out of this kid."

Gatzby frowned at this and finally really looked down at the witness. He could only stare at the stained white suit which was now dyed with red spots and droplets, the glint of gold cufflinks at the end of the sleaves. Even with his hair wild and damp from sweat, a wild-eyed look on his face, the detective knew who this boy was. It was Danny Masters: the boy from the fire. Gatzby could basically see the lines on his suspect board all connecting to the teen's photo.

Danny was the missing key to his murder mystery. There was no denying it now. And though Danny wasn't completely removed from being a suspect, it seemed more likely like someone was getting rid of loose ends. The hand-shaped burned mark on the boy's forearm basically confirmed everything.

He had a victim … and perhaps a conspirator. None of the other victims had been allowed to live after all. So why leave this boy alive? Not only once, but twice?

"What's that look on your face?" asked the EMT, noticing the detective's stiffening posture.

Blinking, meeting the emergency personal's gaze, Rodrick said simply, "You don't need an ID. I already know who this is. Its Vlad Masters heir: Danny Masters."

…

Danny lay there in the hospital room, staring at the patient ID wristband on his arm. The doctors had been and gone. They hooked him up to an IV, dosed him for his shock and pain, and then stitched up the claw marks on his scarred arm. Now there was a woman in front of him. She wasn't a nurse. No, no. She was an officer or something. He wasn't sure. Everyone's words sounded like they were underwater like everyone was drowning. right now she was asking if he could stand so they could take pictures of his wounds and also asking for him to take off his stained suit. It was evidence or something. Danny could only blink at her as a light flashed around him. She might have been taking photos.

Part of him couldn't fully comprehend anything going on here. He just couldn't think straight. Where was Sam? Why would she … hurt herself? It was because of him, wasn't it?

Oh, the officer-lady was talking at him again as a nurse stepped forward. Why would no one just leave him alone? He couldn't think. He just wanted the blackness to swallow him up. He really didn't want to be here anymore. He just wanted to disappear and forever be claimed by the dark.

…

Rodrick stood near the entrance of the hospital room door, blinking each time the camera flashed. The doctors had quickly cleared Danny Masters. It looked like some minor stab wounds and a touch of shock. There was also a nasty bump on the teen's head, but it just required overnight observation.

Currently, one of the nurses was helping the teen sit up so they could take some proper photographs and then remove the suit. The suit was evidence after all. It was stained in blood like someone had taken a paintbrush to it.

"Alright, if you start feeling dizzy, let us know," said the nurse as she stepped back at allowed the female officer to start taking photos. Danny barely seemed to understand then, the teen standing there in a haze as the photographer made it easy on everyone and just walked around the boy. Shock was an understatement, the kid had seen some shit. And as terrible as it sounded, this was all good news because this was their first living witness. The only problem was, Rodrick didn't know how many questions he could ask this confused kid before Masters got here and lawyer-ed up.

Watching the female officer nod and state she was finished with the photos, the two women started helping the teen out of his suit. At this time, the detective stepped forward, his taller form overshadowing the teen as he turned on a recorder and started to speak, "It's Danny Masters, right?"

At this, the teen turned his blurry gaze up at the detective, his suit jacket sliding off his shoulders and promptly being stuffed into an evidence bag.

Gatzby wasn't dissuaded and asked his next question, "There was a girl with you … Do you know her name? We haven't identified her yet."

Danny's eyes went wide at this, the teen whispering, "It was Sam … but she wasn't Sam. She … She was in someone else's skin."

The detective frowned at this and shared a brief glance with the other officer, though the nurse was glaring at them both as if telling them not to take this too far. The boy was obviously still in some kind of emotional turmoil though the risk of shock was mostly adverted, "Sam, huh? And she wore someone else's skin? Who is Sam?"

The teen had turned his head a bit more in the detective's direction, seemingly answering the questions automatically, "Sam Manson … was my friend. She died in the fire, but the demon must have captured her soul and … stuffed it into another girl. He did it to hurt me."

Okay … they were definitely dealing with some physiological issues here. No wonder Vlad Masters had been hiding the kid away. The youth was obviously emotionally unstable after the house fire. Damn, that made anything he said unreliable, but sometimes there were snippets of truth in a madman's ramblings.

"Alright," continued Rodrick, ignoring the nurse's growing glare as they helped the teenager out of his undershirt and into a hospital gown, his pants obviously next. Not that the teen even seemed to notice or care. "Do you know the other girl's name? The one he stole the skin from?"

Ugh, he just felt horrible saying that and the two women there looked really uncomfortable as well. Well, he had to do this now because who knew when he would get another opportunity. And even if this slight interrogation couldn't be used in court, it gave him a starting point.

"Carmen … Carmen Dewolf is what she said," said the boy, his brow furrowing when he finally noticed all his bloodied clothes were gone and he was being led back to his hospital bed. "I don't know if that was her name. He … he was just trying to hurt me."

"Who exactly was trying to hurt you?" asked the detective, trying not to twitch when he heard an angry shout down the hall, demanding to know where Danny Master's room was.

Head tilting at the voice down the hall, Gatzby snapped his fingers trying to regain the boy's attention, asking the question again. The Master's heir frowned deeply at this before stating, "He has no name. We just call him the demon."

Well, that wasn't stellar news. The kid was really off his rocker. 'We' was interesting though. Was someone else an accomplice or did the teen just have voices in his head?

"Okay? And who is the demon? Is he a man with a weird mask or … did he come from you?" said the investigator quickly as he heard the click of expensive shoes coming down their hall.

Danny seemed even more confused, but he still responded right as a well-dressed man entered the room, "He's not a man … and he didn't come from inside me, but … I was the one to set him free. I think he needs me."

Whatever that meant, Gatzby didn't get to question it further as the blond-haired man, one Linx Nikolli of Vladco, started threatening legal action. The Vladco lawyers were there in the room within an hour speaking with Linx about legal proceedings and disqualifying evidence. Danny, from what the detective could tell before he was completely embargoed from the room, was a teen that couldn't stop staring at the dark stains under his fingernails.

Gatzby didn't get as much as he would have liked from that conversation, but one thing was for certain: Danny Masters was involved in all of this and all the money in the world wasn't going to protect him in the end.

XXX

Paw07:There was a lot of editing in this. I deleted the first scene. It was just more Danny torture. Angsty, but not plot-relevant. The whole blessed weapon stuff was a new addition because I had to throw out a few pages of plot holes. I definitely didn't understand how the American justice system worked when I was a teen, but it did offer a smoother and far more interesting reveal of what Smith is. I also decided to take the last two scenes and throw them into the next chapter. Pacing and chapter breaks were not an art of my younger self, that's for sure. Plus, I need something to fill that continued plot hole in the next chapter. XD

Edited October 2021