Author's note: I've gotten reviews/comments expressing emotional distress, and with all of the terrible things going on in this world, I know that the last thing anyone needs is a fanfic making him/her feel even more terrible. So I would just like to assure anyone who is feeling this way that Maddie will not kill Danny at the end of this fic. She does indeed kill Danny in my related fic titled "The End of Danny," but that will not be the case here. The ending of this fic will be emotional but NOT tragic. So I hope you will continue to hold out if you are one of those experiencing distress that is making you question whether you should keep reading. But definitely put your own emotional health first, of course. And if you really think you can't keep reading but still want to know the ending, I'd be more than happy to give you a summary that leaves out all of the emotional details. Just send me a message.
Honestly, I am right there with you. I keep writing because I know the ending and am desperate to get that payoff for myself. And I want it for Danny, too.
You're not gonna let me go through this alone, are you? This terror of knowing what this world is about?
(after being) Disparaged
After ten. Finally, he could be alone again. The rest of his family had gone to bed, and he was allowed to be in his room by himself.
With the door open. But still, this solitude was greatly appreciated. He could finally relax. He had been feeling shaky and irritable ever since his spat with his mother that afternoon, and he had been unable to quell it due to all of the constant supervision and patronizing and pitying that he had had to endure from all members of his family.
But now he could dispel those physical symptoms. Now there was no one to bother him.
Danny lay on his bed in the dark and just breathed with his eyes closed, his arms resting by his sides.
Deep, deep, deep breaths.
His left arm still hurt. His left leg still hurt. His right arm was still a little sore—
Breathe, don't focus on that. Just be calm so that these tremors can finally go away.
He stayed on top of the covers because he was feeling warm despite the shivers that traveled down his spine and through his limbs every so often. But that was fine. That was to be expected. It was perfectly normal to experience physiological symptoms when stressed or anxious. It had been an exhausting day, and he still had so much to worry about, so many other things that he had to deal with. Being cut off from Sam, seeing a new therapist, getting a physical and blood work—
Blood work! What would his blood look like! What would it reveal! What was he going to do about that!
Don't think about it now. Save it for tomorrow. Right now, he just needed to relax so that he could cool down and stop shaking so much, so that he could get adequate sleep.
But this bed was so suffocating. He couldn't breathe very well like this. And it was just way too hot as the memory foam fit too well around him.
He moved over to his desk and sat down, resting his arms and head on the cool surface which felt so good against his warmed forehead.
Just for a little while. He'd stay here until he was no longer shivering, until he no longer felt so hot, until he felt relaxed enough to fall asleep. And then everything would be better in the morning. He'd figure this all out somehow. He always did.
Right now, he was safe. Nothing bad was happening right now. No one was forcing him to do anything. No one was making him feel like what he thought or said didn't matter. No one had him trapped. No one was holding a gun to his head. No one was threatening to kill him.
He just had to keep that in mind, and surely, this anxiety and dread would all go away.
Of course, it would probably help if he could take something to relieve the pain in his arms and leg—
NOPE. The pain wasn't that bad, and he didn't need anything for it. He could deal with it.
With his head still down on his desk that seemed so much bigger without his computer on it, he took in a deep breath and focused only on letting it out and drawing in more air. No other thoughts. The only thing that mattered was that he could still breathe and that he was still alive and that he was alone and totally and completely fine.
"Danny?"
Jazz's hushed voice from his doorway. Danny mentally moaned but said nothing. Maybe she'd leave if he didn't acknowledge her.
A bright light forced him to lift his head. He squinted in the beam from Jazz's cell phone.
"Sorry, I don't mean to bother you," said Jazz as she aimed her light lower. "Is it okay if we talk for a bit?"
Danny soundlessly switched on his desk lamp and moved his chair back so that Jazz could lean against his desk. He looked at her tiredly and waited for her to initiate whatever conversation she wanted to have.
Jazz awkwardly studied him. "So, um…is it okay if we talk? You seem like you don't want to."
"It's fine," said Danny dully.
"Okay, um…well, how was your detox appointment? What did they say?"
"Not much, honestly. We just talked about what I've been taking and what I've been feeling lately. They want to see how I do on my own without giving me any medication to help with withdrawal symptoms." Danny shrugged. "Which is fine because I'm not going to have any withdrawal symptoms. Anyway, I just have to meet with them once a week so they can check on my progress. I guess."
"What makes you so sure you won't have any withdrawal symptoms?"
Danny frowned and furrowed his brow. "Because I don't actually have a drug problem," he said with rising intonation and just a little snappishly.
"Well, okay, I know you say that, but you have been taking a lot of painkillers, right?"
"Because I get hurt a lot, yes. I sometimes like to sleep or be productive. Can't do that if I'm in too much pain."
"But regardless of whether or not you need them, painkillers are still pretty toxic, so if you've been taking a lot and then suddenly stop taking them…"
Jazz paused, looked down, wrung her hands. Danny leaned back and waited for her to continue. Dared her to continue, even. He wasn't about to make this easy for her.
"I mean, don't you think it's possible for you to still experience withdrawal symptoms?"
"No, Jazz. I really don't."
"But—"
"I don't have a problem. Okay? I'm fine. I'm going to be fine." Danny gestured to his back wall. "I haven't taken anything since Friday night, and I've been totally fine. No withdrawal symptoms at all. So I'm fine. Seriously."
Jazz looked at his back wall curiously. "Why were you pointing back there? Do you still have narcotic painkillers stored in your wall?"
Danny hesitated. "I still have to fight ghosts. I'm still going to get hurt."
"But Danny—"
"What, Jazz?"
Jazz shrank back. "Do you even know if the dosage is safe for you?" Her voice was weak and timid. "Or if it's really good for the type of pain you experience?"
"What other choice do I have? I can't get my own prescription, not without revealing the real reason I need it."
"So you're not going to try to get a prescription when you get your physical?"
"How could I possibly get one? They wouldn't give me one unless I could prove to them that my pain is severe enough, and I can't tell them the truth about where it's coming from." He held up a defeated hand. "And honestly, I think I'm just going to go along with the whole 'I'm just imagining it' angle because if I keep insisting it's real, they're just going to want to run more tests on me." His tone lowered, darkened, saddened. "And that's definitely not something I want. I hate being a test subject."
He gripped his arms and closed his eyes for a brief moment.
"I have no idea what I'm going to do about the blood work." He looked up at Jazz imploringly. "What do you think? Do you think they'll find ectoplasm in my blood?"
Please say no, please say definitely not, please say that his blood work wouldn't reveal anything at all like that and that it would all be fine and that he had nothing at all to worry about.
"Yes," said Jazz softly. "I think they will."
Danny shuddered.
"I actually think they'll find more than ectoplasm. I think they'll find a number of foreign bodies and proteins or whatever ghosts have."
Her tone was apologetic and gentle, but that didn't stop Danny from wanting to shoot the messenger. He breathed to calm himself, to prevent himself from lashing out at her when this was definitely not her fault.
right you have only yourself to blame
He tapped his fingers on his desk. "Okay, well…then I have to somehow stop them from analyzing my blood. Maybe I can switch it out."
"Switch it out? How?"
"With my ghost powers, of course."
"Okay, but switch it with whose blood?"
"Tucker's? He'd do that for me."
"Does he even have the same blood type as you?"
Danny looked at her warily. "Does that matter?"
"I don't know. It might."
"I could look that up easily. And if it doesn't matter, Tucker will totally do that for me."
"Okay, well, he's also a completely different race from you."
Danny glared at her with fiercely lidded eyes.
"Well, you know, he's black, and you're—"
"I am well aware that he's black and I'm white, Jazz. What's your point? Blood is all the same color."
"Yeah, well, there are actually some differences between the properties found in African American blood versus Caucasian blood. The reference ranges aren't necessarily the same for each race. So, you know, if they notice that some of your results are more consistent with those of a black male instead of a white male, they might be a little suspicious." Jazz paused and studied Danny's vexed expression. "Or at the very least, they'll think that you have some imbalances going on and want to run more tests."
"I still think it's worth the risk. I bet the differences wouldn't be that drastic."
"Okay, well, Tucker eats a lot of crap. His cholesterol levels would probably be decently high."
"So? They'll just think my cholesterol is high. Whatever."
"Yeah, but you hardly eat anything, Danny. Especially this last week, and Mom has obviously noticed that."
Danny's jaw clenched. He did not like being reminded of how his mother had forced him to eat earlier.
"I mean, how do you think you've been keeping those nice toned abs of yours?" Jazz gave him a teasing but friendly smile. "It's not just the ghost-fighting. It's because you hardly have any body fat. Because you don't eat a lot."
Danny rolled his eyes. "I can eat a lot when I'm feeling good, okay? It's just I haven't been feeling that great lately."
Jazz's expression softened. "I'm only saying that if your blood work shows you have high cholesterol, that's definitely going to raise some suspicion for Mom."
Danny groaned. "Fine. Sam eats healthy. And she's white. She'd do it for me."
"Danny—"
"Or you could. You and I have the same blood type, don't we?"
"What? No, we don't."
"Aren't we both type O?"
"Yes, but you're O negative. I'm O positive."
Danny's eye twitched as he processed this new information.
"Yeah, you didn't know that? You're the universal donor. You can give blood to anyone." Jazz glanced up at the ceiling. "Well, actually, no, you can't. Your blood would probably kill whoever got it in a transfusion."
Danny sighed, the tiniest grumble escaping him. "Whatever. I'm sure it doesn't matter. I think I'd be fine using Sam's blood. Or yours if you'd be willing to help me out."
"I of course want to help you out, but I'm a girl." Jazz smirked at him. "The doctors would definitely find it very strange if you were to have extremely low levels of the male sex hormone testosterone and extremely high levels of the female sex hormones progesterone and estradiol."
Danny growled in frustration. "All right, well, maybe I can just say I'm transgender or something."
Jazz stared at him incredulously. "What? No, you can't say that."
"Well, I'd much rather tell Mom I'm half female than half ghost," said Danny tetchily, desperately.
"That's not even how it works."
"Then what ideas do you have?" snapped Danny. "I'm trying to think of something, and you're just shooting down everything I come up with. Real helpful."
Jazz looked at him sympathetically. "You can't switch your blood with someone else's, Danny."
A long beat. Danny held her gaze for a moment before looking down at the floor. "Then I'm just counting down the hours until she finds out," he said with a beaten voice.
The silence following was dense and profound.
"Why would it be such a bad thing for her to find out?"
Danny lifted his head. Was she seriously asking this? Again?
"I know you're afraid." Jazz moved in closer to him, tears in her eyes glistening in the dim light from his desk. "I've never seen you so afraid of anything."
Danny shook his head, rolled his eyes, looked away. Jazz placed a hand on his shoulder and another on his opposite arm.
"But you're afraid of something that isn't going to happen."
Danny forcibly took her hands off of him. "You don't know what I'm afraid of."
"Yes, I do. You're afraid that she's going to reject your or stop loving you or that she'll stop seeing you as her son." Jazz stared into his eyes. "But that isn't going to happen. You don't need to be afraid of that because there's no way she'd respond that way."
"You're wrong."
"Danny, I promise you that she won't—"
"No, Jazz. I mean you're wrong about me being afraid of her not accepting me."
Jazz stared at him in confusion.
"You remember the whole Reality Gauntlet thing, right? Mom fully accepted me when she found out that I was half ghost. She was loving about it, even proud of me. I know that she'd accept me if I were to tell her the truth."
He remembered so well the way his mother had looked at him in that moment after the terrible preceding events were finally over and conquered. He had been so exhausted and stressed and worried, but her comforting words were so soothing and exactly what he needed. The tenderness in her eyes, the understanding. It was a memory he held close to his heart.
"But do you know why I used the Gauntlet to erase her memory of that? Even after she said she still loved me? Because I had no idea how long that would last. I had no idea how long before she would start insisting on running just one test on me, then another, then however many more."
He put an elbow on his desk and leaned his head into his hand.
"Yes, I'm her son. But I'm also a ghost, and that's Mom's greatest scientific pursuit in life, the one thing she's been trying to understand. She might accept me if she knows the truth, but that won't make me any less of a ghost, and she'll know that. She'll always know that. How can I be sure she'll no longer want to experiment on me or cut me open just because she knows I'm her son?" His volume lowered. "How can I be sure I wouldn't just be making it easier for her when she discovers that her most wanted ghost is living in the same house as her, sleeping just down the hall from her every night?"
He turned back to Jazz. He was trembling far more than he had been earlier.
"I know she loves me. I'm not afraid of her rejecting me."
He could feel Jazz studying him intently, but he couldn't look at her.
"I'm not afraid that she won't be able to accept me," he said softly. "I'm afraid that she won't be able to resist me."
He leaned forward, hugged his arms to himself, hung his head, managed to whisper through his closed throat.
"Because she's obsessed with me."
His shivering was suddenly uncontrollable. He instinctively covered his face in a futile attempt to hide what he was feeling from his sister. She was suddenly kneeling before him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his knee. She was saying something to him, but for some indiscernible amount of time, he had no idea what. He could only distinguish that her tone was frantic, gentle, pleading. Please look at me. Please hear me. Can you hear me, Danny? Are you listening, Danny? Is there a way I can get in, Danny? Don't leave, Danny. Come back, Danny.
"That's not going to happen. I promise. She's our mother. Your mother. She loves you more than anything and anyone. You do know you're her favorite, right? Well, I'm telling you now if you didn't know. She would never hurt you if she knew the truth. Never. Please believe that. Please believe me. I wouldn't lie to you."
Her arms were around him now. Danny blinked and stirred in her embrace. She leaned back so that she could look at his face.
"You don't know what you're talking about," said Danny, not unkindly, only simply.
Jazz reached for him again and opened her mouth to say more.
"No." Danny stood abruptly and kicked his chair back. He restlessly paced the floor while Jazz remained kneeling on the floor. "You weren't there that night. You didn't see what she did. You didn't hear what she said. You didn't feel what I felt."
Still on the floor, Jazz gazed up at him helplessly.
"You can't tell me that she wouldn't still want to make me her test subject. You can never convince me of that, not after what she did."
"Danny—"
"She didn't care what I had to say. She didn't care what I had done for the town. She never planned on letting me go. She forced me to the ground and made me explain myself, but it didn't matter how compliant I was because she only wanted to establish dominance over me. And she enjoyed it. She loved degrading me like that. I could feel it. I was nothing to her." Danny paused, shook his head. "No, I was worse than nothing. I was an object, a thing, a toy for her twisted entertainment."
He fell onto his bed, suddenly exhausted.
"There's no way she'll just let me be if I tell her. Not after that. She's too obsessed, too deranged." He moaned and raked a hand through his hair, which was slightly damp with sweat. "She'd never just leave me alone."
Jazz stood and joined him on his bed. She placed a tentative hand on his thigh.
"She can't even leave me alone now," murmured Danny. "So how could she possibly leave me alone if she knew I was half ghost?"
"She's just worried about you." Jazz wrapped an arm around him. "She just wants to help you."
The two siblings were silent. Danny didn't want to argue anymore, didn't want to keep explaining to her why he felt this way, didn't want to keep defending his decisions and his thoughts over and over and over because it was just too tiring and too painful.
A thick strand of her red hair hung down over her ear between the two of them. Soft, shiny, silky. Compelled to feel it, Danny reached for the strand with one hand and ran it through his fingers.
"Ah…what are you doing?" asked Jazz with a nervous crack in her voice.
"Your hair is pretty." Danny held up the strand toward the light on his desk. The red color glowed, a faint ember glimmering in his hand.
"Oh. Thanks. That's sweet."
"I can't believe how long it is. I don't know how you keep it looking so nice."
"It's not easy. It takes forever to wash, forever to dry, forever to brush. And it's a real pain when it's windy. Kind of heavy, too."
"But you're not going to cut it, right?" asked Danny more anxiously than he intended. For some reason, it was important to him to make sure that this one thing wouldn't change about her.
Jazz smiled shyly and took her hair back from him, feeling it herself. "No, of course not. I love my hair."
Danny smiled back at her.
More silence. Jazz's arm was still around him while Danny tried to calm himself again. This contact was relaxing and stilled his tremors.
"Danny, listen." Jazz pulled him in closer to her so that his head was resting against her. "I know that this is all really hard for you, but it doesn't have to be a bad thing. There are some positives you can try to see instead. Like, this treatment you have to go through isn't necessarily a bad thing. Therapy could really help you feel good again."
Danny nodded against her shoulder.
"And not taking painkillers for a while will probably help you feel good again, too."
Danny frowned. "What?"
"Well, yeah. You've been relying on them for so long that it would probably do you some good to clear their toxins out of your system."
His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open.
"And, um, psychologically, it'd probably be good for you, too. I mean, especially if you stop with the narcotics. They're psychoactive drugs, you know. They directly affect your perception and consciousness. They can make you think and feel things you normally wouldn't—"
"Oh, my God." Danny broke away from her. "You think I have an addiction."
Jazz held up her hands. "Look, it's just that you haven't been well for a while now—"
"It's been less than a week, Jazz!"
"No, even before that, you haven't been well. Sam, Tucker, and I have all noticed."
Danny glared at her. "What, you three talk about me?"
"We know that you go through a lot. A lot. You are always getting hurt. You are always seeing horrible things. You are always being hunted. You are always feeling bad in some way whether it's physical or emotional. And we all want to help you, but honestly, we just don't know how to help you most of the time."
"Well, you can start by not accusing me of being an addict."
Jazz sighed and took his hand. "Please just listen to me—"
He pulled his hand away. "I do not have an addiction." How many times did he have to say this?! "I can stop myself from taking painkillers. Easily. And I have been." He gestured to his wall again. "I haven't taken anything in four days, and I absolutely could have. And I've wanted to, but I've been holding back because I am not addicted to them."
"You've wanted to?" Jazz looked at his wall, then back at him. "Why? You're not in pain right now, are you?"
Danny bit the inside of his lip.
"Why would you be needing painkillers now? You haven't been ghost-fighting for almost a week now, right?"
"I've just been sore from trying to duplicate."
"Sore from duplicating? But that never made you sore before."
Sam had said something similar to him just the day before. In fact, Sam and Tucker had both expressed concern about his use of painkillers.
Was no one on his side?
"When I used to practice duplicating in the past, I only tried it once or twice. I've been practicing it for like an hour at a time the past few nights."
"But—"
"Jazz, I'm telling you that I'm sore, okay? I'm not imagining it."
"Okay, well, is it bad enough that you think you need narcotics for it?"
"It's kind of the only painkiller I have access to right now. At least until I'm no longer grounded and can go out and buy my own painkillers."
"You're not really thinking of buying your own, are you?" asked Jazz with an alarmed and reprimanding tone.
Danny narrowed his eyes at her defiantly. "Are you suggesting that I just suffer through the nightly beatings I get from ghost-fighting?"
"I'm suggesting that we need to come up with a better way to manage your pain that doesn't involve drugging you up."
"We?" Danny stood with a scoff. "No, there's no 'we' in this. I'm the one experiencing this. I'm the only one who knows how I feel."
Jazz also stood. "Danny, we're a team—"
"A team would be supporting me, not telling me I'm a delusional addict!"
"No one is telling you that."
"Then what are you telling me?"
Jazz crossed her arms and breathed deeply as she held his gaze. "Give me your narcotics."
Danny took a small step back. "What?"
"Your narcotics. You admitted you still have some even though you earlier claimed that you had given them all to Mom and Dad. So I want you to give me the rest."
Danny gritted his teeth. "Why?"
"Because you confessed that you've been wanting to take them. And if you've been wanting to take them, then there's a possibility you'll give in to that temptation." Jazz boldly stared him down. "And you shouldn't be taking them. I honestly can't believe that Sam would give them to you in the first place."
Danny stood apart from her with clenched fists.
"If you want to continue taking them, then you're going to need to convince the doctors to get you your own prescription that can then be monitored. Otherwise, it's not safe for you to be taking them."
"Not safe? My entire life has been unsafe this past year and a half. I really think an overdose of painkillers is the least of my worries."
"Maybe, but I can't stop you from fighting ghosts." Jazz's voice began to shake with strong emotion. "You won't let me help you any other way. You never take my advice. You won't let me tell Mom the truth for you. You refuse to listen to my reasons as to why it's better for her to know. You won't let my try to explain to you why therapy and detoxification are actually good ideas." She choked on a sob before regaining strength in her voice. "So even if you don't get it, I'm going to do this one thing for you, at least." Her voice rose fiercely. "Because I'm not going to just let you poison yourself. It's not good for you, certainly not now when you're an emotional wreck."
She held out an open hand to him. Danny made no movement.
"So give them to me. All of them."
"I can stop myself from taking them without your help. I've been doing that just fine. I only take them when my pain is bad enough, and right now, it's not bad enough."
"Well, then, it really shouldn't matter if I take them, right? If you really don't need them right now, then why do you need them here with you at all?"
"You can't make me give them to you, Jazz."
"I can find my own ways to get into that wall. Or I can tell Mom that I think you might be hiding more drugs."
"Jazz, I swear if you—"
"I really don't care if you hate me or stop trusting me." Her tears were falling freely now. "I have for so long been holding back and letting you hurt yourself because I was afraid of upsetting you. And I can't forgive myself for how far I let you go. I've known for so long that you've been struggling and doing worse and worse in school and falling deeper and deeper into depression and anxiety and getting so hurt all the time, and I just let it happen because any time I tried to offer you advice or help, you would just accuse me of being meddlesome and annoying and that I had no idea what I was talking about and so had no business trying to help you." She straightened up. "But no more. Even if you hate me, I love you too much to just watch you fall away. I have to do something. Even if it's just this one small thing."
Her hand was still extended out to him. Danny glared at her with irate intensity, his whole body pulsating with heated fury.
"I am so sick of all of you insisting that you know what's going on with me, that you know what's best for me, that you think I can't handle this on my own," he said in a very low, dark voice.
"Do you honestly think you're handling this well on your own, Danny?"
Engaged in a fierce staring contest, neither sibling looked away or flinched. Jazz's eyes were misted but intense and oh, yes, he understood her meaning perfectly. She was the intelligent one. She was the mature one. She somehow knew what was best simply because she was older and had read so many books and it didn't matter that she had never actually experienced anything discussed in those books because she with her superior mind would always know more than he ever could.
Danny walked over to his wall and reached an intangible hand through it, grabbing the small container holding the few hydrocodone tablets he had left. He slammed it into Jazz's hand.
"Is that all?" she asked sternly.
Danny shot her a look before wordlessly placing his hand against the wall and turning it invisible so she could inspect it for herself. She nodded, satisfied, and Danny took his hand down. He turned away from her, no longer able to bear the sight of her.
"Danny," she said gently, softly. "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. You're already hurting so much, and I'm sorry that I just hurt you more."
Danny made no movement or even indication that he had heard her.
"But I really do think this is for the best. I'm just doing this because…I care about you." She paused. "I love you."
Unfocused eyes, still turned away from her. "Yes," he said dully. "I've been hearing that a lot lately."
A few more moments of uncomfortable silence, and then he finally heard Jazz leave the room. He turned around to confirm that he was indeed alone.
All alone.
-DP-
Maddie's eyes had been closed for a long time, but she was still fully awake. Beside her, Jack had fallen asleep long ago and was snoring quietly.
She couldn't sleep. All she could think about was him.
No, not Phantom this time. Her son. The only one who mattered, the one who mattered most to her, the one who was still hiding something from her.
So frustrating. She had been so relieved when she thought it was just painkillers and depression. She finally had a way to explain everything, something that, yes, was quite serious, but at least it was something that could be treated, easily so since it had been caught early. That was supposed to be the end of all the mystery and the beginning of finally making her boy happy and healthy again.
But the mystery had not been solved after all.
There was more. Danny was using painkillers as a front for something else. There was another problem, a deeper one, one that was hurting not just his mind and heart but his very being and soul.
And if she didn't figure it out, then she'd never be able to truly help him.
All that had happened, all of his reactions, all of the clues, what did they all mean? What did it mean that he complained of pain and yet was hesitant to say what the pain actually was? What did it mean that he was reluctant to get a physical and blood work? What did it mean that he was so much more submissive with her now than he had been a week ago? What did it mean that he would so often withdraw from her touches? What did it mean that he seemed so stiff and uncomfortable when she did embrace him?
Even Brandan had hinted that Danny didn't feel safe with her.
But what had she done to make him feel that way? Okay, yes, she was a terrible mother to him earlier after he came home from school. She had been so irritated after her meeting with Brandan and had wrongly taken her anger out on her son.
That wounded look in his eyes as she yelled at him, the way he turned away from her, the weakness in his voice.
She had done that to him. She recognized it and took full responsibility for that specific moment.
But that was not the first time he had acted that way with her that week, ever since the night he snuck out. And she hadn't lashed out at him any other time during the week. She had tried very hard to be understanding and gentle with him, and yet he still acted on edge around her, as if he feared she would snap and hurt him.
There was something else going on with him. There had to be. It was the only explanation.
She opened her eyes and checked the time on her bedside clock.
Midnight already?
Her eyes lowered to the drawer of her bedside table. Danny's cell phone was still there. She and Jack had meticulously gone through all of his messages already.
But Brandan had mentioned texting apps that were disguised as something else in order to keep conversations hidden.
Whatever Danny was still keeping from her was surely something he wanted to remain secret at any cost.
And if his friends were in on it, too…
Sam was the one giving him narcotics…
Perhaps…
Maddie sat up in bed and opened the drawer. Jack didn't even stir as she pulled out Danny's phone and powered it on. She breathed deeply. She hoped that she wouldn't find anything. She prayed that it really was only painkillers and depression and nothing more serious than that.
Please, God, please let it just be that.
She pored through Danny's apps one at a time. Calendar, weather, camera, photos, contacts, on and on and on. She clicked on each and every one no matter how mundane it appeared. She let out a sigh of relief each time an app checked out. No secret photos or messages or—
Her heart paused. Something was odd about this calculator app. It did calculations, yes, but no more than the calculator app that came standard on the phone. Why did he have a second calculator app that didn't do anything particularly special?
She played with it a little more, and while it appeared ordinary, something about it just didn't settle with her. She checked its usage statistics. It definitely used cellular data. But why would a calculator app need to use cellular data? And in the battery usage statistics, this particular app displayed a decently sized time percentage. Clearly, Danny used this app on a regular basis.
She did a quick online search. It was apparently an app that could do simple calculations, but when the correct passcode was entered, it—
She bolted up straight. Yes, yes, this confirmed it! Danny was hiding something more!
But oh, no, no. There was more, and she was afraid to know what it was.
But she had to know. She was his mother, and the well-being of her child was a responsibility and obligation she agreed to take on when she first discovered she was pregnant with him.
She jumped out of bed and paced the floor. What should she do? Wake up Jack? Try to figure out the passcode on her own?
Or ask Danny himself?
She had to confront him about this anyway. Yes, she would just ask him. She'd make him tell her because she was his mother and she was ordering him to.
She walked down the hall, then stopped right before she reached his door. Was she really going to do this now in the middle of the night? Was she really going to wake him up for this?
She looked down at the phone in her hand and silently debated.
No…this could wait until morning. She'd insist on keeping him home from school this time, and then they'd have a long talk about all of this. The secrecy and avoidance had to stop.
All right, she'd try to get some sleep and let him sleep as well. It wouldn't do any good to wake him up now.
But before she went back to her own room…seeing as she was already here…
She moved to his doorway to check that he was in bed like he was supposed to be, safe in his room.
His bed looked empty, flat. She strained her eyes. Perhaps it was just too dark for her to tell. She walked in a little, then a little more, then more until she was right next to the bed.
Danny was not there.
She scanned the room, noted the blanket on the floor as if it had been kicked off the bed. She walked out into the hallway and checked the bathroom across the way.
He wouldn't do this to her again. No! He had to be somewhere in the house.
Please let him be somewhere in the house!
As she power walked to the stairs, she already started imagining having to wake up Jack and get dressed and go out once again to look for him.
But as she started down the stairs, a shuffling noise caught her attention.
She halted and listened again. It was coming from the kitchen.
Holding her breath, she quietly descended the steps and headed toward the source of the noise.
(All villains have successfully closed in. Initiate the point of no return.)
(Also, real thing that happened. My mom asked me to get her ghost-hunting stuff for Christmas. This fic is coming to life for me, I swear.)