A/N: Quacked Lurker - if you could tell me what you mean by 'explain the terms in more basic information,' I would be happly to do so.
Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters affiliated, nor am I making any money off of this. (I do, however, own Mt. Ivory and all original characters associated with it.)
Chapter Six
After I-don't-know-how-long and enough bed rest to last me the rest of my life, I was finally out of the hospital and back on my regular, thankfully boring routine.
I was worried. No one could tell me what had caused my irregular power failure. So, basically, every waking moment I was wondering what would happen if I lost control to that degree again.
All in all, I was completely healed, much faster than any normal person ever would. Time went on, and my doubts became more and more pronounced, as did my questions.
What exactly had they found different about me that led to them to tell me I wasn't human? How had I healed so quickly? What was really up with this place?
I don't know what they were doing to keep everyone in this building so nonchalant and content. But it was starting to lose its grip on me. I could suddenly see the bags underneath everyone's eyes, and I started to notice that the employees here were very antisocial and, well, strange.
I could've sworn Ms. Redd's eyes were swollen up a couple of days ago, like she'd been crying just before I went in for our session. That Lewis (who was showing up in my life more and more since my accident) seemed to avoid talking as much as possible, and downright refused to answer any questions that didn't involve the time.
And then I saw Toby again.
"Heard 'bout your accident," he said suddenly, appearing the seat next to me in the cafeteria.
I jumped, slightly, but didn't turn to face him. "Yeah," I said.
He snatched a couple of fries off of my tray. "Must've hurt."
"Yeah."
"You missed another buyer."
"Yeah," I said, then stopped. I looked at him. "Really?"
"Yup. He walked away empty-handed, though. Seemed really disappointed by something."
"Oh?" My interest was waning.
"Yeah. That Mark guy tried to get him to stay. 'Oh, Mr. Masters, why don't you look at this fine specimen? He can turn into a plant.'"
I froze. ". . . Mr. Masters?"
Toby shrugged. "Yeah. What's it to you?"
I bit my lip. "Nothing."
He looked at me for a minute, then stole another couple of fries. "Whatever."
I took a bite out of a slice of watermelon, and we sat there for a minute. "Where are you from?" I asked him suddenly.
He smiled. "Born in Memphis, raised in Columbia."
"Which Columbia?"
"South Carolina."
"Ah." We sat there for awhile again.
"What about you?"
"Amity Park, Illinois."
Another long silence. I was half surprised he didn't fade out like he tended to do. I was also mildly amazed that I didn't do the same.
Toby suddenly stood up. "Hey, I gotta go. But I'll talk to you again soon. Right-o." He ran off, becoming invisible just before he would've left my range of vision, anyway.
I shook my head, and finished my lunch. Then, after dumping my plate off to be washed, I took the elevator downstairs and thought.
Was the man Toby had been talking about Vlad? How many rich Mr. Masters's are there, anyway?
But there was no doubt in my mind, really, that it was him. He'd evaded capture, and had come to get me, now.
Of course it didn't take him long to find out where I was.
I'm doomed, I thought drearily before noticing a note taped to my door. "Danny - lab. 3:30," was all it said.
I glanced at my clock, which I'd moved into the front room. 3:25.
I sighed, then rushed back to the elevator. I got to the lab, gave the receptionist lady my ID number, and half-ran, half-walked to the assigned room. Dr. Jared gave me a disapproving look. I looked at the clock in his office. 3:32. Dang.
"Sit," he said shortly, gesturing to a simple wooden chair that sat blandly in front of a simple wooden table with two rather foreboding-looking metal cuffs attached to it. I sat down, hesitantly.
"Just put your hands in the clasps . . . Good, good," he said absentmindedly and then snapped the cuffs shut. The vague memory of the GIW shackles that I'd been chained with when I had first come to Mt. Ivory came to mind, and I pushed the thought away.
I was sitting there, palms up, wrists attached to the table, and very worried. My worry increased when Dr. Jared, who was making a very obvious effort to look at me as little as possible, started cleaning a small, sharp-looking knife.
"W-what exactly are you going to be doing?" I asked, trying to keep my eyes off the blade.
"Just a simple test," he said very quickly, then kneeled in front of me. He raised the knife and starting cutting a line down my palm, slowly. Blood (which I noticed was disturbingly greenish) oozed from the wound. I did my best to keep from crying out, and managed to keep in all but a small whimper here or there.
After he'd sliced from one end of my hand to the other, he did the same thing to my other hand. I pulled against the clasps holding me there.
Dr. Jared looked at the cuts, then turned around and rinsed off his knife before grabbing something off one of his shelves.
I drew back as he squeezed a gel onto one of his fingers, and I actually flinched as he started rubbing said gel into my hands.
"What is this for?" I gasped, wishing desperately I could go run my palms under some cold water.
Dr. Jared didn't answer.
After he was done, he took the time to bandage my hands, and then unclasped me. "You're free to go," he said.
"What was that?" I asked.
"A test," he repeated, and instantly busied himself with other things. "Go. I have other appointments today, and I'd like to get done so I can get home - it's my wife's birthday."
I sighed, realizing I wasn't going to get any information out of him, and walked out, wondering what exactly had just taken place. My curiosity only grew when the receptionist saw my bandaged hands and winced.
I walked up to her. "Do you have any idea what that guy just did to me?" I asked.
She bit her lip. "It was just a test. That looks painful, is all."
I started to press on, but the frightened expression on her face made me leave her alone.
It was painful to hit the button for the elevator, and to turn the knob on the door to my room. I opted against the television (just the thought of working the remote made my hands hurt) and just lounged on the sofa.
Maybe I could work the secret out of Ms. Redd tomorrow. Even she'd been saying I hadn't been making use of our sessions.
- - -
The next morning I woke up overwhelmingly . . . content. It took me a moment to wonder why, and another to wonder how it was possible to be overwhelmingly content in the first place.
It was odd. I was completely aware of the fact that being content was not a good thing, but I just couldn't shake the feeling away. It troubled me, but it didn't, not really.
Slowly I got out of bed and rubbed my eyes. My hands didn't hurt anymore, but the bandages were a slight pinkish-green color.
I went to breakfast, trying to keep my depressing thoughts in my head, but it just didn't seem to work. By the time I was heading down to Ms. Redd's, memories of home, concerns about myself and my future, and all other negative feelings had seemingly vanished.
The one little part of my mind that refused to just give in to whatever was going on managed to comprehend the dark bags under Jane's eyes when I walked in and saw her.
"What's the matter?" I asked. She looked slightly alarmed that I should ask this, and quickly straightened up, smiling.
"Nothing, Danny," she said.
There was something I wanted to ask her . . . Something about . . .
"Jane?" I said.
"Yes?" she said.
"What the heck is this?" I held up my hands, which were still bandaged.
"A test," she replied instantly, and started flipping through various forms.
"For what?" I asked, forcing the words out of my mouth. My voice just didn't seem to want these questions.
She had to think for a moment. "Though it's hardly your right to know, the Guys in White are weapons testing. They wanted to know how you'd react to a certain chemical compound."
Lowering my hands, I cocked an eyebrow. "So I could die within the hour, you're saying. Or melt, or something." That would explain why they were unwilling to tell me . . .
She hesitated, and looked up at me. "That's not really any of your concern . . ."
A sentence that maybe kind of sort of made me angry. Kind of, maybe. I guess.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT ANY OF MY CONCERN? IT'S MY LIFE, IN CASE YOU HADN'T GATHERED!"
Lewis, who had been waiting in the corner so quietly I hadn't even heard him, pulled me back into my chair. My face was hot, and my hands were shaking.
"It's not, not really," Jane whispered quietly. "It's been about a month since we went in and wiped everything - your birth certificate, your school records, your passport, everything. Everything proving you're more than just some ghost, or some new government project - except the article that revealed you in the first place. A memory, Danny. Daniel Fenton is just a memory, and a news clipping."
I felt the color leave my face, and my trembling stop. "Why do you keep telling me these things? I'm here, and if you really want to keep me content with your mind-invading whatever, stop telling me how worthless I am."
Jane looked at me for a moment. "You know, that's what I'm here for. To agree with you on some things, and tear you down on others."
I blinked. "I've had enough," was all I said before getting up and leaving the room, hopefully forever. Lewis moved over to stop me, but Jane gestured for him to stop.
"He'll be back, don't worry."
"All right."
Walking back to my room (where I commenced to stare up at the ceiling for eighteen hours straight), I thought that, perhaps, it was probably a good idea for her to not expect that.