A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. Real life is kicking me in the behind, for sure. I have had two ruddy position papers to write and a huge research project to do - and various friends have been paying to transcribe interviews they've conducted for said research project. So, yeah.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

Chapter Eight

I spent the next morning hiding out in my room, until I remembered that Dr. Jared wanted to see me again. I thought briefly about not going. But the idea didn't quite appeal to me. He, perhaps, would have some sort of answer.

So, hoping that no one I knew (namely Toby, as my social experience since coming here had been very limited) would see me, I set out, edging my way carefully down the hallway.

All the way there, I was rather disturbed by the glow that was coming off my skin, and, now, my hair. It wouldn't, if it were the kind of glow I'm used to - the glow of the swirling ectoplasm that makes up my ghost form's body. This was different. I was still a completely corporeal semi-human, and the glow wasn't coming from the material that made me up, it was coming directly off my skin.

I managed to get into the elevator without fault. And Toby was not waiting in there, invisible. I checked in with the receptionist, who winced when she saw me but looked away quickly. Apparently, Dr. Jared had cancelled all of his appointments for the day just to see me. Which was not all that comforting.

"G'day, Danny," he said sociably as I walked in, rather than his usual uncaring 'hey' or grunt.

"Hi," I said awkwardly. "Look -"

"Please, sit down," he said, cutting me off. I edged over to the dentist's chair that sat in the middle of the room.

"Could you just tell -"

"When was it that all of your skin was covered?" he asked, interrupting me again.

"I dunno, some time yesterday. What -"

He scribbled something down on a clipboard he'd pulled out of nowhere. "Have you been feeling any different?"

"No. Is it possible that you -"

"After the transformation spread beyond the back of your neck, where did it go?"

"My face and shoulders, I think. Really, would you just -"

He put down the clipboard. "Do you have any idea what is happening to you?"

"What do you think I've been trying to ask you?" I said irritably.

"Look, Danny, I've been studying ghost physiology and the like rather extensively since you first came here -"

"You've hardly given me a passing glance!"

He ignored me, and moved on. "- and from what I've been able to gather, the reason you reacted the way you did to the compla - to the chemical that we put in you a while back was because both sides of you are at a time when you are very susceptible to change. Your ghost half is about a year old now, correct?"

"Yeah," I said begrudgingly.

"So, according to findings from the GIW, ghost around a year old grow more stable, and more powerful. And boys around your age - well, you know what I'm talking about."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what's this got to do with that cream-stuff?"

"The 'cream-stuff,' as you so eloquently put it, was supposed to be synced up with your genetic structure."

I leaned back. "And?"

"And instead of fulfilling its . . . intended purpose, it altered the directions your hormones are sending to you, to put it simply."

I blinked. Well, that was a new one. "What're the changes supposed to be now?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said brightly. "The accumulation of ectoplasmic cells underneath your skin is only the beginning, though, I'm pretty sure. But I'll need to run some tests." He looked at me. "You're the first kid I've had to deal with that's actually had an altered life cycle. The GIW are really very excited about you. So am I, for that matter."

I groaned inwardly. Though Dr. Jared had told me, basically, what was going on, it didn't sound like things were going to be getting any easier for me.

Life sucks, right?

"What kind of tests?" I finally asked warily.

"Nothing life threatening," he said simply, and I opened my mouth to protest, then I closed it. Wouldn't do me much good.

Dr. Jared seemed to notice my near protest, and stared at me for a moment before smiling ever-so-slightly. I sank back, and sighed internally.

"How about we start with some more blood tests?" the scientist asked, his smile growing.

Life, I thought, most definitely sucks.

- - -

That evening, I left the lab with several with a general hatred of anything sharp, and a slightly bleaker outlook on life. I'd also probably have some serious scars if it wasn't for my new 'skin condition.'

An altogether too-cheery Dr. Jared had dismissed me after hours of both painful and awkward experiments, and told me to come back in a couple weeks to get the results. On, basically, what in the name of all that is good I was going to have metamorphosed into when I come out of my cocoon. Or something like that.

I basically fell into bed, wincing as my sore . . . everything . . . clashed with the mattress. "Shut up," I told the buzz that had invaded my consciousness due to sheer exhaustion.

I haven't been this tired since . . .

. . . Since . . .

I sat bolt upright in bed, fatigue all but forgotten. I couldn't remember. I couldn't remember my nightly adventures, the ones that left me so tired in the mornings that I usually slept through all of English. I knew I'd had them, I just couldn't remember.

And then I realized - it was all gone. I knew what'd happened, down to what people said and the clothes I was wearing - but the memory itself was gone. Sam and Tucker were vague concepts; the actual idea of being Danny Phantom was foreign to me. It was as if I'd read my entire life from a history book.

I also realized that I'd only used my powers once since coming to Mt. Ivory, and that was in a completely half-hearted, futile attempt to escape. I hadn't stayed in ghost mode for more than three to five minutes.

And now - everything from my very first memory up until the point where I made Tucker promise not to tell anyone why I'd disappeared - was practically nonexistent.

Acting on impulse, I hopped out of bed and ran out into the hall. Turning the room right next to mine, I knocked frantically on the door. A slightly groggy boy, maybe sixteen, opened it, and I could hear the sound of a TV in the background.

"What?" he asked, eyeing my (still bizarre) skin.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Why?"

I started hyperventilating. "Please . . . just . . . who are you?"

"Davy," he said.

"What is - was - your last name?"

". . . Hammond. Look, kid, could you please just -"

"Where did you come from?" I insisted, ignoring his complaint. I had to know if . . .

"Fort Worth."

"What . . . what was your life like there?"

Davy stared at me for a moment, obviously annoyed. "It was . . ." He paused. "It was . . ." His eyes widened. "I don't know."

. . . if it was just me.

"N-neither do I," I whispered. "It's just gone. My whole life is just gone."

"How - why?" he said, not entirely to me. The realization on his face was painful to watch.

They'd really stolen everything.

"How long have you been here?" I asked quietly, looking down at the floor.

He bit his lip, and looked at me. "Two years. Since I was your age. My brother rammed into me with his motorbike, and I didn't have scratch on me. Then, after Mike had jumped off it and was checking up on me, the bike exploded. Mom rushed me to the hospital and they couldn't explain anything. The next day . . . I was taken here. But I don't actually . . . remember it happening. All I remember is that it happened."

My family.

Here I was, talking to a complete stranger, whom I'd barged in on at seven o'clock at night, lamenting over something we only realized we'd lost about thirty seconds ago.

Funny how these things work out, particularly when life is like mine.

My freedom.

"I'm going to bed," I said suddenly. Davy didn't question, he just shut the door to his room. The television noises stopped.

My identity.

I slid into the bed, ignoring the pain and trying my best not to think. With any luck, it would be possible to just close my eyes and sleep. And, maybe, if karma would allow me any sort of peace, I wouldn't have to dream.

My life.

Because if I dreamt, or if I thought, it'd only be about them - the faces that existed by didn't, the things that happened but were really only stories. And then, when I woke up in the morning, I wouldn't either.

So maybe I wouldn't be me anymore - I'd be non-human prisoner number 99325718, called Danny just for simplicity.

Or maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll manage to be Danny Fenton, the boy that doesn't exist.