Daniel sighed as he finally walked out of the front doors, the evening sun setting and changing the sky into a brilliant painting, with golds and reds and pinks for colors. The cool fall air was crisp and refreshing, but quite honestly it was good to just be able to see non-flourescent light.
His jacket over his shoulder, Daniel walked into a nearby alley for the trip home. He wasn't really worried about getting mugged or anything as he transformed, after all, but in the back of his mind he couldn't help but think about those killings and kidnappings.
He got a running start today, wanting to feel the wind in his hair on the trip home. This was always the best part of the day--the flight over the city. He could see everything so clearly, and people below always waved at him. Why wouldn't they? Amity Park had accepted that Danny Phantom was help, not harm, even if they couldn't call him the "Ghost Boy" anymore. "Ghost Man" sounded silly, anyway. Phantom, perhaps? His other self had used it, and it certainly was fitting. Then again, Daniel wasn't muscular and strong-looking like his old nemesis.
The apartment Daniel was renting was small, but homey. Much of his old stuff from his room was scattered about, but with the help of his mother and sister, the place was decorated nicely. That wasn't to say it was clean, though--25 year old Daniel Fenton wasn't any neater than 14 year old Danny Fenton.
He didn't even bother to go in the front door, instead phasing in through the ceiling, and making sure Ms. Zitterfritzerstien upstairs didn't spot him. The crazy lady would think he was trying to hurt her cats.
Perfect aim. Dan transformed back without looking, and landed on the worn-out burgundy sofa with a light "fwump." The spring underneath, admittedly, gave out slightly with a creak, but all in all it was a wonderful landing.
Dan sighed happily, dug between two of the cuchions to find the remote. He grasped the little object and clicked on the television. The standard station was Cartoon Network, of course, but today he flipped through to the news--Channel 5. Beneath his couch was a pad of paper and pencil--this time he phased his arm down and grabbed them to take notes. This was standard procedure. This channel usually covered any peculiar kidnappings or ghost attacks that he, as a ghost hunter, should check out.
An aged Lance Thunder fizzled into veiw (Dan really needed to get the antennae fixed) standing in front of what might have been Fez Plaza, but it was really hard to tell. The buildings were smashed to bits--there was a large bloodstain in the street, garbage everywhere and two canisters, both in a puddle of purple. The road was torn up so badly it looked like Lance was standing in gravel. Dan whistled through his teeth.
"The scene behind me," Lance was saying on the TV, "Is what remains of a mysterious kidnapping that took place last night. 24-year-old Valerie Grey was last seen at approximately 3 AM by two of her coworkers."
Dan dropped the remote, leaned forward with a slack jaw.
"This kidnapping is suspected to be connected to the work of a female serial killer whose identity is unknown. Security cameras caught only a small glimpse of her before they were destroyed. Let's see it."
The picture that flashed on screen had some numbers in the corner--the time read 12:31 PM, the date was June 2nd 2015, about two weeks ago. There was a blur of movement and then the screens went fuzzy. With narration the clip was rewound and paused, and the black-and-white still gave just a vauge impression of the woman who was there. She was small, for sure, and of average build, perhaps a bit on the skinny side. That was all you could see. A black skin-tight suit with black gloves, black shoes, and a black mask was her cover, and it worked very well. Through the black mesh over the eye holes you couldn't see a thing. Then, in slow motion, the woman held a gun to the camera, and presumaby pulled the trigger.
"The woman is known only as the Night Mistress, a nickname given to her by the locals in the area. A search is being conducted for Ms. Grey and the 18 other known victims. Of these, four have been found, all dead."
Then Lance Thunder melted into Tiffany Storm (she'd gotten married recently, after all) who was moving onto the sports, and Dan turned off the TV.
Approximately five and a half seconds later, he was flying out of his apartment across town.
--
The large Fenton Works sign was still there after all these years, and for some reason that always comforted Dan when he flew by. It meant that his father really hadn't blown anything up. Landing in the alley beside his old house, Dan changed back. It was starting to get dark now, and visibility was poor, but he still didn't want to risk his secret. He smoothed out his clothes (why didn't he change out of his suit and tie?) and walked up the porch steps, ringing the doorbell.
Tapped his foot on the ground. Checked his watch. No answer. Another ring.
"Mom? Dad?" Dan called when, again, met with silence. He rapped harshly on the wood, and still there was nothing from inside. Grab for the knob--locked. A little panicked Dan phased inside, without bothering to change back or hide it.
In the house it was dark and quiet. The house lights were off--the brief pulsations of the emergency lights illuminated the room every now and then with a red glow. The power was out. Why was the power out?
"Mom?" Dan yelled. "Dad?" He flew upstairs--nothing but silence. Flew back downstairs. Emptiness. Then to the basement.
The portal hadn't been opened in years. Dan had told his father to keep it locked and under surveilence. Sure, the ocassional ghost got out but was that his father's fault? No. So when he saw the green and purple light flickering on the walls, mixing with the red flashes to make a sickly brown, Dan's heart kicked into overdrive. How long had it been open? Why was it open?
Then he saw the bodies.
The crimson pool on the ground, in the cracks between the tiles was not a reflection of the lights. He didn't know who the crumpled objects were and yet in the bottom of his heart something snapped, something recognized the blood-stained jumpsuits and matted hair and protruding bones and the bile in his throat that was on the floor just a moment later, the coughing and spluttering and gagging, the smell of death and decay and ectoplasm.
He couldn't look at them. And yet he had to--had to inspect the bodies. He was trained like a police officer--it was his job to look over these things, find out whe who, what, when...
Why?
Dan held back another stomachful of vomit as he inspected them, a few horrified tears on his face. Blunt trauma to the head and spine. The necks had been snapped. Mutilated stomachs--entrails spilled out onto the floor, bloody but intact.
They'd been dead for an hour or two. If he'd rushed here after work--if he hadn't stopped at home...
Dan collapsed to the floor, retching and screaming all at the same time.
--
She walked through the streets in the dark, carefully avoiding the lights on the roadside. She wasnt going to be spotted--not this time.
Her car was sitting in her driveway, untouched for the moment. In downtown Fezville you never knew who would try to vandalize or steal you personal property. But she'd never been without belongings for long. Getting your stuff back from an amateur was easy when you were the Night Mistress.
The front door was unlocked--strange. She always kept it bolted tight. On alert now, the Night Mistress crept through the hall, hugging the walls, listening for activity. And there it was--just like she suspected, she heard the sliding of drawers in her bedroom upstairs.
She could climb up her stairs, old and creaking, without a single sound. The robber upstairs would not have any idea she was home. Still wearing the catsuit, she turned into her bedroom and there he stood, rummaging through her drawers loudly and clumsily.
There was a click, and the robber looked over to the barrel of a gun.
A shot rang out into the night. The dogs barked, car alarms went off, and the neighborhood lit up like a Christmas tree.
--
In twenty minutes, the police surrounded the house.
They walked in through the open door, as the neighbors watched through their curtained windows, and heard crying.
Police Cheif Connors barked his orders to the squad and carefully proceeded upstairs. There in the moonlight he saw a young woman in her nightgown--black and lacy. She was crouched on the floor, sobs wracking her body as she stood over a dead man. On the bed was a gun--a revolver, one that was common in this neighborhood for self-defense.
Chief Connors knelt beside the woman to look at the man. He wore a ski mask and gloves--clearly a criminal who had entered the home. A gun wound went clean through his head--there was blood and clear liquid on the floor. Chief Connors placed his hand on the sobbing woman's shoulder, asked, "What happened here, Miss?" He had a vaugely southern accent, a bushy blonde mustache.
The woman said, between gasps, "I woke up, and he was there over me, and--and--he..." Overcome, the woman buried her face in the shoulder of the burly man, who patted her comfortingly. "I grabbed the gun from my nightstand--that's where D-Daddy always told me to keep it, j-just in case." The woman took a wet gasp. "And, and then he got off...but he pulled out a gun too, so I, I..."
Inspecting the woman in the dim light, as she broke down again, he could see that she was covered in bruises. A struggle, then. Yes, it would seem that she had been violated. Looking down at the dead man, he saw a revolver beside his hand--perhaps a little ways off. Certainly that fit the description. And this poor woman, she was far too upset to be lying.
Police Chief Connors didn't much think about how such a woman could shoot a man dead between the eyes when her hands were shaking like that from the fear. Or how there wasn't any blood on the bed. He didn't see the bottom drawer haphazardly shut, either, with a bit of black spandex sticking out the top. No. Chief Connors was just too trusting.
"What is your name, little lady?" he said, helping her to her feet.
With a sniff, the woman said, "I'm Samantha. Samantha Manson."
And she smiled.