AN: SO here's the deal. Somehow I accidentally replaced chapter four with chapter five, so I had two chapters that were the same. 'Race' is now as it should be. Unfortunately I lost the original chapter, so I had to write it from scratch. I apologize if things don't fit, I tried to get it right. Thank you very much BleakRememberance for telling me, because I honestly had no idea. Everything is as it should be now. I hope.

"Great. Just great."

I could hear a few curse words being mumbled as the realization hit Tucker. Even in school, the guy never did well under stress. Needless to say, a threat to the world that we live in was nothing to be taken lightly.

"So we've got a masochistic ghost out for blood and dominance of the entire world building up a super army of ghosts who can easily beat us on our own playing field because we can't even see them. And we've got an experiment loose that could easily kill. And, chances are, this '1007' isn't on our side."

I dared to take a look behind my shoulder, and I could see his gaze fixed on the computer screen, his jaw clenched again, the frustration and anger quite prominent. And before I knew it, he disappeared. That was the one problem with ghosts-they could conceal themselves from me if they wanted to, and I knew he had left the room, because I couldn't even feel his presence.

"Crap. Tuck, I have to go. I'll call you later, I promise."

"Okay, I'll keep reading through some of these files, see if we can get any more information out of them."

"You're amazing. Thanks, Tucker. Bye."

I quickly hung up my cell phone and briskly moved out of my room. Finding ghosts wasn't all that hard for me, usually, because ghosts wanted to be found; they were lonely, they wanted someone who they could actually talk to. For the most part, at least. But where did you find a ghost that didn't want to be found? I found myself asking this question more and more lately, actually.

My eyes drifted to the door on the ceiling of the hallway. The attic was right above my room, and he had gone up. It was the first place to check, at least. I found, though, when I was pulling the cord, that it would be a harder task than I originally thought. The stairs were very careworn and I was trying to be as light as I could on my feet. Even when I reached the attic, I knew I'd have to keep the charade up. The floorboards were cracking terribly, and there was a thick layer of dust coating everything. The last time anyone had been up there had been me, back when I was a child.

Considering the fact that my mother had a cow every time she heard me talking "to no one," I had to find a place to talk to Danny without my mother ever knowing. It eventually became our understood hideout, our hangout place. But not the entire attic; we had to plan strategically, which meant that we had to think about the room we were over. We had decided that it was safe over the storage closet that my mother never entered and one of the bathrooms that wasn't ever used. A far corner nettled in the back of the attic.

My eyes jumped to the familiar area immediately, a reflex, no doubt. But the scene before me was far from what I had been expecting.

He was kneeling, on the ground, in the corner, apparently deep in thought. His bright green eyes seemed to be fixated on the few toys and books that were scattered. The concentration and intensity he held was overwhelming, and he was radiating such an amount of energy that even I could feel it. I could tell he was trying to remember, and I could feel my heart sink with a sort of sympathy, something that rarely happened.

I heard his voice suddenly, which brought me close to tears (which RARELY happens); it was shaky, and it cracked. Never before this had I seen him without his guard up, and I realized that I was looking at my childhood friend, the boy I nearly died for. Of course, he didn't need to know that little detail.

"I-I remember. This was where we played, where we hid from your mom. And then he took me away…and he took my memories…"

His hands were balled into fists, and I could see a green glow radiate from his pale hands. I took a step backwards instinctively; no way in hell was I going to get in the path of an angry ghost. I'd been there before.

But the explosion didn't come. Instead, I saw his figure slump over, and he looked more fragile than ever. Cautiously I made my way over, not wanting to get him riled up again. I studied him, and in my mind I began to imagine the dark hair and light eyes that he used to have.

I guess he heard my footsteps-then again, who wouldn't in a dilapidated attic with old wood boards that should have been replaced a century ago?-and suddenly fluorescent green eyes met mine.

No sound came out as he opened his mouth, but I could tell he had mouthed my name, seconds before I felt a rush of cold pressing against my body. It took a few moments before I realized that his arms were wrapped around me, and I felt my arms winding around him.

"I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry, so sorry."

He kept repeating the word in my ear, his voice nothing higher than a whisper, and my grip tightened. I was afraid to let go, afraid that if I did, he'd be gone, and this would all be a dream. I could almost see the scene fade out, but we still stood there, embracing for what felt like hours on end. I was freezing cold, and yet I was warm at the same time. Don't ask me how that's possible.

My head had eventually rested on his shoulder, and for once, I didn't pull away. And that's saying something, since the last time Tucker tried to hug me, I punched him in the arm. I'm not the type that revels in physical contact. It was in these thoughts that I began to register the growing wetness on my shoulder.

I looked up, and couldn't believe the sight. Tears were rolling down his porcelain face. Something that wasn't possible. No, I don't mean that they were impossible for Danny-ghosts couldn't cry.

Ghosts were just manifests of energy, and generally took on the appearance before they died. That meant that they didn't have bodies, which meant that they didn't eat, drink, sweat, cry, or do anything else that involved excreting bodily fluids. They could show all symptoms of crying, but their eyes wouldn't make any moisture.

It was then that I realized he felt more whole than usual. I mean, I'm sensitive to touch as well, but generally ghosts feel…thin, like if I tried hard enough, my hand would pass right through.

At this point, moisture was welling up in my eyes as well; whether it was because I feel the emotions ghosts convey, or if I was genuinely overwhelmed with happiness that Danny and I had reunited is still an enigma.

"Danny, you're-you're crying." Way to state the obvious, Sam.

"So are you," he pointed out defensively, as if I was calling him on it. I shook my head in response.

"No, you don't understand. It's impossible for a ghost to produce tears."

"Maybe it's something Vlad…" He cut off, the name stinging his tongue. I could see his eyes burning again, but his arms still hadn't released me, and I felt like a deer in the headlights as the anger he was feeling was converted into energy and I began to absorb it. And boy, was he angry.

"He'll pay for everything he put me through. I'm going to get my memories back, even if it's by force. I know he has them, somewhere, and I'll find them." The determination in his voice wasn't missed.

"But if he has your memories, how can you remember me?"

"I-I don't know." His tone had softened as he looked down at me. "I guess reading that journal sparked something. I can't remember much of when we were young, at all; just faded fragments of memories. But seeing everything, being here…" He trailed off, and for some reason, I felt a warm feeling growing inside of me. He remembered me. His memories had been taken from him, and yet he was beginning to remember, starting with me.

I must have been shivering, because he jumped back, apologizing. I couldn't help but notice the feeling that was missing when he pulled away, and it was like the warmth was gone. Like I said, don't ask how that works.

He disappeared momentarily, coming back up with a thick fleece blanket that didn't have a speck of dust on it. No doubt his doing, I knew. I took the blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders, thanking him softly.

"Look, I know you want to get your memories back, but you can't just go barging in to his house. You know he's going to be well-guarded, and expecting an attack. And, he's obviously powerful. He was able to keep you on the table for years. He knows what he's doing."

He sighed, turning away. "I know. And, I have no idea where to begin. He must have ran so many experiments on me…I just can't remember them. I'm pretty sure he constantly cleared my mind, so that I wouldn't know anything that happened."

"Maybe…maybe we should read more of his files. I'm sure there are more. They might jog more memories, like what happened earlier."

He nodded in agreement, and turned back to me. The next thing is kind of hazy-all I remember is him firmly grabbing on to me, and I could feel the air fly up around me. Then we were back in my room.

He took a seat at my computer, and I was left to read over his shoulder. He scrolled upwards some, and I mentally praised him for his natural ability to work a computer. I began rereading some of the entries that I had already read, but paused on something that seemed to strike me funny.

"What does he mean by 'create an alter-ego humanoid?'" My brows furrowed at the thought, and I pushed a piece of black hair from my face as I continued to stare at the screen.

"That's what I was wondering. And earlier, he said something about creating another 'like himself.' I think there's a lot more to this than we thought…"