Vlad Masters had tried to grab the gun—the moment he saw it, he seemed to realize what its purpose was, what Daniel's intentions were, what was impending. His hand shot out almost immediately but not soon enough, however, because the teenager already had his hand clasped tightly around its handle, his finger on the trigger. Then, within seconds, the harried man found the barrel of the gun pointed at him, found himself staring down into it, into its seemingly gaping void.
Vlad's hands shot up, not out, instantly. He put them up yieldingly, offering rather than defending. It was, as he hoped it would appear, a white flag.
"D-Danny, little b-badger," he stuttered, his mind racing wildly, his heart thudding in his chest like a hammer against cloth, because he was, without a doubt, more frightened than he had ever been in his life. Had he ever had someone pull a gun on him? Yes, he had, in fact, several times after he'd acquired his fortune. Had he been frightened in the least? No, because he was armed at all times with his ghost powers, with Plasmius. The second the gun came out, he would "go ghost" and grab the punk in a headlock with one arm and the barrel of the gun with the hand of the other before they had a chance to blink. But Daniel was different. Daniel Fenton was armed with Phantom, that ghost weapon, too. If he were to change into Plasmius and attempt to snatch him or the gun, the boy could easily dodge him and he would, Vlad thought with such strong certainty, shoot him dead where he stood. He also believed Daniel would have very good aim, being the son—or having been—of two ghost hunters who used a variety of gun-like weapons and would have most likely sat their children down and lectured them on how to properly operate these types of weapons.
Vlad knew the instant he found himself staring down into the gun's barrel that he was going to need to talk himself out of this one.
However, before he could begin, Danny said, his face flat and somehow completely emotionless and his eyes dull, "Vlad, I'm going to tell you some things and unless you want to be shot, you'd better do them. And you had better not even think about going ghost, because I'm sure you've already figured out it's not going to work. Got it?"
Vlad nodded rapidly, gulping, his body trembling.
"All right," Danny said. "I want you to slowly walk over to the closet over there. I want you to take the keys off the table—" He pointed to the kitchen table with a finger of his unoccupied hand where a glimmering set of keys laid in a heap. "—and I want you to go into the closet and lock yourself inside. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes…but p-please, l-little b-badger…can't we t-talk about t-this?"
"No, we can't."
"W-why n-not, l-little b-badger?"
Danny sighed slightly, but his expression did not change besides a slight narrowing of the eyes, and his mouth fell open slightly, dumbly, almost in annoyance. "Because we're done Vlad. We've been done since the moment you attacked me in the restaurant."
"N-no, D-Danny, l-little b-badger, s-sweet l-little b-badger, it d-doesn't have to e-end this w-way," Vlad said, his trembling increasing, drawing his hands closer to his chest.
"It does, Vlad. I'm sorry, but it does."
"D-Danny, p-please, it's all r-right! W-we can s-start all over!"
"We can't, Vlad. I wish more than anything that we could, but…it just won't work. I'm sorry. I have no reason to stay on this earth anymore."
"D-Danny, you h-have m-me! W-we can s-start over, m-move to Wisconsin or w-wherever the h-hell you w-want! W-we can g-go anywhere and s-start over! W-we can! We can b-be a f-family t-together!" Vlad said, struggling with every fiber of his being not to cry.
"I'm sorry, Vlad, but my family is dead. I have to be with them."
"P-please d-don't do this! P-please, y-you can't!"
"I can, Vlad, and I will."
"Y-you c-can't! D-Danny, y-you're all I h-have! Y-you're the o-only reason I'm h-here! D-don't leave m-me, D-Danny, d-don't leave me!" Vlad said, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, a forever, tears began to stream down the man's cheeks.
For a moment, Danny looked speechless. His eyes became wide and shining—regaining life, it seemed—and his jaw dropped in astonishment. Sadness, pain, agony then swept over his features, but only for a brief, if-you-blink-you-miss-it moment as he bottled them tightly, determined to keep them from resurfacing, from damaging, shutting his eyes and mouth and turning his head but not allowing the gun to falter.
"In the closet, Vlad," he whispered, powerlessly but trying desperately to regain composure, control.
"Danny, please!" Vlad shrieked, tears falling down his face in rivers. "Please, just let me hold you!"
"Closet."
"LET ME HOLD YOU!"
"I'm going to give you five seconds. One."
"DANNY, LET ME HOLD YOU!"
"Two."
"LET ME HOLD YOU, PLEASE!"
"Three."
"DANNY, PLEASE!"
"Four."
"DANNY!"
"Five."
In the backseat of his mother's car, a little boy sat licking a sucker as his mother drove through the town of Amity Park. All seemed eerily quiet, but as they passed a large brick building on the corner of the street with a bright neon sign that read "FENTON WORKS" in bold letters and what looked to the little boy to be an alien spaceship that had landed on top of the building, they heard a gun shot ring out and a blood-curdling shriek follow suit. The boy stopped licking the sticky green candy and looked at his mother.
"Mommy?" he asked uncertainly, very frightened.
His mother, who had already been traumatized by the ghosts she saw while her son slept, simply drove faster, away from the house over which a heavy cloak of fog had fallen.
"Oh, how could I have left like that?" she said aloud when they could no longer see the house. "If someone had been harmed, and I just drove away like nothing was happening—oh, God, Jesus, forgive me!" She then proceeded to do a few Hail Marys while her son watched in alarm.
"Mommy?"