Shatterglass
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own Danny Phantom.
Chapter 5: Quickening
An undisclosed location
Tucker Foley whistled silently to himself, his feet propped up lazily on the sparse-looking metal table that provided the only decoration in the drably gray-colored interrogation room.
It certainly seemed like a dreary enough place. The winking red lights of the video cameras that monitored the three prisoners' every move resembled glowing eyes in the shadowed corners, and the chair in which Tucker sat had certainly seen better days. The floor was grimy, the walls unkempt, and the menacing one-way mirrors that had been installed for surveillance purposes made the hair on Tucker's neck stand on end. The whole point was that his captors could see him without being seen themselves. It was rather unnerving to know that he was being closely observed like a bug in an old jelly jar.
Tucker turned to Sam, who was looking more like a bloodthirsty Amazon warrior woman rather than a fourteen-year-old girl. The furious expression that suffused her features made her companion feel somewhat envious and even ashamed that he found no such well of courage to tap into. Sam clenched and unclenched her fists over and over, and Tucker nervously slid a little farther away from her.
"How are you holding up?" Tucker asked unnecessarily, hoping for at least some modicum of conversation to soothe his nerves.
"Just wait until I get my hands on him," Sam growled, referring to Agent Brody. "I swear to God, I'll tear that old fart's spine out with my bare hands and beat him to a blood pulp with it!"
Jazz looked at her, intrigued. "Really? And what brings on these violent tendencies?"
"Stop acting like a shrink," Sam told Danny's sister. "My parents have probably taken me to every stupid psychiatrist in the country after I became a Goth."
"Jeez, Sam, calm down," Tucker said, his face a mask of horror at her brutal outburst. "Jazz was only joking, and honestly, making threats like that is not going to help our situation, you know!"
"Yeah, yeah," Sam grumbled, conceding the point nonetheless. "So how long do you think we've been in here?"
"Not a clue," Jazz snorted, glancing at her bare wrist ruefully. "They took my watch on the way in."
"My PDA, too," Tucker said mournfully.
"I think a few missing appliances are the least of our problems," Sam grinned wryly. "Do you think they'll play the good cop or the bad cop first?"
"I think these guys'll try good cop before anything else," Tucker said, turning to make an impudently ridiculous face at the observation mirror. "If you really wanna piss them off, Sam, try imitating Heath Ledger's Joker while they're talking."
"Or make a donut joke," Jazz snickered.
"I might take you up on that," Sam laughed.
At the same time….
Behind the three-inch-thick, bulletproof one-way mirror, the stalwart and stubborn Agent Brody felt his blood pressure begin to rise. Despite all of his attempts to ignore it, these three damn kids were starting to get under his skin. I must be losing my touch, the venerable cop thought mournfully. Maybe I will retire once all of this is over and done with. I could move somewhere out in the countryside, where I'll have a bit of peace and quiet…
The truth hung heavy on Brody's shoulders. Though Sam's threat had been bloodthirsty and more than a little disturbing, she had unknowingly spoken the truth about him. It hurt much more than the veteran cop would ever let on.
Thomas Brody was getting old.
Each passing day made it just a little bit harder for him to rise in the morning, and long hours of sitting in his office chair had started to catch up with his increasingly sore and aching back. Years of using his body hard while fighting the good fight were beginning to take their toll on Agent Brody: he found it more and more difficult to hold his beloved Sig Sauer in a steady grip, his footing was growing unsteady, and his vision was deteriorating after countless hours spent staring at a computer screen. The bones that had once made Brody the most admired agent in the entire Bureau were now becoming brittle with age, and he was only now just beginning to realize that he was an old lion far past his prime.
Mother Nature was collecting her due from him, plus interest.
Brody gathered the ridiculously heavy folder that held Fenton's case file, and his eyes closed for a moment as he made up his mind then and there.
I won't be of use to anyone for very much longer, he thought, as he went to squeeze the three teenagers for information. I don't care if those paper-pushers back in D.C. get down on their knees and grovel. After this, I'm done…
Tucker started visibly as Brody shoved the door to the interrogation chamber open with a loud clang, but the teenager's face became stony and emotionless as his brain figured out what was going on. Sam, too, clammed up instantly while her body almost oozed with defiance, and her purple eyes sent a clear and wordless message.
Bring it on, they said. We'll tell you nothing.
Brody ignored her and turned to Tucker, nodding cordially as he pulled up a dented, slate-grey chair of his own. For all his polite and disarming demeanor, this may as well have been a social call.
"Are you kids hungry?" Brody asked sincerely, and he was. The grilling hadn't started just yet, as far as he was concerned. True, Brody could be remorseless when he had to be, but he wasn't a savage like that arrogant bastard Skyrme. And if anything, the old soldier found that food and water always helped loosen one's lips.
"Don't listen to him, Tucker," Sam muttered. "It's probably drugged or something."
WHAM!
Brody slapped his palms on the table, hard, and was rewarded as all three detainees jumped in their seats.
Now the interrogation was underway, and Brody kept his voice utterly calm as he asked a simple question.
"Where is he?"
"Who?" Tucker tried to look confused.
"Don't play stupid with me, Foley," Brody rolled his eyes. "You know damn well who."
"You can't blame Danny!" Sam cried out, automatically defending the now-shunned and reviled hero. "He hasn't done anything!"
"Let's test that theory, eh?" Brody grinned, counting on his fingers. "One, he murdered the Mayor of Amity Park, in cold blood, and then actively resisted arrest. That's two charges right there. Then, he beat the crap out of that fellow in Texas, blew a squad car half to hell, and almost leveled the entire street. That's, let's see…" the agent thought for a moment. "Assault and battery, destruction of property, opening fire on U.S law enforcement officers, and resisting arrest… again."
"You blew up our jet," Tucker pointed out hopefully. "So I think that makes us pretty even for the car thing."
"And Danny would never kill anyone!" Sam protested forcefully. "The only reason he did all that stuff in Texas is because you people scared him to death! How would you have reacted if the whole world was out to get you? I think self-preservation would be your first priority, too! Danny was just trying to make sure that he lived to clear his name!"
Brody felt like someone had given him a back massage with a cheese grater. The girl, infuriatingly enough, had a legitimate point: in all likelihood, Fenton wasn't in complete control of his actions the last time he and the law had crossed swords. "So you think he was framed," he clarified.
"Absolutely," Tucker nodded. "We've known Danny for years, man. It's the only way something like this could have happened."
"And did Fenton tell you any of this?"
"He probably would have," Sam grumbled, "if you jerks had shown up five minutes later."
"You should worry about yourselves," Brody shook his head. "Aiding and abetting is a felony, you know."
"It's nothing compared to what you'll do to Danny," Sam shot back. "You and the rest of those ingrates, who just jumped at the chance to peg Danny as the culprit after all he's done for you!"
"Ms. Manson, I don't like the idea of putting away a fourteen-year-old boy in a federal prison any more than you do," Brody turned to her. "Probably less so, in truth, considering how many young people I've had to send to the clink over the years."
"Oh, yes, you're just a fountain of sympathy," Sam hissed. "If you had even a shred of fairness in you, then you'd go back and read that case file over there more thoroughly." She nodded to the obese manila folder. "I'd bet anything you'd find some things in there that just don't add up."
"You'd bet anything?" Brody repeated slowly, an idea coming into his mind.
"Yes."
"Fine, then I'll make you a deal," Brody said seriously, his silver-flecked eyes staring into Sam's. "Care to hear me out?"
The Goth started to reject the offer out of hand, but Tucker, who had managed to keep a clearer head, spoke first. "We're listening."
"I'll go back and read every single page pertaining to the prosecution's case against your friend," Brody stated. "If I find anything fishy, you have my word that I will look into it. And, by way of corollary, if I see something that can't be explained, then I'll halt the investigation altogether until I get to the bottom of things."
Sam narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch?"
"The catch," Brody finished grimly, "is that if you're wrong, you have to tell me everything."
Tucker grinned nervously. "But no pressure or anything, right?"
The brave young woman seated across from Brody drew a deep breath. Sam knew she was grasping at straws, but even a desperate chance was better than none at all. It was a big gamble, true, but considering Danny's unimaginable plight, Sam couldn't afford not to take it.
"Deal," she said flatly.
Brody fought to keep himself from grinning. The girl may have been a loyal friend, but she was still gullible. There was no way Fenton's inevitable plea of "not guilty" would ever hold up in court.
He made a show of riffling through the file as he strode absently down the hall to his awaiting desk and uncomfortable chair. There was just no way, he thought. The case was rock-solid.
Wasn't it?
Doubt began to gnaw at Brody's gut, but the feeling was swiftly replaced by annoyance and revulsion as the rat-faced Major Skyrme accosted him with a livid expression.
"Why did you do that?" he whispered furiously. "You had no reason and no authority to cut a deal with them! Those hooligans forfeited their human rights by even associating with that abomination, Brody! If you hadn't babied those traitors and just gone a little harder on them, we could be on the creature's tail right now!"
"I'm not about to subject a couple of kids to your tender mercies, Skryme," Brody scowled down at him. "Nor will I deprive them of what should never be taken away."
"Just let me in there for a moment," Skryme sniveled. "I can get them to sing like canaries!"
"I'm sure you could," Brody replied, only just succeeding in masking his contempt. "But I am the leader of this task force, not you. And I will decide my own interrogation methods, thank you very much!"
"My superiors will hear of this," Skryme threatened in his nasally tone.
"If you're trying to intimidate me, you're not doing a very good job," Brody grinned sardonically. "Technically, Major, this entire team does not exist. I am therefore so far out of your superiors' jurisdiction that they couldn't see me with binoculars, and my security clearance lies somewhere between NASA and the freaking moon."
Skyrme slunk away, and his boss curled his lip in disgust. God, I hate him…
But Brody had no time to brood. There was work to be done, he reminded himself. Brody sighed wearily, feeling his back protest as he sank into the cheap plastic chair in the dimly lit office he'd claimed for his own. With a fluid motion honed by years of practice, the venerable agent whipped out his glasses and set them upon the bridge of his nose, his keen eyes automatically roving over the obese stack of papers.
Brody was nothing if not thorough, and his own conscience would never let him forget it if he didn't go through with his end of the bargain. As he had done so many times before, Brody immersed himself in his duties, forgetting everything else.
Meanwhile…
Tucker tried to conceal his anxiety as he rocked back and forth on the hind legs of his seat. "You really think he'll find something?" he asked.
"I'd certainly like to know," Jazz piped up. "The wait is killing me! Is this guy a slow reader or something?"
"Not a clue," Sam told her companion bluntly. "And I can only hope that my hunch was right. This whole thing was a shot in the dark, Tucker."
"Gosh, that really makes me feel better," he said, his voice sarcastic. "Here we are, playing Russian roulette with Danny's life, and we have no idea what we're doing. If there's a Hell, I'm going there for sure," Tucker added under his breath.
"What would you have done, then?" Sam snapped. "You were the one who agreed to it first, you know!"
"She's got a point, Tucker," Jazz agreed. "Any chance is better than none at all."
"True. But all I'm saying is, what'll we do if…"
"If it doesn't work?" Sam finished quietly.
"Yeah."
"Hopefully, we won't have to find out."
Her last statement, bleak and stark in its brutal honesty, killed the mood for conversation. A thick, heavy silence like a bank of nauseating smog made the holding cell's atmosphere almost unbearable, and Danny's loyal friends ceased talking whilst the pall of gloom hung over them.
Much later…
O'Malley, the sad-faced CIA operative of dour demeanor, knocked politely on Brody's door before opening it with a slight creak.
Brody promptly slapped the ream of paper down on the wooden desk, stood, and spouted approximately thirty seconds of unprintable obscenity at the sudden intrusion. Once his breathing calmed, Brody growled, "Dammit, O'Malley! I'm working here! You scared the life outta me, barging in like that!"
"I did knock, you know," the other man said defensively.
"I must not have heard it," Brody replied, his tone humble in unspoken apology. "As you can see, I was-" he waved hand at the cluttered workspace, "-catching up on my reading."
"The case file?" O'Malley clarified. "Skryme told me you cut some kind of deal with our detainees."
"Yes, I did. And let me tell you, there are some things about this whole case that seem fishy," Brody confided. "It's not apparent at first, but there are links in the chain that are still unaccounted for."
"Enlighten me," O'Malley said. "Despite my best efforts, you've piqued my interest."
"I was reading Fenton's psych evaluation your people provided us," Brody elaborated. "And there is nothing in there that even remotely suggests that Fenton is prone to homicidal tendencies or lashing out. Hell, the kid doesn't even have a quick a temper! And yet, he goes on a field trip to Amity's City Hall, waltzes right into Mayor Sanchez's office, and offs him out of the blue? And he just happens to do it right before security finds him there, at the same exact instant he reverts to his human form? The timing of all of that is just a little too perfect, O'Malley." Brody's voice became more emphatic as he continued speaking. "I mean, think about it: this is a kid who's spent over a year fighting ghosts in secret, seemingly intent on protecting the general public from harm, and all of a sudden he just throws it all away? Fenton's never tried to pose an active threat before, so why start now?"
"There was that incident with all of those ghost cops," O'Malley pointed out. "Witnesses stated that Fenton threatened Sanchez's life on that occasion."
Brody shook his head. "No, that was discredited. Further analysis by the GIW revealed that all of the people Fenton supposedly threatened were overshadowed at the time everything occurred, but those white-suited bastards withheld that information to turn the public against the boy. I think Fenton was framed that time, O'Malley, and he's probably got more than a few enemies in the netherworld that'd gleefully do it again." The agent banged his fist on the desk, sending papers fluttering toward the ceiling. "I'm telling you, this whole thing reeks of a setup."
"Do you have any proof?" O'Malley asked. "Or even a suspect?"
"No," Brody deflated somewhat. "We know little of Fenton's enemies, and information on those we do know of is scarce."
"I believe the three children might be willing to fill you in," O'Malley suggested. "We believe they've assisted Fenton in his…extracurricular activities on numerous occasions."
"Good idea," Brody arched his back with a groan. "I couldn't take another minute in that stupid chair anyway."
While their captor finished lamenting the scourge of poor-quality furniture, an unexpected and most unwelcome visitor quietly checked both ends of the hallway before slipping into the small cubby that lay behind the foreboding and smudged one-way mirrors. He chuckled under his breath as his fingers moved with the dexterity of a spider over the small array of knobs and buttons. All it took was a few calculated pushes on the control panel to shut off the detention chamber's audio and video surveillance systems for exactly thirty seconds.
That time was about twenty-five seconds more than Vlad Plasmius needed. His eyes glinted like twin stars of unfathomable malevolence as he phased through the long window with practiced ease, and the elongated fangs in his mouth added a chilling effect to his otherwise cordial smile.
"Surprise!" he called, in a grotesque imitation of some twisted birthday. "I believe we could all use a change of scenery, wouldn't you say?"
All three of Danny's erstwhile friends jumped to their feet, but it was already too late. Vlad moved with swiftness and brutal efficiency as he carried out yet another stage in his plan.
All it took was a swift, hard jab in the shoulder region to knock each and every one of them out cold.
Vicious pride and sadistic glee filled the despicable villain's every pore, and he gathered up his victims like so many logs of firewood before phasing out of the visible spectrum and through the ceiling.
It was quite literally only a second later when Brody entered the room himself, and the fresh cup of Java roast fell splattering onto the floor. His first instinct was to assume that his prisoners had escaped, but the hand that had flashed to the radio on Brody's belt now hesitated as his eyes were drawn to an object on the grimy steel floor.
It was a PDA. Tucker's spare PDA, in point of fact.
Brody's curiosity got the better of him, and he promptly picked the device up off the floor. He noticed that the texting window was still open, almost as if…
The agent's heart began thundering in his chest. Almost as if someone had intentionally left it there!
Brody turned his gaze to the screen, and was momentarily confused at the sight of what appeared to be nothing more than gibberish. Tucker's message only read thus:
v|ac|
Brody's lips peeled back in a snarl, and he thought the whole was just a taunt, but as he studied the seemingly meaningless garble the symbols and lines turned to letters in his mind's eyes. A moment's consideration was the only time Brody's sharp sleuthing sense needed to make the cipher readable.
What it said shook Brody to his very core, for when properly decoded, Tucker's hastily typed message actually said, simply:
Vlad.
Brody's entire body began trembling with a mixture of fury, panic, and wounded pride, and Brody fought to keep the wrath from his voice as he pressed a button on his walkie-talkie.
"O'Malley?"
"Sir?" the other man's voice replied promptly, made crackly with static.
"Get me everything you can find on one Vlad Masters," he snarled. "We've been played from the beginning! I want all units ready to move yesterday!"
"Yes, sir," O'Malley replied. "Is it safe to assume that we have a new prime suspect?"
"Damn right we do," Brody hissed. "Track him by satellite, track his phone, but whatever the hell you do, find him! We cannot afford to let him fool us again!"
"Masters did it?"
"Maybe," Brody said. "I don't have all of the pieces just yet, but I do know that Masters absconded with my detainees anyone noticing! Bring him in, or bring him down!"
"I will get right on it, sir."
FentonWorks, Amity Park, several hours later.
The weather was harsh, stormy, and foreboding on that fateful evening. The furious drumbeat of the obese raindrops made the windowpanes shiver and shake with the sheer force of the storm, and the forked ripping streaks of lightning that tore across the sky added an extra layer of menace to Nature's show of overwhelming force. The sky overhead was so black that it turned midday into twilight, and the streets and sidewalks of Amity were awash in miniature rivers of frothing water.
This, of course, did little to help Danny's parents as they sat down to another lonely dinner.
The familiar chime of the doorbell momentarily lifted the cloud of despair that had made the once-happy home of the Fentons; a bleak and miserable place. Jack and Maddie had been despondent ever since the incident at City Hall over a week ago, and thus the prospect of company was a welcome diversion from their sadness and grief.
"I'll get it, Maddie," Jack called, thumping loudly down the hall whilst cradling the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick in his beefy arms. "It better not be another reporter," he grumbled.
The Fenton patriarch shielded his eyes against the almost blinding flurry of precipitation that assaulted him as he opened the door, and Jack had to raise his voice to be heard over the storm.
"Who's there?"
The shadowy figure on the doorstep promptly smiled, and a white-hot streak of lightning made a deafening crack as it momentarily illuminated his vengeful and deranged expression.
"Now, now, Jack," Vlad Masters grinned. "There's no need to shout. It's just an old friend coming to say hello…"
A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN! Things are just going from bad to worse for poor Danny, aren't they? What will happen to Danny's friends and family? Will Brody catch up to Vlad in time? And what sinister design does the arch-villain have planned? What are his true motivations? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have any ideas or suggestions on how I can make this story more enjoyable for you to read, LET ME KNOW! ^^
I know the suspense is terrible, but never fear, my readers.
All will be made clear in time…
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque