Chapter 2

Mrs. Foley wasn't really shocked to see Jazz Fenton on her doorstep shortly after six the next morning. The redhead was bundled up in Fenton Ghost Gear, only her eyes peeking out between her Fenton Hat and her Fenton Scarf.

"Is Danny here, Mrs. Foley?" she asked, eyes wide and inquisitive. Yet, something in the angle of her eyebrows indicated that her eagerness stemmed from concern rather than enthusiasm. She was here, though, before the sun had even risen, in the wind, the chill, and the icy rain.

"Yeah, he's probably still sleeping," she replied. She allowed Jazz to slip past her into the house, and the teenager took a few seconds to absorb the warmth as the door closed. On a normal day, the two might have enjoyed a nice cup of tea or coffee, but today she was on a mission. Find Danny, then figure out what on Earth happened at Casper High last night.

"Do you mind if I wake him up? I'm supposed to take him home."

"Of course. It's probably best; he wasn't feeling very well yesterday."

Jazz's lips tightened. "What was wrong with him?"

"Nausea was the main complaint, but he looked exhausted. We gave him some Pepto Bismol. I don't know if it helped."

Thank goodness I'm here, Jazz thought. Her semesters in college were shorter than her high school ones had been; while her little brother still had about two weeks left before break, Jazz was free to spend some time at home. With her crazy parents and the eternally troubled Danny.

"Care for a coffee, Jazz?" Mr. Foley asked as the young woman stepped into the kitchen, "You're up pretty early." Pretty early indeed. The Foleys were still in their pajamas, and the coffee looked fresh.

That did sound appealing, but she knew she had to decline. She had to get Danny.

"No, thank you, I really need to get Danny home."

Mrs. Foley shook her head. "Your parents must be worried sick. Have they caught the ghost yet?"

"No."

"I'm sure they'll catch it soon," Tucker's dad assured her. By the look on his face though, one could tell he was not sure at all. The Fentons, while renowned as excellent researchers and inventors, were not known for being incredibly competent ghost hunters. You could practically hear an I hope tacked onto the end of Mr. Foley's sentence.

"It's not like they'll be alone," Mrs. Foley added, "We've got Phantom and whoever Mayor Masters hires. The Guys in White might step in too."

So they hadn't heard the allegations yet. Good.

Jazz plastered a smile on her face and nodded. She was feeling too warm now. "Is Danny upstairs?"

"I'll go get him," Mrs. Foley offered, "They stayed up pretty late last night. Doing homework of all things!" That's a lie, Jazz thought immediately, Obviously a cover.

"Wouldn't be surprised if it took him a while to get up and get his stuff together," her husband continued, "Are you sure you don't want a coffee?"

She thought about if for a second. They were probably right, and she didn't want to stand around like a jerkface while her grumpy brother zombie muttered about how terrible mornings and big sisters are. "Sure," she relented. Even through her Fenton Gloves, the mug was pleasantly warm and soothing; she'd had a long night.

Turns out the Foleys were wrong. Danny was downstairs with Tucker in two minutes, though they definitely looked the part of sun-starved, sleep-deprived teenagers. Any other time Jazz would've assumed they'd stayed up late after patrol playing video games or watching horror movies.

"Coffee, kids?" Mr. Foley asked. Jazz had barely downed a third of her mug, but she was too anxious to stick around.

"No, thanks," Tucker yawned, "I want to go back to bed, and Danny still isn't feeling well."

That made Jazz panic just a little bit more. She already knew that what happened last night didn't end well. If he was still injured this morning…. She assessed him visually for bruises, stiff movements, and odd green or red stains, then was thankful to find nothing more alarming than yesterday's wrinkled clothes.

Danny crossed over to stand in front of Jazz. His eyes were dull, skin pale, eyes baggy.

He couldn't look her in the eye either. She believed you could communicate a lot through mere looks, and she'd been hoping for some assurance. A comforting smile, maybe a slight nod to answer her unspoken question. Are you okay?

Still, he kept staring at his feet. Something fell in her chest.

"Can we go now?" he asked flatly.

"Sure," she responded. Then she looked around. "Where's your coat?"

"Didn't bring it."

"No wonder you're sick!" Mrs. Foley exclaimed as she moved to an overcrowded coat rack. After some shifting she pulled out a decent blue jacket, a skull hat (part of Tucker's Christmas gift from Sam last year), and a nondescript pair of black gloves. "Take some of Tucker's old stuff. It's not like he plays in the snow much anymore anyway."

While Danny suited up, Jazz fondly recalled an incident just a few days ago when Tucker was thrown rather unceremoniously into a snowbank. She'd always been bad at aiming the Fenton Bazooka, and Technus had had a bunch of tentacle things. It was all very confusing, and anyone could have done it.

She was still in her memories when Danny glided past her and out the front door. "I'd better take him home," she told the Foleys quickly, "Thanks for watching him!"

By the time Jazz skidded outside, Danny had climbed into the passenger's seat of her car. They were already driving away before she could find the courage to say something.

"Did you hear what happened at the school last night?"

As Danny considered his answer, he remembered what he had heard at the school last night. He'd heard the electric charge of his own ectoblast and its quick whir through the air. He heard Mr. Baker clack into the lockers and thunk to the ground. He'd heard the silence that followed. He'd heard every second of his own damnation.

"What did you hear?" he asked quietly, tiredly. He did not want to be having this conversation. Not now, not ever.

Jazz took a deep breath. She had to find a way to summarize their parents' beliefs without sounding accusatory. Of course, she didn't believe for a second that Danny Phantom (her little brother—the one who sacrificed his entire academic career to save people) was capable of doing what they'd said. He'd been framed numerous times before, but he wasn't getting away with this one without an explanation. He needed a culprit, an alibi, a story, something. Or the people of Amity (their parents at the front of the line) would tear him apart.

"Mr. Baker is dead," she responded. No reaction. "He was killed." He tilted his head toward the window. "They're saying a ghost did it." His head tilted downward this time, just slightly. "They're saying Danny Phantom did it." Was that a sniff? Did he have a cold? Was he crying? Crap.

They arrived at FentonWorks but Jazz just kept driving. Their parents were there, and they had to get their stories straight.

Nobody else was out driving. It was early, and after the events of last night most people had decided to stay inside with their families to browse . No one was around to notice them driving in nonsensical circles around Amity.

"Not that I believe them," Jazz spluttered when Danny didn't say anything. Honestly, she hadn't given them any credence until her little brother refused to speak. Obviously there were dozens of logical explanations. "I know you'd never hurt anyone." On purpose. "I'm sure the whole thing is just one big misunderstanding."

Finally, he looked up at her. She stopped the car in the middle of the road and stared back. She could see it all in his face. Horror. Despair. Guilt.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered, "It was an accident."

Not what she had wanted to hear. Not bothering to even pull of to the side, she put her car in park, reached over the middle console, and enveloped her brother in the tightest hug she could manage.

Danny was frozen. He was no psychologist, but he knew this was definitely not a proper response to a murder confession. Maybe she didn't understand.

"I was about to come home," he continued, unable to return the hug, "But there was something at the school. It was Spectra, and Bertrand was Mr. Baker. Or, he looked like Mr. Baker. I was fighting Spectra, and—well, Sam was there too—she got Bertrand. I came back inside and saw Mr. Baker…"

Jazz did understand. She did understand, and she could not release her brother.

"I threw him against the lockers with an ectoblast. God, Jazz, there was a dent….then the blood…."

"It's okay," his sister interrupted, "Anyone could have done it."

Danny actively pulled away from the hug now. "No, no one else could have done it! Only me, only I could have—"

"Vlad—"

"Never killed a man." They both added a mental, As far as we know. "I—I killed a man."

Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he's dead.

"But you didn't mean to," Jazz hissed, "Intent matters."

He didn't seem to think so. He looked down and closed his eyes again. His shoulders were stiff and narrowed inward. A different concern poked into her head; maybe he actually was sick. Because of a virus or bacteria, anyway. She didn't need a perfect score on the CAT to know that he felt physically ill.

Before Jazz could decide what to do or say, her cell phone rang. She sighed, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from her hurting brother, and checked the caller ID.

"Hi, Mom."

"Is everything okay, sweetie? Did you get Danny?"

"Yeah, we're on our way home." She put the car in drive again.

"We saw you drive past the house."

Jack butted in, "Were there ghosts, Jazzie? Do you need us to meet you with the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle?"

No, no we do not, she thought, That would be the opposite of helpful right now.

"No, Dad, we—" She paused to come up with a plausible lie. "Danny thought he forgot something at Tucker's, but we found it."

Their mother sighed, and (guessing by the quiet) their father had lost interest as soon as ghosts were no longer involved. They were very busy, after all. "Just get home soon," Maddie urged her. Her mom was tired; Jazz wasn't sure if she'd slept last night.

"We will," she replied, "Bye, mom." Then they were off.

The Fenton parents had wanted Phantom's blood/ectoplasm before, but now, after an apparent murder in cold blood, they were even more single minded in their pursuit of him. If Jazz knew her brother at all, he wasn't going to get over this any time soon, if he ever did. Maybe it was time to…. These were unfortunate circumstances, of course, not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but this may be the time when they had to come clean to their parents.

Jazz cringed at the thought. Danny shuddered slightly at whatever was going through his head. It was all very awkward.

There would be consequences either way, Jazz concluded as she parked her car. But which would be less severe?

Her chest burned as she waited for her near-adult brother compose himself. He wiped his face with his sleeves and took a deep breath before looking over at Jazz with timid eyes as if to say, Ready as I'll ever be.

With a simultaneous sigh the sibling threw open their car doors and stepped out. The words Fenton Works blared above them, gigantic and brightly lit even this early in the morning. While exhaustion was pretty normal for Danny, Jazz was usually more awake by now. She noted that she had been more awake; her energy simply been drained away since then.

There was an unspoken understanding between the two that they would try not to alert their parents, at least until Danny was in bed and could hopefully sleep, or maybe pseudo-sleep. Jazz considered the possibility of Danny just phasing to his room to avoid any possible parental interference, but with her parents on such high ghost alert figured that that would be too risky. The idea didn't seem to occur to Danny, but if it did he may have cast it off as quickly as she had.

They made it through the front door and up the stairs without difficulty. As Danny turned to trudge into his room, Jazz grabbed his hand and held it in hers.

"It's going to be okay, little brother."

…...

It had been a long night for Maddie and Jack. They had already exhausted themselves fixing tech after a major Technus attack, and they'd hoped to get some much needed sleep. Most of their weapons were finally working again, and the computers were almost functional.

Finally, it was time to check their work. Maddie stood in the middle of the room in her blue hazmat suit surveying the mess. "Is the radar system online?"

Jack set down the last bazooka and stepped over to the radar. Sure enough, it was blinking appropriately. No blips. "No ectoplasmic entities in the area," he replied.

Her eyes narrowed. That didn't necessarily mean it was working. "How about our home defense system?"

Jack turned around to look and declared, "The light's green!"

"Great," she sighed; it was the best they could do for now.

"Fudge time!" her husband announced, starting toward the stairs. He yawned and added, "Then sleep time."

She smiled fondly at him and noted that, despite the graying hair and larger jumpsuit, he was the same man she'd met in college and later married.

When they finally made it up into the kitchen and sealed off the lab, Maddie removed her mask and goggles. She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. Her blue suit felt almost like a second skin to her, but after a long time on her head it began to feel constrictive. Glancing at the clock, she sighed. It was 11:24 pm, and she didn't remember hearing Danny come in; she'd have to go check on him.

That was when the phone rang.

The next morning sleep was but a pleasant dream. They ran out of fudge around four, meaning Jack had become much less pleasant. Still they had to persevere, and there was no time for baking. Both of them were shaken anyway, shaken and a little bit scared. A murder. In hindsight they supposed it was only a matter of time, but it was shocking nonetheless. And the ghost boy did it? They'd always known he couldn't be as good as he seemed, but this ran in direct violation of his apparent obsession.

Regardless of what led up to the death of the Casper High guidance counselor, the Fentons knew they had to be prepared to defend their town and capture the culprit.

Still, that kind of high-tech planning took energy, and Maddie was nearly out. A while after she was done making sure the kids were on their way home, she found Jack dozing over some schematics—undoubtedly having crashed from all of that sugar—and decided she needed some coffee. Again, she ascended to the kitchen.

Jazz was sitting at the table, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug. Her face was red as if she'd just now come in from the cold and she still donned her bright orange Fenton Hat.

"You have enough for another cup?"

Jazz gestured to the pot and Maddie nodded in thanks.

"You make it home okay?" she asked as she poured her coffee.

"Yes."

"Is Danny sleeping?"

"Yes."

Maddie sat down and assessed her daughter, though her long red hair concealed most of her face as she stared down at her coffee. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah," she replied, not looking up but sensing that she needed to elaborate, "Just tired is all."

Maddie tilted her head in sympathy. Her daughter didn't want to admit that she was scared after last night, but fear was a perfectly normal emotion to experience after such an event.

"I know you always defended InvisoBill—"

"Phantom—"

"But it's different this time, Jazz. He committed murder. We have a witness."

"I'm sure there's an explanation."

"Like there is for everything else? The robberies, the kidnapping! He even assaulted your father and I, what was his excuse for that? If you have explanations, I'd love to hear them."

There was a moment of silence. Jazz's lips were tightened and her brow furrowed. One finger on her right hand was absently tapping her mug as she absolutely refused to look up.

Her scientist mother extended a still gloved hand over the table and reached for her adult daughter. Taking her fidgety hand in hers, she thought of what to say. She knew that Jazz was grown up, that she was thriving away from home, at college. She'd always been such a strong-willed, independent little thing, but Maddie had always been her mother. And mothers comfort. Mothers protect.

"There is no explanation," she asserted softly, "That ghost—Phantom, InvisoBill, it doesn't matter what you call it… David Baker is dead. What do you know about David Baker?"

Her daughter gulped, and Maddie's heart broke a little more. This is a conversation we have to have, she assured herself, If I don't make this clear, she might try something ridiculous, and she could get hurt.

"He was the guidance counselor at Casper High," Jazz answered, just as softly.

"That's right. Anything else?" She shook her head, so Madie continued, "He was twenty-seven years old. In college he met a girl named Kristina; they got married last spring in a beautiful ceremony full of flowers. They were trying to have a baby. You know how I know this? Kristina Ann Baker told me when she came to identify her dead husband's body. Do you still think there must be an explanation?"

The hand in Maddie's was sweaty. Her skin had gotten a little paler and her eyes had gotten a little wetter. Still, she nodded emphatically.

"Do you know where his parents were when this happened? On a winter vacation. Can you imagine that, Jazz? Sleeping in a hotel by the beach, dreaming of white sand and palm trees, when you get a call saying your only child is dead?"

Jazz shook her head this time. "That doesn't mean it was Phantom's fault," she insisted.

"Do you know how he died, Jazz? Do you know why he died?"

The young adult sucked in a sharp breath but neither moved nor spoke to answer.

"We found him on the floor, already dead. We think it was the head injury that did it, and you know how those can bleed. The janitor said Phantom just shot him into the lockers. Shot him into the lockers with so much force he died. There was a dent, Jazz, a dent made with his skull. All because he wanted to look at a student's file before Monday and wasn't sure where he'd put it."

"We don't know the whole story," Jazz asserted firmly. She did look at her mother now, and her aqua eyes fierce but red from crying.

"You're right, we don't. But we're going to find out. We're going to capture Phantom, and he will be held accountable for this."

That didn't seem to make her feel better. "Will you ever listen, though?" she pleaded, "If he has something to say, will you hear him out before you…before you…."

She wanted very much to appease her daughter; she hated seeing her so upset, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. Maybe she couldn't handle the fact that a man had been killed so she reassigned her feelings to a different cause, a familiar cause that somewhat negated the implied danger. If there was a reasonable explanation for why Phantom had done it, no one was in danger anymore. It didn't sound like Jazz, the ever logical scholar. She was the psychoanalyst in the family.

Maddie glanced at the clock; though it had been undefined, her coffee break was certainly over. The town needed her in the lab, monitoring ghostly activity and working out ways to destroy a killer before he could strike again.

So she smiled and squeezed her daughter's hand one last time. "Sure, in the name of truth and justice, we will listen."

Thank you to my reviewers, and extra thanks to my beta/proofreader WildfireWarrior34!