Chapter 10
By the next morning (if the term could even apply to four-freaking a.m.) the flurries had increased and decreased in intensity several times.
Sam was the first one to arrive on the snowy steps outside the mayor's mansion. The last time she'd braved the snow, just a few hours ago, she'd had just a set of blackest black flannel pajamas, a half-zipped jacket, and her combat boots to ward off the wind and snow. This morning before sneaking out of her bedroom window she'd taken a little more care in her preparation.
She'd slept for only a few minutes if at all in the interim hours of the night, largely because everytime she closed her eyes all she could see was her best friend's disfigured form in the snow. It had all happened so fast, in the dark, in the crowd. She hadn't gotten a good look, only basic outlines and occasional flashes when the light from the streetlamps could get through the mob.
One might think that that would be better, that not really seeing would help, but unfortunately, for Sam at least, it may have made it even worse. If she'd had a chance to examine her best and oldest friend in the world (Sorry Tuck), really observe and catalogue the destruction, she could've calmed herself, thought of ways to help. Instead, every time she blinked the memory got worse.
She distinctly remembered that he'd lacked his usual glow, but she could not for the life of her remember if he'd opened his eyes. Did he have eyes anymore? She was pretty sure he had eyes. He had to have eyes, he needed his eyes. Sky blue or neon green, whichever, he needed his eyes.
His skin, she was pretty sure, had been grotesque. Converted to slimy ecto-gloop and sliding off the bones….had she seen his bones, bare bones? She couldn't remember.
Though the image was blurred and subject to constant change (Had she checked his feet? Did he have feet?), the smell was unforgettable. Burning. Smoky burning flesh, burning ectoplasm. It was a sharp, piercing odor that clogged her throat. Clogged it much less than the oncoming hysteria, but still.
And green. She remembered the color green.
How she'd wanted to reach out and touch him, make sure he was real. How she'd wanted smooth the rough, dripping skin of his cheek back to normal, brush his runny hair out of his eyes. How she longed to get him off the cold ground, out of the wicked snow.
Then she wanted to kick him in the face for being so stupid. From what she could infer, the half-dead idiot had taken off (in ghost form no less) in the middle of the night to chase after Skulker, taken him down, then hung out in the street until his parents showed up to blast him away. Real smart; his bad grades made a lot more sense now.
He'd looked very much like a child. A child dragged out of the water half-drowned and unresponsive, a child flung across the street by the blunt force of a speeding car. Helpless and frail and broken, but unnaturally peaceful for a situation that was so unbearably wrong.
Untouchable, but in need of all the care in the world. Unnatural, but so absolutely real.
Jazz came next, parking her car at the curb, and Sam couldn't bear to look her in the eye. Without a word, the disheveled redhead came to a stop several feet from her. On a normal day, Sam would never have minded the silence. She and her best friend's big sister had never been very close. They were and always had been polar opposites in a way. One, a peppy, brightly-dressed overachiever and people pleaser. The other, a perpetually-angry goth who didn't give a crap about what anybody else thought of her. Who, she might add, did not do particularly well in school, but for that she could blame her little side career of ghost hunting.
They shared one thing: they very intensely cared about Danny, and Danny was in trouble.
It was still dark as night. The sun was still sleeping, and Sam wouldn't have minded if it stayed that way.
After glancing down at her watch (Tucker had better show up. Soon, or she was going to drag him out of bed herself.), she decided she had nothing to lose in looking at Jazz.
It was hard to see sometimes how she and her brother could be related. If someone just saw them separately in their natural habitats, they'd see two strangers. People who knew the both of them (teachers especially) always seemed a little taken aback when reminded that slacker Danny Fenton shared parents with their star pupil Jazz. The two couldn't seem more different, appearance wise or personality wise.
It was there, though. In the outlines of their faces, their jaws and eye shapes. You could hear their shared verbal tones, see their common mannerisms. You could see it in their expressions when they thought something wasn't right, see it in their actions when someone they cared about was threatened. The resemblance was hidden, but it was there.
Another car door slamming tore Sam out of her inner monologue, and her fingers twitched toward the ectogun hidden below her jacket.
'Bout time, Tuck.
The last member of their little party was climbing out of the driver's seat of a well-kept but well-used sedan, bundled up in winter wear that was so bright an orange it would rival that of Jack Fenton.
Jack Fenton. Who Sam could only assume was sleeping, peaceful and safe, in his own bed in his own house with no idea what had become of his son, what he'd done to his only son. That, or he was out and about, hopefully exhausted and downtrodden, searching for the teenage kid they'd opened fire on the night before.
Had Jack fired, or had Maddie?
Sam wasn't there to see, not that it mattered. They were both guilty, she knew that.
"My dad let me borrow the car," Tuck explained, huffing and puffing from his jog to the steps, "The scarves….were my mom's idea."
"You couldn't just sneak out?" Sam asked sternly as he ascended toward her.
"With the town in a state of emergency like this? Of course not!"
"Then how did you…"
"I'm nearly eighteen, Sam. And I was coming."
Nodding solemnly, she turned to face the door. The door to the mayor's mansion. Raising a gloved fist, she knocked.
No response.
Thirty seconds passed before she knocked again. Feeling more and more on edge, she waited some more.
God, if he's not coming because he's sleeping, when Danny's life is in danger, she thought to herself, I'll kill him. I don't know how exactly, but I'll get it done.
Even in the moment she knew the thought was irrational. He'd probably been up all night researching, studying, or contemplating the issue while petting his cat. The middle-aged jerk fought Danny and beat him up on a regular basis, but she knew that he cared very deeply. Danny being dead was the last thing the older halfa wanted; it would get in the way of his scheme for a perfect little family, and in his own twisted way he really cared about the boy. So he probably wasn't napping.
What if he's not coming because he doesn't want to see us?
Bad thought, bad direction, turn around!
What if he's not coming out because there's nothing we can do?
She nearly choked and felt hot tears threaten the corners of her eyes. Fury rolled within her like a tidal wave against her ribcage, and she knocked again, louder this time, vowing not to stop until she got an answer. And, if she didn't like the answer, she'd find somewhere else to put her fists.
When Vlad did answer the door, he barely caught her moving fist before she could inadvertently sock him in the throat. Skin pale, mouth ajar, eyes lidded with exhaustion, he didn't have time for this.
Jazz had apparently been going through a similar mental dilemma. After a few short beats of silence, she pulled herself together and stood firm next to Sam to face Vlad. "Where's my brother?" she asked hoarsely, her eyes burning, "Where are you keeping him?"
"The lab. He's in the lab."
…..
Vlad Masters hadn't been this exhausted in over twenty years.
The hours before had been a media firestorm. Ghost hunters shoot spectral superhero/alleged murderer in the middle of a public street. Said hero/murderer disappears without a trace in the middle of a panicked mob, all while the mayor was nowhere to be found. He'd had the wherewithal to field two calls, one to the police chief and one with a reporter, being his usual vague but charming self the entire time, before pushing the rest on his support staff. And giving his house staff the day off.
Then he'd been in the lab. All of his freedom with wealth and time had allowed him to collect the best array of ghost-related equipment in this dimension. If the technology that could help Daniel existed, he was sure he had it.
His beloved Maddie and that bumbling idiot Jack Fenton had harnessed the power of ecto-energy in a way he'd never seen before. The light—he'd arrived just in time to see the light. When he was a young man, he'd been struck in the face by a similar light. The aftermath of that incident lost him his face (for the next several years anyway) and his shot at his one true love, in addition to making him a freakish, half-alive pariah for the rest of his days.
It was only through his diligent hard work that he was able to turn himself into a very wealthy, freakish, half-alive pariah, then into an even more wealthy, handsome, half-alive mayor of a silly little town, living just miles away from both the cause of his life's greatest misfortune and his future's greatest salvation.
More immediately following the accident, the disfigurement of his face and seemingly endless time in and out of hospitals stole from him his college years, which, according to television and other sources, were supposed to be the best years of his life.
Of course, they said that about high school too, and they were certainly wrong on that count.
It wasn't as if Daniel was going to college. Vlad had seen his grades; he was terrible at math and just about everything else too. Vlad had kind of been hoping he'd go stir crazy in his "gap year," be fired from his probable job at the Nasty Burger, then come to Vlad so bored and hopeless that he'd do anything for something to do other than mindlessly beat up nuisance ghosts while all of his peers went on to bigger and better things.
Ah, how a man could dream.
If Vlad couldn't put all of his shiny equipment to good use though, young Daniel wasn't going to see Christmas, let alone his cap and gown.
The Fenton Thermos which held the injured halfa was safe in its own containment unit, a containment unit specifically designed to preserve ecto-energy. Daniel would deteriorate much more slowly there, but every passing hour put him in more danger. Once they released him, the timeline would be based more on every passing minute, though, so waiting the night until his little team of imbeciles showed up would be the best course of action.
A soft meow broke Vlad out of his train of thought.
"Maddie, dearest," he cooed at the fluffy white feline descending the stairs.
Kneeling and outstretching his arms, he smiled at the cat, who jumped into his waiting embrace and began to purr.
Sighing, he hugged her firmly. This cat showed him the only affection he ever got these days. The Maddie hologram was neat, but she couldn't hug him or actually compliment him and she eventually left him for the Jack hologram. As long as he fed and loved this cat, she would love him back.
Why couldn't people be that way?
Vlad was not completely lacking in self-awareness. Just as the younger halfa was devoted to saving people, he himself also had an obsession: having a family. A very specific family, mind you, but a family all the same. He wanted to get married, raise children. He wanted to be a companion and a mentor. But no one wanted him.
"Oh, just look at me, Madeline. Throwing myself a pity party when young Daniel's life hangs in the balance," he lamented, stroking the cat softly.
She purred in response, and he smiled down at her.
"It just makes it more difficult to plan," he sighed, "Not knowing exactly what the beam did, exactly what sorts of injuries Daniel sustained. He's lost a lot of blood and ectoplasm, I'm sure, and that's a hard enough problem to tackle."
The only existing donors with blood matching his own species were Vlad himself and his little mistake of a clone Danielle, ever since he'd shut down his disastrous cloning attempts. Danielle was just not an option, and Vlad could only give so much.
Then there was his skin. He'd had very little time to examine him before concluding that he needed to be put in stasis immediately. Ghosts didn't have concrete forms like humans did; they lacked skin, muscles, bones, organs. Their shape was determined by their ecto-energy levels and their psyche. Drawing from his own experience, Vlad knew that being in ghost form transformed his body into not quite human but not quite ghost either. While his basic organs and structural components remained, everything was more ectoplasm than solid carbon. When destabilizing, the usually pretty solid ectoplasm would try to convert back to liquid form to conserve on energy, but this still didn't explain completely what appeared to be going on with Daniel.
He wasn't just dripping green, his skin was melting off in globs.
And the internal damage! It just had to be significant, perhaps even insurmountably so. Vlad had plenty of scanners, but just keeping him stable for a while would be hit and miss. Once he was out of the thermos, he wouldn't risk putting him back in. The device basically undoes a ghost for storage, then puts them back together again upon release. More than once would be too much of a strain on his system in his current state.
He was no House, MD., but Vlad knew that like the title character of his favorite television program he was the expert in this area. No one else knew more about halfa physiology or ghost technology than he did. No one else had the supplies or the knowledge to do this better than himself; he just hoped that was enough.
So for the next several hours he checked equipment. Gathered medical supplies. Prepared blood. Pet his cat. And narrowly avoided dozing off.
Most of all he planned. Planned, and prayed.
…..
Now, I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Kristina Baker could say with utmost confidence that this was the worst Christmas season she had ever been through. It was worse than the year she'd been half a donkey in the nativity scene. It was worse than the year her parents divorced. It was worse than the Christmas she'd spent in the hospital with a concussion after a car accident.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
It was worse than every bad Christmas put together and then some.
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah
This was supposed to be their first Christmas together as husband and wife. A beautiful end to a beautiful year. They should've been snuggled up in bed right now, warding off the cold and dreaming about planning a nursery. No one in her family had ever had trouble conceiving, until her. Back in April when they'd married, they'd both kind of been secretly hoping for a New Year's baby. Now, eight months later, there was no baby.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
And no husband.
Well, your faith was strong but you needed proof;
You saw her bathing on the roof,
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya.
She could see in her mind's eye a vision of last Christmas. The best Christmas. She'd been out of school for some time, getting started in a career she loved, and David was nearly finished with his Masters in counseling. Christmas morning, while staying at his parents house, a trail of red and green wrapped Hershey kisses lead her down the stairs to the tree, decorated with photographs and mementos of their time together, where her beloved knelt on one knee in front of their entire families and professed his love.
She tied you to the kitchen chair,
She broke your throne and she cut your hair,
And from your lips, she drew the Hallelujah!
They should've had so many more Christmases together. Her prepared gifts for him still waited, completely wrapped, under the tree they'd decorated together. He'd been hinting for weeks about a surprise he had planned for her, and she'd been so excited. After all, how could he possibly top himself after last Christmas? She was a fool for grand gestures, and he was a wizard at them.
They deserved years and years of pajamas and presents and food. They deserved years of stockings and kids and leaving cookies for Santa. So many years….
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
So many years had been lost. No, taken. Years of joy and love and peace. Stolen, never to be seen again. Missing in action, gone, out the door. Now, though her late husband's parents, who by all rights should have been enjoying Florida at the moment, were resting in the guest bedroom that should have been a nursery, she was alone. Again.
Well baby, I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
Lord, how she'd loved him. She'd loved the sound of his laugh and the way that he smiled, loved his gentle, passionate spirit and his thirst for helping others. She loved the way his mouth pursed slightly when he was solving a puzzle, she loved the way he sung along to the radio in the car, she loved the way—
She loved the way he was him, and he was gone.
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
She knew she must have looked awful, huddled into a ball next to the couch where she should have been sleeping. Their bedroom was off limits now; she hadn't been in their since that night, that night she woke up to a police officer at her door wanting her to come down to the school and identify the body. To come down to the school, where he'd gone out to grab a file. Just a goddamn set of papers, he'd died for a set of papers.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
He said a boy needed help, said he'd meant to look over his file before going back to work on Monday but realized he'd forgotten them. Said it'd be a quick trip, said he'd enjoy it. And he was just so heartfelt in his yearning to help this kid, a misguided kid, he'd said, but a good kid. And she sincerely wished that kid well.
Well, maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
As she sat on the old carpet floor, sobbing, she knew that it wasn't the boy's fault, it wasn't the papers' fault. They were both arbitrary, random catalysts for the most unfortunate series of events possible for the tiny Baker family. The real fault belonged with the thing that killed him, the thing that killed David.
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Running her hand through her limp brown hair she reached out to any power that could hear and prayed that that thing knew what it had done. They were saying it was Phantom, saying that some night janitor had seen him do it. It was hard to believe that after years of protecting this town from evil he would do something like this. It didn't make any sense, but nothing made any sense anymore. Her life was in shambles, her heart was in pieces.
She hoped that thing that did it got what it deserved.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
…..
Everyone was suited up and had received their instructions. Stiff with determination and nearly trembling with fear, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker watched as Vlad Plasmius held out the Fenton thermos in his hand.
Holding his breath, palms sweating below his latex gloves, he extended it toward the makeshift operating table and began to twist the lid.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah...