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the mother
She swore, years ago, that she would never let a ghost worm its way into her heart.
"He said...he said to tell you that he's sorry...asked that you don't be mad..."
These words have echoed in her head for days, full of pain and sorrow and desperation. That poor boy—Dash Baxter, she later learns—was a huge admirer of the ghost boy, and he had to watch him...
What?
Die?
Nothing has settled right in her gut since the fire six days ago; her insides have twisted and grappled with each other for hours at a time while her brain searches for answers. Everyone else in town seems to accept that Phantom is dead and gone...but decades of paranormal research beg otherwise. Ghosts aren't able to die; they're already dead; while there are theories that something may be able to cancel out a ghost's imprint...
A fire—falling debris—shouldn't be able to destroy a ghost. It goes against everything she's ever learned...
(But then, so did Phantom's actions that day. She had been so sure he was just another mindless ghost, hell-bent on wreaking havoc...but he had run into that burning building without hesitation to save two people he barely knew.)
(She still can't get the image out of her head of his sickly pallor, his deadened eyes, his unsteady gait. He had looked so much like a sick child that she had wanted to pull him back, go in to save the boy herself...)
But he's a ghost.
She keeps reminding herself of this, telling herself that he isn't—wasn't?—the child he seems to be.
So why is it suddenly so hard for her to believe what she's known all her life?
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She's wondered, since the day it all started, why Phantom singled out her and Jack to receive his final words. Why not Vlad, with whom he seemed to have a sort of love-hate relationship; why not any of the students, the city officials, people who admired him?
Her furious hatred of the ghost boy has dissipated in the wake of his disappearance (not death—not yet—there's no proof and it doesn't make sense), but it's not as if she's ever shown any kindness toward him...
("We'll dissect you and then rip apart the remains molecule by molecule!" Why does she suddenly feel so guilty?)
Why? Why did he want them, in particular, to know that he's sorry? (For what? Dying? All the evil he's done?) Why did he hope that they weren't angry with him?
(She isn't any more upset than she was before the fire...but she doesn't think that's what Phantom meant.)
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Her children have suddenly become so distant...and it hurts.
Danny, whisked away by Vlad the day of the attack, has let his phone die. It goes straight to voicemail every time she calls it, his cheerful voice almost mocking her—
"Hey, this is Danny! Sorry I can't answer right now. Call Jazz or the house if it's an emergency, but otherwise, leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!"
It's always confused her, the way he directs the caller to a different number as if he's expecting an emergency phone call. Whenever she asked him, though, he always shrugged it off with a laugh. "Just in case there's a ghost attack, you know? The Amity Park kind of emergency."
(She never knew how much truth was in those words.)
But still she calls his phone, hoping he will pick up just so she can hear her baby boy on the other end. She's started calling Vlad as well, demanding in an increasingly hysterical tone to speak with her son.
"He's asleep right now..."
"The doctors are checking up on him..."
"He's lost his voice, he won't be able to speak to you..."
On and on and on until she thinks she might go mad. Vlad says these things so calmly, as if it's not a big deal...but it is. This is her son they're talking about—her son that's been ill for nearly a week, so ill that he's been transferred to a private hospital...
She has given up on Danny's phone, but she continues to call Vlad every day, begging and pleading to have just two minutes on the phone with Danny.
"I'm sorry, Maddie, not right now. I'll call you when you can speak with him, all right?"
It's not all right, but Vlad hangs up before she has the chance to say so.
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(Why does she feel like something is horribly, horribly wrong?)
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But Danny isn't the only one who worries her. Jasmine hasn't been herself since the fire; she's locked herself in her room for hours at a time, refusing to come out for anyone or anything. The walls are thin; Maddie can hear her sobbing far too often.
But why? What is wrong? What could possibly reduce her strong, capable daughter to this terrible state?
She thinks, at first, that she must be shaken up because of the fire. Jazz could have died that day, could have been horribly injured like Tucker or Dash—
(or Phantom)
—still barely recovering from the burns covering much of their bodies.
(or dead.)
But she isn't hurt; Tucker is healing; nothing else has happened. It just doesn't make sense...
(Where is your son?)
Surely, Jazz is worried about Danny—they all are, more than they let on—but something still seems utterly wrong about the situation. Danny has been sick before; he's been injured before; surely, the near-electrocution he received by the Ghost Portal left him much worse off than a strain of the flu. Whatever this is, Vlad will have it taken care of, and then Danny will come home, well and smiling and laughing at them for worrying so much.
(Right?)
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The sound of Danny's laughter haunts her dreams.
At first she welcomes it—loves it—embraces it with open arms—because it's her precious little boy. But after a few blissful moments of sitting and simply listening, it's not so carefree anymore, not so cheerful and loving and kind. It loses its joy, turning into a humorless laugh full of utter agony. She can barely stand to listen, but she can't—won't?—wake up. Danny is in pain, desperate and alone, and even if this isn't the real Danny (or is it?), it still pulls at her heart in ways she's never imagined.
Maybe the dreams make her forget, or maybe her own mind shoves the truth away. But the dreams always end the same, and inevitably, she wakes up screaming into Jack's comforting arms.
Every time, Danny finally appears from the darkness...but it isn't Danny. It's Phantom laughing, laughing without even a hint of happiness in his eyes.
She looks at him.
He charges an ectoblast.
She demands to know what he's done with her son.
He fires.
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Something shifts, she thinks, when they are called to retrieve Phantom's body from Casper High.
She realizes—far too late—that Jazz is grieving for the ghost boy. Why has she not realized, not listened, while she (and Danny) defend his innocence? Even if Maddie does not (did not) feel the same way...Jazz was friends with Phantom.
(Tucker and Sam were as well, it seems. And Danny...?)
And even though she has fought him tooth and nail, defended over and over her beliefs that he was never trying to help...Jazz believed in him. And now, as she watches her daughter in the rearview mirror, Maddie's starting to think the same way.
(She tells herself it's because he's gone, really and truly; she tells herself it's because he adopted a teenage form, so similar to her own children; she tells herself and tells herself...)
But she's not sure she has the heart to hate him anymore.
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The scene at the construction site is painful. Jazz looks worse than she had been even the day of the fire; as she empties her stomach onto the muddy ground, Maddie finds that she's not so far behind.
Phantom was such an important figure in Amity Park, was always so boisterous and loud and there. It didn't matter what he was doing, what ghost was chasing him around, whether you thought him good or evil...he was always Danny Phantom, the ghost boy with the monochrome jumpsuit and the eerie green eyes.
Whatever he was, he was never weak or insignificant...
So why, now, does he suddenly look so small?
His body is there on a carefully-laid tarp, so silent, so unlike himself that it's hard to reconcile the two images. (The last time she had seen him, he had hugged Sam and Tucker good-bye, flashed a reassuring smile toward the horrified crowd, and sped back into the burning building as fast as his shaking legs could carry him.)
She can't; it's impossible; there is nearly nothing left of his body, just skin charred past recognition and bones shattered beyond repair, jutting out of him at odd angles as he lies there...
(Why is he so quiet, so motionless?)
It's surely because his form was so like a human's, so like a human teenager's (she—everybody—never truly realized just how young he was), but something like anxiety is settling in. She reminds herself that he wasn't human; he couldn't feel pain; this didn't hurt him nearly as bad as they think...
Without realizing, without fully wanting to, she feels herself slipping from mother to scientist. It's a relief, at least from the terror clutching at her heart; it allows her to concentrate on cold, calculating facts. She has known them all her life, and they have never failed her before.
(But she has to remind herself constantly that a ghost is a ghost. Phantom is no different from the other spirits wandering throughout the Ghost Zone and into their lives.)
(She just wishes she believes herself, because she still can't shake the feeling that something is so, so wrong.)
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When Vlad comes, she keeps her facade up, if only barely. She has to be strong; she has to be in charge; if she isn't, she's sure they'll all come tumbling down.
(She's never been able to read Vlad, and it's painful, trying to listen to the things he isn't saying.)
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She takes one last look at Phantom before forcing herself to leave him behind. He's a ghost—he was her enemy—so why is she suddenly so overcome with this emptiness and guilt? Part of it is empathy for Jazz, surely, but that can't be everything. It feels like Phantom has suddenly become a part of her life, an irrevocable piece of her soul that can never be ripped away.
(She can't understand...and she's not sure she wants to.)
There is something insidious in her gut, in her mind, in her heart, something lurking just out of reach, twisting her very being until she wants to scream out in anguish.
(But she can't, because Jazz and Jack and Danny have always counted on her to stay strong.)
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He looked so much like a child, lying there on the blue of the tarp and the brown of the mud and the black of the ash that used to be a part of him. He looked so innocent and vulnerable, as if he were just like either of her children, in over his head and waiting desperately for someone to save him.
He's just a boy...
(But nobody saved him, because they didn't think he needed saving. What kind of hero needs someone else to rescue him, after all?)
Suddenly, she's not so disappointed that Vlad stopped them from taking him home.
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She dreams again that night, but this time it is different.
(And worse.)
The laughter is the same, at the beginning. It lulls her into a false sense of security, allowing her to think for a few precious seconds that maybe, maybe, it's really Danny this time.
But then, of course, the laughter changes. This time, it's not just hopeless; it's the cackling of a madman, deep and full of violent insanity.
For the first time, Maddie is truly afraid.
And when the figure appears, it's not Phantom...or, at least, it's not the Phantom she knows. This ghost is tall and muscular, far more built than Phantom's thin—teenage—frame could ever hope to be. But the insignia on his chest is clear as day...right under the head, sporting blue skin and flaming hair and a wide, cruel grin.
"Hi, Mom."
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When she wakes up in a cold sweat, clutching Jack's arm like a lifeline, she doesn't know why she's screaming.
All she remembers are sharpened fangs and burning hair and glowing scarlet eyes.
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She knows it's not a question of whether they're going to the memorial the next day. Even Jack dresses up without a word, awkwardly tucking in his shirt as Maddie zips her dress.
And when Jazz comes downstairs at a quarter past ten and bursts into tears, she knows they've made the right decision. They never knew Phantom, not really, and every instinct in her body is screaming to resist the lies...but this means the world to Jazz, and that's all that matters. Because no matter how cryptic, no matter how worrisome, her quiet sentence from the night before has truly hit home.
"Everything that's been going on...just makes you realize how important family is."
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The memorial is breathtakingly beautiful.
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She's carefully framing that family photo for Jazz when the phone rings. Jack is upstairs, so she lifts it from its cradle, managing a "hello?"
"Maddie?" It's Vlad. He waits for her to reply in the affirmative before continuing—"If you and Jack wouldn't mind—"
"Is Danny all right?" Why else would Vlad be calling? He said he would call with any change in his condition—when Danny would be able to talk to them—had they finally...?
There's a long pause, an eternity stretched into those few precious seconds. Finally—"Yes, he—the doctors say they'll be releasing him tomorrow. But that's not why I called...I was hoping—"
She's barely listening. Danny's coming home tomorrow! The doctors Vlad told them to put so much faith in—they hadn't let Danny down—they had healed him! And finally, after two weeks, she'll see her little boy again...
.
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The meeting at City Hall is brief. There are only four of them there: her, Jack, Vlad, and Valerie Gray—Danny's former crush, and, apparently, a talented ghost hunter. She looks utterly miserable; her thick, curly hair is a mess, and it looks as though she's been crying. Maddie catches several glances sent her and Jack's way while they discuss a way to defend the town now that Phantom is...
"I know of a ghost who is willing to help," Vlad is saying. As Maddie takes a good look at her friend, she realizes that he doesn't look much better than Valerie. His usually immaculate ponytail is coming loose, and his suit is a bit wrinkled; however, the worst is his eyes.
Maddie suddenly feels like she's missing out on something. Something hugely important. Jazz and Tucker and Sam and Valerie and Vlad...
Valerie scoffs at Vlad's suggestion, though it lacks her usual venom when talking of the supernatural. "Sure, Danny—Phantom may be a good guy, but how can we...?"
Bringing up Phantom at all seems to chip away at her wavering composure; she sniffs loudly and falls silent. "This ghost is the same...type as Phantom," Vlad says slowly, as if weighing each word carefully. "I can assure you, he is trustworthy, if you will give him a chance."
It's like she and Jack aren't there as they stare at each other for a long moment. Valerie seems to be seeking information; Vlad, to be begging for understanding...
(Maddie thinks she sees Vlad's eyes flash red for the tiniest of moments, but it must be a trick of the light.)
Something seems to have happened, for Valerie's eyes widen to impossible proportions. "Mister Masters, you...?"
"As I was saying, I can give you my greatest assurances that he can be trusted. And as long as you all have ghost trackers, I doubt there will be too much of a problem..."
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The meeting is over quickly after that. Valerie leaves almost immediately, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and sending a strange look toward Maddie and Jack. But before she can ask the girl about it, she has activated her jetsled, soaring off into the sky.
(Maddie's always wondered what it would be like to fly.)
"I will...drop Daniel off tomorrow, then?" Vlad says, and he smiles with a certain tightness around his eyes. "Perhaps three o'clock?"
"The earlier the better!" Jack says, smiling broadly and pulling Vlad into a hug. "I don't know how to repay you for this! Maybe some fudge—?"
But Vlad is shaking his head, that same horribly strained smile on his face. "Please, don't worry about it. Give my regards to Jasmine, yes?"
And before either of them can say another word, he has disappeared through the front door.
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Maddie knows Jack is trying to get home to Jazz as soon as possible—his driving, more reckless than usual, betrays the worry behind his cheerful mask.
"How do you think she is?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Didn't want to leave her home, all alone..."
"I'm sure she's fine," Maddie says, patting his arm. (Who is she trying to reassure?) "She's a strong girl, you know that..."
Before he can say anything in reply, however, Jack is forced to slam on the brakes to avoid a large crowd in front of Casper High. They've gathered around the statue of Phantom, milling about in what seems to be excitement. The two of them share a glance before Jack throws the RV into park, understanding the message—just a minute. Then home to Jazz.
Jack's large form easily makes a path to the front, but both of them stop short at what they see. Earlier that day, not three hours ago, it had been bare...beautifully crafted, haunting in the way Phantom seemed to watch over them all—but simple stone.
But now...
There are dozens of objects scattered around the base of the statue. Chief among them is a large piece of what looks like ice, carved artfully into what may be the most perfect sculpture Maddie has ever seen. When she touches it, it feels like ice; it looks like ice; yet in the May heat, it is not melting.
She realizes that these must be from the ghosts, come to pay their respects...and she doesn't think she's seen anything so touching in her life. She doesn't understand ghosts, their society and relationships and emotions...but this.
This.
She notices the engraving, now, when she had not before. It's simple, at the base of the statue; the ghosts have been careful to lay their offerings so as not to block it.
Danny Phantom
In loving memory of a true hero
May he rest under the stars he loved in life
And soar among them forever
Maddie doesn't realize she's crying until she feels the tears hit her outstretched arm. She's reaching out to brush her fingers against the statue, as if touching this stone representation of Phantom will give her all the answers, will bring him back to the town he loved so much. Why did he save those people when he knew it would kill him? Why did he seem to care so much for her and Jack? Why, why, why...
(She'll never know, and that will haunt her forever.)
"He wouldn't like this..." Valerie's voice is quiet and unexpected; Maddie spins around to see the girl staring up at Phantom's stone face. (So, so young...) "He...he didn't do gaudy...he would have wanted something small..."
And Maddie doesn't know why, barely knows anything about Phantom and the boy he truly was...but she finds that she agrees.
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(Only later does she remember the strangely large space between the name and epitaph, but she doesn't think to wonder what it might mean.)
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She's planning to tell Jazz about the memorial, ask her if she wants to go once the crowds have thinned.
(Of course, she never gets the chance.)
Her daughter is collapsed on the floor of Danny's room, huddled into a tight ball and staring at nothing as she sobs. Maddie rushes to her, all thoughts of Phantom or ghosts or anything banished from her mind. She's reeling with emotion, but that does not matter. Jazz is hurting, Jazz is hysterical...and Maddie can't stand it anymore. The lies, the secrets, whatever Jazz and Vlad and everyone else are keeping from them...
It hurts.
It hurts everyone.
And it just...it needs to stop.
(But she can't even imagine the truth. She can't possibly be prepared.)
"Please, Jazz, what's wrong? What are you not telling us?"
The answer, of course, sends her world crashing down.
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This cannot be happening.
It's...impossible.
No.
No!
A scream tears from her throat, full of emotions that have never been named. Danny...
Danny...
Her baby boy...
(Dead?)
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And then Jazz tells them, in a terrified wisp of a voice, that they have been hunting their own son for nearly a year.
They never knew... They never knew...
But that doesn't excuse it, doesn't excuse anything, because—because—
Phantom is Fenton is Danny is Daniel James Fenton, the tiny baby with the big blue eyes and the wide, gummy smile—
(the ghost boy with the strangely familiar face that only ever shot at them once, long ago)
—the toddler in the swing, squealing for Mommy to push him higher because he wanted to fly to the moon—
(the ghost boy who insisted he was innocent, dodging their ectoguns while keeping them safe from the true danger)
—the grade schooler who told Jazz he'd do his own science homework but let Mom help because she's the best—
(the ghost boy who stole their equipment to defeat the other ghosts and screwed up sometimes because he was only ever a child)
—the high school student who missed his curfew and struggled in his classes and shirked his chores because he was sacrificing everything—everything—to keep the city safe—
(the ghost boy whom everyone hated but who kept on saving lives anyway)
—the hero who dropped everything, ignored a debilitating illness, to save his best friend—
(and the boy who gave him hell)
—from a ravenous fire—
(knowing he could die)
—but going in anyway—
(because that's what heroes do)
—and he, more than anyone she's ever known—
He's a hero.
She just never realized it until it was far too late.
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What kind of mother is she?
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It's over. Everything has ground to a halt, the world has stopped in abject horror, because her baby with the adorable smile and the nervous laugh and the bright eyes and the thick, beautiful hair is gone and dead forever. And it's her fault.
Danny is Phantom is her son is the ghost boy is her pride and joy is the creature she was eager to dissect is Danny is—
She doesn't even have the strength to scream anymore, collapsing as she's lost to her own misery. Danny...hated her, surely. His own mother—his own mother—threatened to kill him every chance she got, shot at him and trapped him and didn't even notice when he was half-killed by her own damn machine—
She wants to go destroy the Portal, right now, right this second, as if that will do anything. That's what started this, started everything—if she and Jack hadn't been so absorbed in ghost hunting, hadn't been so blind—
All at once, she feels a pair of small arms wrap around her. It's Jazz, her own voice catching as she sobs. "He...he doesn't hate you...didn't blame you for anything...always said it was his fault for keeping it a secret..."
This does nothing—this does less than nothing—because she's his mother and she should have known. She should have recognized the warnings for what they were, not normal teenage problems and certainly not something he could handle on his own, as he so often claimed—
She doesn't have the strength to sob, but she's shaking violently and tears are pooling on the floor beneath her; she's wrapped her arms around herself, around Jack, around Jazz, but there should be four of them.
He's not there, will never be there again—
and the only person she can blame is herself.
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If this is Hell, if this is eternal damnation for the crimes she's committed against her own flesh and blood, she can only hope that Danny is somewhere else, safe and happy and at peace.
He didn't get enough of it in life, didn't get nearly enough, and it's her fault.
All her fault.
Everything...
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She's seeing him everywhere she looks, now, in everything she knows. The NASA posters—ever since he knew what they were, he wanted to be an astronaut—the crumpled t-shirt that didn't quite make it to the laundry basket—likely because he was too tired to tidy up—an ectogun under the bed—
She can't—it's—she—
Danny...
Danny...
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"He...didn't blame you...for anything..."
Jazz's small voice, again, breaks her out of her crumbling mind. She stares up at her daughter, begging for answers and solutions that she knows can never happen. This isn't a nightmare, and this isn't a fairy tale; she isn't going to wake up, and there's no happily ever after. Nothing is ever going to make this right.
Suddenly, his last words—Danny's final words to his ungrateful horrible parents—spring to mind. She can almost see him say it, his face and voice twisted in agony (oh God her baby boy was crushed to pieces and lived long enough to—): "I'm so sorry...please don't be mad..."
Why would she be mad? Why would she ever be mad? He's...he's a hero...a better person than she could ever be...
(And he had died because of it, because the hero had no one to help him when he needed saving.)
She can't possibly be mad...there's nothing to be angry about.
He did nothing wrong...
There's...there's nothing for her to forgive...
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(She just hopes he'll be able to forgive them one day.)
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It wasn't there a moment ago, she thinks...but nothing is making sense right now.
Danny. Gone. Dying thinking his parents hated him, thinking he had done wrong and they would be angry with him for it...
It's a piece of paper, small, folded in half and on the ground near her. She reaches toward it, slowly, as if it may burst into flames and kill her on impact.
(That'd be justice. Maybe then...maybe Danny might forgive her for being the worst mother possible.)
But it's only a normal piece of paper, a sheet of looseleaf torn in half. She unfolds it slowly, blinking desperately to see clearly enough. It's...it's Danny's distinctive, spiky handwriting, and she can't tear her eyes away from it long after she's done reading.
I love you guys so much...thank you, for everything. You're the best family I could have ever hoped for.
Love always,
Danny
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