"What – what do you mean Jack – got arrested?" asked Maddie. She wore a teal-blue nightrobe, and a green facemask with cucumber peels.
Her red hair was decorated with a circus pantheon of curling barrettes – and Mr. Damon Gray tried his best not to stare – Mrs. Fenton was a very beautiful women, regardless of her livid, vengeful expression.
"Yes, Mrs. Fenton. I'm very sorry. Jack called me but he didn't explain much else." Damon backed away as Maddie began to stew – her face twisted as she grappled with the last vestiges of her diplomacy.
Maddie was mad, and soon everyone in the neighborhood would know that.
Damon handed her the car keys, tipping his hat back politely as he turned to leave. He wore a typical canvas fishing hat, decked out in flashing green ornaments.
He was woefully unprepared for the snow, as every scrap of fabric he owned was already plastered to his body. A comically heavy camping rucksack was swung across his shoulders – and Damon gasped in embarrassment, when he found he couldn't take another step forward.
Maddie tisked.
She was mad but not heartless.
She grabbed Damon's shoulder to stop him – though, he hadn't gone too far from the doorway…
"You're our best customer – ever!" she continued, nodding her head, as if wanting Damon to know she was serious. "Mr. Gray, not even the city has ever paid us this much…" Maddie muttered something under her breath, as if reconsidering what she was about to say next.
"You deserve a refund." She grimaced as if she'd said a dirty word. "A full refund." She grimaced again.
"We-we typically don't offer that, but –"
Damon held up a hand. "No need. I know what I'm getting into."
Maddie shook her head. In her opinion, the man really didn't – ghost hunting was serious business – and while he had the wallet to back up his arsenal, it was all but useless without skills and experience.
Or Jack.
'Whatever am I going to do without Jack?' She privately lamented. 'I'll have to repair all the lab equipment myself.'
Maddie sighed, still grappling with the idea that she had to afford bail for Jack. 'Hopefully it isn't too much, this time.' She thought, shivering as she recalled Jack's past blunders.
A few times she had to resort to credit card debt…and as she looked at Damon's disheveled appearance – she knew the man couldn't really afford his ghost hunting gear, either.
Professionally, she knew it wasn't any of her business – but she was stubborn – perhaps as stubborn as Mr. Gray.
"Alright, I won't stop you." Maddie sighed, for what she was going to do next.
"Keep the car." She said, holding out the car keys. "At least, until – Jack gets out of prison – then maybe he can help you build a new one."
What Maddie said was lost to Damon's ears. He looked at the rattling decked out green keychain, as if it were an archaic artifact – scared and afraid to touch it again.
"You're serious? Maddie –"
"Keep it – but when Jack comes back – give it back." Maddie said, tight-lipped, and her good deed was almost undone by the white-knuckled grip she held the keys in.
Damon was baffled as Maddie threw the keys at him.
Wamp.
The door shut closed, and snow pelted him from the patio-awning.
Damon wrestled the car door open without hesitation, his skin prickling from the impossibly cold wind.
Holding mitted-hands in front of his face – to warm them – he thought about how Jack was going to eventually face that women's wrath.
'Poor man.' He thought. 'While Mrs. Fenton was extremely generous just now – I was actually scared…'
Like she was going to start shooting lasers…from her eyeballs.
'Maybe I'm not cut out for ghost hunting…' But Damon shook his head, not daring to linger on that dangerous thought.
"If Valerie could do it – so can I!" he declared, out loud, like a mad man.
…
…
Then he looked down, as if doubting himself.
…
…
He twisted the car keys to get the engine and heater going.
…
…
Damon smiled, leaning back into the fancy leather-upholstered driver's seat.
Jack Fenton was a big man, and the seat had been designed with Jack's measurements in mind. Damon was sure, if he was determined enough – that he could fall asleep at the wheel.
He sighed in relief – becoming thoroughly embraced by the driver's seat – as if it were a ridiculous, welcoming, warm bean bag chair.
Then he got a whiff of Jack's no-doubt cemented body odor – and he was quickly called back to reality.
"Right." He laughed, a little gayly. "This isn't my car. I gotta remember that." Readjusting the car mirrors, he finally pulled out of the driveway.
"Now where to?" he asked himself.
Damon was mad.
The supermarket had run out of salad.
"I can't believe the entire place was out of tomatoes!" he scoffed.
"It probably was the work of a ghost…" He grumbled, tired and sour. "Now only if Jack was here – he could show me the ropes."
'It's what I paid for, after all.'
Damon, with his humble life-experience as an office worker, had no idea how to address…such a supernatural – and delicate issue.
Maybe.
Maybe, he did.
He hadn't exactly fought a ghost yet…
Damon half-heartedly weeped – feeling hapless without his salad. He drove past a diner – already closed at such an hour.
'That place has been popular – I should try it out." He hummed, not too happy. 'Since well – since the burger place had exploded, it's been…booming...' He snarled, bitterly.
Gritting his teeth, Damon refused to think of the proper name for the drive-thru franchise.
Already his heart was shattered – thinking of his daughter Valerie stuffed within that accursed dung-beetle mascot costume.
'I should've done something…' he lamented. 'Why did I just accept, that she had a shitty job?'
Damon sighed, for the upteenth time that night.
'I should've…done more for her.'
"Maybe then she wouldn't have thought about how ghost hunting was the answer."
Damon drove on autopilot, passing the highway in favor of Amity Park's campgrounds. While he was technically registered to live in Edgeville, there was nothing left for him there…
Plus, he felt weird, driving Jack's car around to too many places.
'I don't want Maddie to panic, and report the car as stolen.' He thought. He made a mental note to check in on the Fenton's household, every so often.
Pulling into the familiar parking spot he'd been in earlier, before Jack called him – Damon begrudgingly pulled out his sleeping bag, laying it flat against the car's cold metal interior.
The car seats had all been tucked away, leaving Damon with all the space he needed – to gaze up at the ceiling.
It was the last place he'd wanted to be…
…
…
He wasn't tired. He was wide awake.
As if on cue, he noticed a campfire off in the distance.
'Out here? This late at night? Strange." He thought. His first instinct was to think of potential ghost activity – a habit Jack had pounded into his skull -- before Damon squashed down just how absurd and paranoid he was becoming.
'This campground is remote, but it's not ghost territory.' Grabbing some groceries he'd bought earlier, he approached the campfire. 'That'd be ridiculous.'
He shook his head, with a funny smile.
'What do I have to lose? Maybe I can make some friends.' Damon grew excited at the prospect. 'I never had time before – for a social life, but now…'
…
…
As he walked close, he froze – reconsidering his plans.
At the campfire sat a man – and presumedly, his young daughter.
'Oh no, I don't want to interrupt anything. Not a family get-together.' For some reason, Damon had imagined coming across a pack of college frat boys – or perhaps a group of kindly withered fishing men.
Not. Well.
It was much too late to retreat to his car.
And he didn't want to look like a suspicious weirdo.
Nor did he want to come across as a blasted nutcase to some complete strangers.
He hoped he looked friendly and charismatic, decked out in flashing ghost gear.
Damon didn't want the man to pull a gun on him, so he spoke as non-threateningly as he could.
'God knows I would've done the same for Valerie.'
A protective father wasn't a joke to mess with.
"Sorry! Sorry!" he rasped, raising his hands, as if a gun were in sight.
...
There wasn't.
…
…
Just a very very – scary man.
"I know I'm interrupting your evening, but I don't have much else to do." Damon rummaged around in his half-spilling plastic shopping bag, desperate to make some sort of peace offering.
To not look like a threat.
Before the man attacked him.
"You're giving us cheese?" asked a baffled little girl, with black hair and blue eyes.
Damon had closed his eyes, his hand awkwardly outstretched with a block of cheddar, as the strangers evaluated him.
As if he were a feature in some kinda nature documentary.
The man sniffed at him like a wild animal.
Just like.
An animal.
WTF.
And quickly, Damon thought he was in some kind of terrible dream – or a hidden-camera reality show – before the lump of cheddar cheese was snatched away – as if -- by massive squirrel hands.
And he looked up at the man.
Who smiled.
"Oh, thank god!" Damon belted out. "You're just horribly drunk!"
"Sorry, Vlad can look murdery sometimes." The little girl, sheugged. Boldly she stepped forward, grabbing Damon's twitchy, sweaty hand.
"Vlad?" he plopped down by the fire. His groceries spilled out onto dirt and gravel – still feeling as if he were, in a dream.
The girl seemed to hesitate a moment – a detail Damon couldn't help but to notice. "He's my dad – I think?"
"You think?!" Damon's nerves got the better of him, and he pulled his hand away. "What do you mean?" He carefully evaluated the girl, who grumbled – and yet, she didn't seem alarmed in the slightest.
At his outburst.
"I mean, he's my dad." The girl corrected. "Just, he's not really good at it." Dani tisked. "He's more of a crazy uncle type, so far." She smiled, as she was suddenly reminded of the Box Ghost.
Then she switched her attention to what really mattered.
Damon crossed his arms, watching as the little girl reverently dug through his groceries. He frowned, noting such behavior shouldn't be normal for a little girl.
He watched her carefully.
"Thanks for the cheese." She said, simply. "What's your name?"
"You're welcome, and you can call me Damon." He said.
The little girl seemed relieved to get a name out of him. "Good, cus you're definitely not getting that cheese back. I think Vlad wolfed it down in a single bite…" She shrugged. "Call me Dani – short for Danielle."
Damon shook her hand, and he couldn't help but to note how scorching hot her hand was.
He looked at the campfire and held out his hands, wondering if his mittens would reach the same scorching temperatures.
Suddenly, Vlad sat down nearby him, fiddling with a pile stacked unseen besides him.
Vlad's hand outstretched.
Red with --
"Oh my lord, that's where all the tomatoes went!!" shouted Damon, getting an eyeful of bright-red, dirty, unwashed – slightly squashed – juicy tomatoes.
"I needed some for my salad earlier!" complained Damon, as he beheld an entire supermarket's worth of tomatoes.
He blindly grabbed one from the pile, ignoring Vlad's sticky, outstretched hand – covered in crushed tomato.
Damon yelped, noticing how the overripe tomato he'd grabbed -- had split apart -- lathering his hand with yellow tomato seeds.
Off to the side, Dani looked apologetic, tapping two fingers together, as she watched them both.
"See Vlad – I knew we should've returned them!" She shouted madly, waving her hands around for emphasis. But the man named "Vlad," looked away, as he scarfed down another whole raw tomato.
She pointed hysterically at the tomato pile.
"Look, Vlad, we took too much!" But the man still wasn't listening.
…
…
There was a pregnant pause.
…
And Damon snorted, trying to cover his surprise with a hand.
He'd just realized – they're thieves.
'There's no way they bought all these tomatoes.'
Grabbing another juicy tomato – Damon toyed with the idea of eating it.
"Maybe I'll get my salad after all." He commented, and Dani smiled, nodding her head – encouraging him to speak more -- toa strange little girl, and her drunk tomato-splattered father.
'I guess I'm not too surprised.' He thought to himself. 'After all, who else but thieves would be awake at this hour?' Mentally, he tisked at his naivety.
A father was teaching his daughter to steal.
What was the world coming to?
While Damon didn't condone criminal behavior – what was he going to do? Report them? Scold them?
It sounded like a good way to get a knife stuck into his shoulder.
And both options left a bitter flavor in his mouth.
Finally, he settled on shrugging his shoulders. He took the opportunity to scoot even closer to the fire.
'I won't tell a soul, I suppose.' He permitted himself to stay quiet about the matter -- and while he wanted to ask, "Why exactly, so many tomatoes?" Damon didn't exactly feel comfortable asking too many questions.
"Hey Dani, was it?" He decided to salvage the strange situation. "I have some pasta, and a pot – for these tomatoes -- if you'd like."