Chapter 16: Back from the Dead

"Nobody knows about you but me, Tucker and Valerie," my mother said.

I shifted nervously, tugging at the unfamiliar cloth of the clean shirt I was wearing. My own shirt, left behind in my room three years ago, now falling loosely over my thin frame. I had caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and that was quite enough. I looked like death. Fallen in cheek, sunken in eyes, pathetically thin arms, ribs sticking out. I was constantly out of breath; the doctor from the clinic had told me I might regain some of my lung function, but he didn't have the proper operating capacity to make that happen. At least I had stopped coughing up blood.

"We didn't want you in the clinic," she continued, seemingly unaware of my wobbly position on the edge of the bed, legs dangling down, my hands clawing in the fabric of the sheets to keep myself upright. Seemed that I had been holding myself up, running on empty these past few days – weeks? years? – and now that I could finally rest a little, there was no way I could get up again. But I had to.

"Because if they examined your blood... I'm not sure what they'd find. What they'd do if they found out you're a... half ghost."

Dr Turner had examined me several times during the past few days, making me sit up and breathe – painful – while listening to my lungs. He had made several remarks from which I had concluded he found my mother keeping me home suspicious, but didn't want to challenge her authority. Which was fine by me. I was quite comfortable where I was, and even though my former healing powers didn't seem to be in top condition, I was still doing better than what was to be expected from somebody who foolishly stabbed himself with his own rib.

Meaning I wasn't dead.

During my stay in my room I had mostly slept. When I didn't sleep, my mother or Tucker would talk to me, trying to get me to talk about myself, but so far I had managed to deflect all of their questions. Usually by feigning fatigue, which always immediately tuned up the worry they had for me. I felt slightly guilty about that, but it seemed to be the only way to stay quiet.

"Tucker told her, after we thought you were... dead."

She was talking about Valerie now. I frowned at that. I still didn't like the idea that she knew what I was... or thought she knew what I was, not knowing that her first instinct about me had been right. Tucker said she had forgiven me, but had she? And should she have?

Fact remained that they didn't know what they were dealing with. I didn't know what I was dealing with. But they were looking at me as if they still thought I was Danny Phantom, local hero, when in fact I hadn't been him in a long time. I was just keeping up the act, and even though I knew I was living a lie, it felt nice.

A nice, comfortable lie.

I looked up at my mother, who was looking at me expectantly, and then slowly placed my feet on the ground. After a moment of consideration – how painful would it be if I collapsed? – I placed my weight on them and pushed myself up and away from the bed. My mother grabbed my arm and steadied me.

"Thanks," I muttered.

Sweat broke out, but I was determined to do this. Frowning in concentration, I deliberately let go of my mother and took the two steps towards the chair standing by my desk. I grabbed the back of the chair and grinned triumphantly. A small step for man... yadda yadda. Slowly, I turned around and eyed my bed, which looked particularly attractive at that moment. With a soft click, the door opened.

I was expecting it, but still, like every time somebody entered my room or made a sudden move, I flinched. My eyes shot nervously through the room, again checking the window – closed, but not locked –, the crack in the wall which I had refused to cover up again, and then finally the door. My mother had observed me, used to my anxiety by now but clearly not liking it.

Valerie stepped into the room.

She took my breath away. This was how I remembered her, not the fifteen year old high school student, but the twenty-four year old version, fighting for her life in the ruins of Amity Park. The Dan side of me made to smirk at her, but I managed to keep it inside.

Her hair was short, her body curvy, and she was clad in the red skin-tight outfit of the Red Huntress. She was eighteen years old, like me, same height as me – I would have been taller if it weren't for the three years of severe malnutrition – and carried herself with a confidence I lacked. Well, the Danny side of me lacked.

"Hey Val," I said.

She took her time, carefully shutting the door behind her and then looking me over, examining me. She took in the death grip I had on the back of the chair, the way I was slightly bent over because standing up straight hurt, the way my eyes burned too brightly in my pale face.

"Well," she finally said, "You look OK... for a dead guy."

Ignoring her comment, I took a chance and released one hand from the back of the chair. I waved generously at her.

"Take a seat," I said, as if I'd been holding the chair for her.

She stepped closer, eying me suspiciously, and then sat down on the chair. I took two precarious steps and sat down on my bed again, trying to look as if that particular feat didn't use up all the energy I had left.

"So," I said, "How have you been?"

She shrugged. Her eyes scanned the room, rested on the crack in the wall opposite my bed for a moment, and then at the support beam that was holding up the roof. She folded her hands in her lap, in an obvious effort to appear relaxed.

"OK, I guess," she said, "Just came back from a raiding mission... we managed to secure fuel for our generators, should last us at least a month."

The generators that kept the ghost shield going. The generators that failed on a regular basis.

"So, how have you been?" she asked.

I remained silent. Saying I was OK was the first thing that came to mind, but there was no point in saying it as she could see with her own eyes I wasn't.

"I'm alive," I said, and then amended, "Sort of."

That last comment actually brought a small smile to her face. She moved her hands, but kept them in her lap. The smile faded.

"I managed to get close to the quarry once," she said, "I saw..."

"Don't," I said, shooting a furtive glance at my mother, who looked interested and slightly worried.

"They were whipping a man," she continued, disregarding my comment. She wasn't looking at me anymore, but at my mother. "He... was on the ground. In the end, he didn't move and... I think..."

"He was probably dead," I said harshly.

Suddenly, I was angry. I wanted to get up and pace, and blurt it all out like I had blurted the whole story out to George in the tunnel. I wanted to hurt them, show them my reality, make them understand what it had been like, what I had had to do to stay alive.

"People were dying every day," I said, "They collected them once a week." I tried to relax my clenched fists. "You don't aggravate the guards, you try to stay unnoticed, but you have to eat. If you're not close to the road, you miss out on a meal. Missing out on a meal is another step towards death."

My mother's face had gone ashen, and Valerie too looked pale under her dark skin. I wondered if it was the tale I was telling, or if there was something in my expression that put them off. I probably needed to shut up.

"Only the strong survive," my mother said.

I shook my head. "No."

Go on, I thought, ask. Ask me what I meant by that, ask me about the fights that inevitably broke out, always trying to push fellow prisoners away, trying to get on top, trying to collect the most food. Ask me about how we watched each other, kept track on who had the warmest clothes, the best shoes.

"How did you escape," Valerie asked.

My anger was gone as quickly as it had come. I deflated, my shoulders slumped, and I tried to breathe in such a way that it didn't hurt too much. My mood swings confused me, exhausted me. As Dan, I had been angry all the time, bent on singlemindedly destroying everything in sight, causing as much pain and suffering as I could to somehow lessen my own. And as Danny, I had simply buried myself, literally, in the quarry, so I would no longer feel. All in all, Dan had a point.

"I didn't," I said.

The street was deserted. The twilight made the shadows deep and dark, and I looked at the ragged outlines of the damaged houses. Some had collapsed completely, some seemed miraculously undamaged. The street itself was clear of the rubble that had prevented rescue workers from getting to us three years ago. There were no cars – all the fuel they could find went to the generators.

Three thousand people lived under the shield. A mere three thousand, survivors of the attack three years ago. Only a fraction of the people that used to live in Amity Park. And nobody knew what had happened to the rest of the world, although Valerie had told me that further away from the border, as they called the huge tear in reality that connected the ghost zone to the real world, damage wasn't as extensive, and there were people living there, not under the protection of a ghost shield, in constant fear of being captured by ghosts. Very few refugees came to Amity Park though. It was simply too close to the border. People generally ran away from it.

The shield itself caused a perpetual greenish light. The sun was a bright green orb in the sky, the moon looked more than a little ominous. Even at night, you could see it, sparkling and sizzling. And humming.

Other people didn't seem to notice, but I did. I suspected it was something ghostly, and hesitated to mention it to my mother, even though she knew what I was.

She had asked me about my half ghost status a few times, tentatively, as if she wasn't sure I wanted to talk about it. In fact, I was more than happy to tell her anything, and I did, because it prevented me talking about the past three years. And all that time, I was in my room, mostly resting, sometimes moving around, picking up things like books and CDs and little model space shuttles and examining them. I remembered carefully constructing the models, I remembered the dreams I'd had, but I didn't feel connected to the boy I used to be any longer. I was so far away from him he might just as well have been a different person altogether. Of course, my mother still saw me as I used to be, and I didn't do anything to make her think otherwise.

She wasn't with me all the time of course. Frequently, she was downstairs, and I could hear her moving around, working on improving the ghost shield or ghost weapons, talking to people who came by frequently, sometimes having loud discussions. I stayed away from all that, kept myself aloof. I just hung around in my room, happy just to sit there or lay there, stare at the ceiling and not be afraid any longer.

Of course, having to constantly remind yourself you don't have to be afraid is kind of tiring. And the clock that was ticking in my subconscious just kept getting more insistent that I move, that I do something, that I was running out of time. I just didn't know why.

The noise downstairs had subsided. I tuned my ears to the quiet of the house and listened, knowing my mother would be coming up the stairs soon. If I really concentrated, I could feel her, her warmth, her heartbeat, the bluish glow she emitted... Anticipation rose. My hands on the windowsill, my back to the window, I stood, watching the door. My breathing was still shallow, but not as raspy as it had been before, and there was actually some color on my cheek now, the dark shadows under my eyes had disappeared in the short week that I had been here. Life had literally returned to me. And it had taken me a few days to figure it out.

I leached on her energy.

The door opened and she entered the room, carrying a tray. I didn't quite see her though, as I had consciously been opening myself up her. A bright blue glow entered. It startled me. I had never seen her like this, and though the Dan part of me immediately started listing the possibilities, the Danny part of me reeled in shock. This wasn't me. I had to stop this, had to close myself off again, this was just plain... wrong.

Then why did it feel so right?

The blue glow closed in on me and I sighed, breathing it in, touching it. I wanted to take it all in, wanted to consume her, add to my strength until I was crackling with energy and little sparks would spring between my finders and my hair would stand up, maybe even start flaming again... and her face would shrivel, her hands would wither, and I would look her in the eyes until they broke, I would revel of the terror in them, the realization that I had killed her...

...I had killed George that way...

I gasped and tore myself loose. I was on my knees, coughing, hacking, eyes tearing. Vaguely, I heard my mother cry out, felt her hands on my shoulders from a great distance, and then more hands, dark skinned hands, pulling me up. The room moved around me, colors swirled and flashed before my eyes, and then I was on my back, staring up at the ceiling. The cracks and stains slowly came into focus.

"Danny?"

I turned my head and flinched when I saw my mother's worried face. The lines around her eyes and mouth had deepened, and she looked very, very tired. Only then I noticed the light in the room had changed, there was now a candle burning on my desk, and the window I had been standing at earlier was completely black.

"Yeah?" I asked.

She took a shuddering breath, but didn't say anything. I didn't either. I didn't want to explain myself, in fact, I couldn't explain myself, not now, not ever. What I had done, what I had been about to do, that atrocity of a magnitude so great I had no means do describe it... How had I thought there would be redemption? Why was I here, comfortable, with my only remaining family member, when others were out there, in pain, alone, dying?

Time was running out.

"I'm..." I stopped and helplessly waved my hand, then let it fall back in my lap. I was sitting on the edge of my bed again, legs dangling down, feeling only slightly dizzy this time.

"I'm a ghost."

Tucker shook his head. "Ghosts can't get through the ghost shield," he said confidently.

I shrugged. "So I'm not completely a ghost. I'm just mostly a ghost. The ghost shield... let's say getting through wasn't easy." Painful, more like it. "I'm not a half ghost, Tucker. It must be at least three quarter... if not more. I'm not what you think I am."

"You're Danny," Tucker said.

He got up, walked to the window and peered outside. A pale light shone through the window and lit up his face.

I shook my head. "No. I'm not."

"You used to be."

I nodded. "Yes."

He sighed. "What are you trying to tell me, Danny?"

"I'm not sure."

He turned around and leaned on the windowsill, much like I had the night before, when my mother had entered and I had almost... I tried again. "I'm not sure I want to tell you."

"Oh, come on, Danny." Impatience. He stalked back to my desk and let himself drop on the rickety desk chair. It squeaked. "We used to share everything, the three of us. No secrets, remember?"

"There's no three of us."

Tucker winced and then looked contrite. "You're right. I'm sorry, Danny..."

"I watched her die."

The pain was still there, even though I had been denying it for the past few years. The pain of her broken eyes, staring up at the sky, unseeing... overlaying the memory of her being blown to pieces when the nasty burger sauce exploded. I got to watch her die in two different ways at the same time every time I thought of her. Same went for Jazz. Joy.

Tucker didn't look at me. "I know."

He was being way to serious. This wasn't the Tucker I knew. Tucker was a happy go lucky, goofy guy who'd try to charm every girl he met. The frown on his face was totally misplaced. I wanted the old Tucker back.

"Hey," I said, "Can we just..." I waved my hand, unsure of what I wanted to say, but somehow wanting to convey my desire to pretend, for a little while, that everything was normal. He seemed to get what I was trying to say.

"You want to go outside? Let me show you around?"

I considered it. That was not what I had in mind, but it might be a good idea to have a look at the town, to see what shape it was in. Of course, that would mean leaving my sanctuary, this room. I looked at the door.

"You mean, go outside?"

Tucker laughed a little. "If you have any other way to look around town, I'd love to hear it."

I looked down at my feet. "Don't have shoes," I mumbled.

Tucker frowned. "Sure you do." He yanked the doors of my wardrobe open and started rummaging in one of the bottom shelves. "Here you go."

Red and white sneakers. Old and worn. But better than I had worn in years. These would be worth somebody's life back in the quarry. Only the strong survive... right. Make that, only the merciless survive. I took the shoes from Tucker's hands and slowly put them on, ignoring the slightly confused look on my friends face at my sudden bleak expression. When I was done, I carefully placed my feet on the floor and stood. The room swayed only a little. I was good to go.

Well, physically.

Tucker, having already walked up to the door, turned around and looked at me expectantly. I just stood there, staring at the door opening that suddenly seemed ominous. My feet didn't move. I looked at Tucker, and to my dismay saw both understanding and pity in his eyes. It angered me.

Clenching my jaw, I took a step, ignoring the desperate feeling of wanting to crawl into my bed again and hide under the covers. And once that first step was under way, the next one seemed easier, and before I knew it I was standing next to my friend at the top of the stairs, looking down at what used to be our living room, but was now turned into some sort of war room.

A huge table was standing in the middle, covered with papers, maps and empty coffee mugs. Rulers, some devices I suspected to be portable ghost detectors, some belts that I was sure of were specter deflectors. The door to the kitchen was open, and I could just make out the kitchen table, covered with even more equipment. I gripped the banister tightly, wondering how safe it would be for me to be downstairs.

"Come on," Tucker said, descending down the stairs a few steps and then turning around, "All this stuff is turned off. It won't hurt you."

I didn't move for a few seconds, but then followed him down into the living room. Tucker didn't stop there though, but moved straight to the kitchen where my mother was. I couldn't see her. I felt her. There was somebody with them.

"Hi Tucker," my mother said, "Did you... Danny!"

I leaned casually against the door frame, not because I was feeling particularly casual but because it kept me upright. My mother was at the counter, cooking something I hoped had nothing to do with any of the jars containing green glowing globs on the shelf next to the refrigerator. At the table, Damian Gray, slowly and painstakingly examining a piece of equipment with wires sticking out. It looked awkward, what he was doing. But I guess doing anything with only one arm would look awkward. His right eye was covered by an eye patch.

"Hi mom," I said, "Hi Mr Gray."

Mr Gray gave me a long and hard stare, but finally a smile broke on his face. "Danny. Back from the dead. You look... well."

"No I don't."

He smiled at that. I wondered if Valerie had told him what I was. Hesitantly, I smiled back, trying to ignore the observation that he glowed greenish, instead of my mother's blue glow. I looked away and on impulse checked Tucker. He too seemed to greenish, but leaning towards blue. Interesting. I wondered if there would be different tastes – yes, my subconscious said, there are, just try...

I shook my head. Now was not the time. Not only would they notice, but also because it was wrong. I pondered those two thoughts for a moment, but then decided to let it rest, as there was no added value in me analyzing where those thoughts came from. To further rid myself of any temptation, I pushed the whole notion of people and their energies as far away as possible. The glow disappeared, the people remained.

People who were looking at me oddly.

"Um," I said, "What?"

"I asked if you would like some soup," my mother said.

"Oh." I looked idly at the pan on the stove, and then at the spoon my mother was holding. No green glow there. Maybe it was alright. "OK."

Two big steps brought me to the table, and I quickly sat down on one of the chairs. A bowl of soup was brought over moments later, and I dug in, realizing only then that I was hungry. In fact, now that I was eating, sitting properly at a table, I realized I hadn't felt this good in ages. The pain was entirely manageable, I wasn't on the verge of fainting because I was upright, and I was actually hungry. Smiling, I pushed the empty bowl towards my mother, who had been watching me eat with a strange expression on her face, a mixture of pride and worry, and she got my meaning, because she picked it up and refilled it. And all this time, the kitchen had been silent.

"So," Tucker said, "Feeling any better?"

I nodded and grinned. I could take on the world.

I would take on the world.

"Clockwork?"

I nodded. Tucker looked pensive. He was sitting on the grass on top of the hill in the park. We were looking down on what once were fields around the pond, now turned into a greenery. People were working the grounds, harvesting, weeding, watering. Everything by hand. It looked odd, these cultivated fields in the middle of the town, surrounded by ruins of high rises.

"What did he say?"

I shrugged. "The usual crap. Paths and possibilities, and why he couldn't save us."

I was sitting next to him, hugging my legs, resting my chin on my knees. I was tired. The short walk from my house to the park had all but exhausted me, and the sight of the town hadn't helped. Sure, they had rebuilt some of it, but for the most part it was still in ruins. The school was one big black mess. Nobody had tried to rebuilt it. Tucker had explained something about an old elementary school that was in use for smaller children, but really the older children were just helping out their parents in simply getting through the next day. This was no way to live.

"Didn't he have, like, all those monitors, where you could see what happened in the future?" Tucker asked, "Did he show you any of it? Do you know what'll happen?"

I shook my head. "He said..." I stopped and frowned, trying to recall the conversation. "He said he created the most favorable circumstances. Which means we have a chance. We can win this. I just... have to..."

My voice trailed away. Tucker let himself fall backwards, folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the faintly glowing ghost shield above our heads. The thing still made my hair stand up, even from this distance, but I could ignore that minor discomfort.

"I have to make the right decision," I muttered.

"Why?" Tucker asked, "What do you mean? How can you do something, you're..."

"Weak?" I laughed. It hurt.

Tucker turned his head to look at me. I glanced at him, but then looked away again.

"Tucker, I'm the most powerful ghost that ever... didn't exist. I'm... not Danny. Not completely. Clockwork, he gave me... made me... no, I did this myself. I'm not what you think I am, Tucker."

I was looking away, but a hand on my shoulder forced me to turn around and face him.

"What are you saying, Danny?"

The lines on his face were too pronounced, his green eyes too tired, too serious. There was pain there, pain for the loss of his parents, his friends. Weariness from years of hard work, burying himself in ghost technology, taking on responsibilities no teenager should. I was going to end this.

"I'm saying you should leave this to me."

I got up and walked away a few paces.

"Coming?"

I heard him get up and walk up to me. He stopped right behind me, and the both of us just stood there for a while, looking down of what was left of our town. The bond was there again, for a short moment I could just about imagine Sam standing next to him, and the three of us being invincible. Now, there was just two of us. We were still invincible.

"Then what are you?" Tucker asked.

Interesting question. Not many people will be able to answer that one, and they don't even have the complication of not being human. I had no reference other than Vlad – not much of a role model – and my weak 'cousin' Danielle, MIA. All I had to go on were my own thoughts and actions, and they weren't exactly comforting.

"I am a weapon."

The truth of that statement hung between us, and it was very likely Tucker would have argued with me on that. I think he even opened his mouth to do so, because I could feel the annoyance and confusion coming from him, but everything he was going to say was forever lost. As we were standing there, on the hill, the green dome above our head flickered, lit up brightly, and then died.

"Crap," Tucker said.