Epilogue
"... and that's all there was to it, really. Just Youngblood playing pranks."
With her feet on the coffee table and leaning back on the couch, Sam stared at the ceiling of her apartment. Daylight streamed in from the two large windows taking up almost two adjacent walls in the corner, and she could see the leafless treetops from the trees in the park. At least the rain had stopped, but the dreary weather outside made her wish she was still in her bed. Nine AM was too early.
The phone pressed against her ear was silent for a moment. Then, a muffled laughter. "And it took you five sleepless nights to figure that out?" Jazz asked, "Danny must be slipping. How could he not know it was Youngblood?"
Sam sighed. "Apparently Youngblood masked his signature using the ghost rats. They were all over the place, Danny couldn't get a proper reading. His words, not mine. He finally got it when Gary mentioned the Pied Piper, and he realized somebody was impersonating him, playing a game. And the only ghost who plays games like that is Youngblood."
Using her left foot to scratch the heel of her right, she idly looked around the apartment. Magazines were everywhere, yesterday's newspaper spread out on part of the couch – the part she wasn't sitting on – and several glasses, cups and an empty soda bottle were on the coffee table, around her feet. Feeling slightly unhappy with herself, she turned her attention back to the person on the other end of the line.
"How are you doing, Jazz?" she asked, "How was your flight yesterday. Did you get home alright?"
Jazz laughed. "It was fine, really. Gary's making a fuss out of everything nowadays. I guess I have to live with not one but two overprotective men in my life now. But we're not talking about me here. How are you, did you get some sleep at last? How's that boy doing, what's his name? I can't believe Danny dragged him along for a ghost hunt."
"Me neither." Sam sighed. "He did help us though. Danny can't see Youngblood, apparently he's 'too human' for that. Again, his words, not mine."
She could almost see Jazz shaking her head. "Maybe it was a good thing," the psychologist mused, "Maybe Jay will recover better now that he has been actively participating in catching a ghost. He is no longer a victim now."
Sam yawned. "Well, whatever," she said, "It's all taken care of, anyway."
"Sure," Jazz said. They both were silent, and Sam was just about to start saying something along the line of how she had a long day ahead of her and had to get going, when Jazz spoke again. "So how's Danny doing?"
Sam yawned again and looked at the door leading to the hallway. "He's asleep."
"Asleep," Jazz said, "As in, at your place?"
"Um," Sam said, feeling her face heat up, "Yeah. He crashed here last night." Then, before Jazz could say anything, "He was injured, not bad, just some bites, they needed taking care of and then it seemed kind of pointless... he's in the guest bedroom."
A sigh. "I wasn't going to say anything, Sam," Jazz said, "You're all adults, I suppose you all know what you're doing. Just... don't let him take you for granted, alright?"
"He wouldn't dare," Sam said. A knock on the door interrupted her specifying just why though. "Listen, Jazz, I have to go, there's someone at the door. Talk to you later, OK?"
She threw the phone on the newspaper, made sure her dressing gown was properly closed, almost tripped over her purse and finally opened the door, to stare right into the face of the person she had least expected. She blinked.
"Uh... hi?" Geoffrey Benedict said, "Did I catch you at a bad time?"
She blinked again, and then remembered her messy appearance. Hair standing out in every direction, dressing gown with a rather prominent coffee stain that she had listlessly tried to get out earlier, barefoot...
"Oh," she said, "No. I mean... I just woke up. Um." She looked up at his smile, taking in his appearance. Blue sweater, jeans, green duffel coat. All made to look casual, but she knew they were expensive.
"I was gonna ask you out for breakfast," Geoffrey said.
"Right," Sam said, momentarily at a loss for words. They stared at each other. Then, suddenly coming to a decision, Sam stepped back. "Come on in."
She turned around and walked to the kitchen, leaving it up to Geoffrey to close the door.
"Coffee?" she asked without turning around. Not waiting for his 'yes, please', she grabbed a mug that looked clean from the counter, poured the black steaming liquid and then sat down at the kitchen table, joining her friend. They sat in silence for a while, both sipping their coffee.
"So," Geoffrey finally said, "Ghost hunting last night, huh."
Sam nodded, glad he was making conversation so she didn't have to think up something to say. It was odd, usually she didn't have to think about conversation topics with him, it all came naturally. Must be the early hour, she decided.
"Catch them all?"
She nodded again. "Yeah. Took a bit of doing, but we caught them."
"Good," he said, staring down at his coffee.
Silence again. Geoffrey let his coffee swirl in his cup, and then looked up. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Instead, his eyes widened and he looked past her, at the door.
Before she turned around she already who he was seeing.
Danny sauntered into the kitchen, made a beeline for the coffee maker and poured himself a steaming mug before turning around and surveying the people sitting at the table. He looked blearily at Geoffrey for a moment, and then smiled.
"Hi Geoff," he said.
Sam stared at him, torn between anger and amusement. He was leaning against the counter, wearing gray sweatpants and a black tank top, hair messily hanging in his face and unshaven. His arms were half covered in bandages, and the other half showing damage as well, scratches and bruises. He looked like he had just come from the battlefield. Which, in a way, he had.
Then she realized what it had to look like to Geoffrey and she felt her face heat up.
"Danny crashed her last night after the fight," she said hastily, turning to Geoffrey who was still staring at Danny, "He... I needed to bandage his arms and... he was in the guest bedroom." Realizing she was babbling, she quickly shut her mouth with a click and looked reproachfully at Danny again, who was still smiling angelically as if nothing was wrong.
"Um," Geoffrey said, apparently finally finding his voice, "I think... I'd better go."
He quickly stood up, mumbled something about having things to do and calling her later, and more or less fled the apartment. Sam watched him go, and then turned her attention back to Danny, who was still smiling, now with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Trying to gain control over her swirling emotions, she suddenly stood up, causing the chair she had been sitting in to fall down with a clatter. Danny started, and the smile vanished from his face.
"You," she said, pointing at him to emphasize her point, "Are in serious trouble."
Ignoring his wounded 'what did I do?' look, she stomped out of the kitchen.
Sweat was dripping down Jay's face as he hit the punching bag in his room. He had forgone his usual run that morning – not that he had gone out running the previous three mornings either, but he hadn't really been himself then – and had simply started hitting the bag, trying unsuccessfully to channel his frustration into something that wouldn't get him in trouble.
He pictured Larry Higgins' face on the bag and punched him, hard, but the face of his former tormentor at school didn't really inspire much enthusiasm anymore. He had already beaten him once, he could do it again... and again... and again...
Time seemed to come to a standstill as he beat up the mental image of Larry, trying to feel something. Slowly, the image changed, morphed, until it became the face of his father. He stopped and hung against the punching bag for a moment, panting. Then he pushed the thing away and sat down on his bed.
As much as he tried, he couldn't get the happenings of the past few days out of his head. He felt out of control and lost, adrift in a sea of emotions he couldn't make sense of. Confusion being a main part of it. What had happened, what had really happened?
The ghost hunter had caught his father... no, not his father, the ghost that had possessed him for four days. He still felt an odd feeling of loss though, as if his father had died all over again. Knowing what he was, what he had been didn't change that.
And then there were the rats...
He shivered. The rats had been scary, the ghost of the little boy had been scary but the ghost hunter... there was something about him that sent shivers up his spine by just thinking about him. His whole demeanor when he had held the young ghost – how had he managed that, anyway? – the way he had seemed to glow when he had fired that shot, the way he had seemed see-through in the alley, when he had attempted to shoot him, the way he had been shocked by that strange Specter Deflector belt... Something was off.
Jay looked at his punching bag, contemplating whether he would hit it some more or just go and take a shower. He did neither, just remaining where he was.
Mr Fenton was creepy in a distinctly ghostly manner. Ms Manson however... His eyes traveled to the picture stuck against the wall above his desk. He had found it on the internet, an old news article about the ghost attack at the mall. It showed her standing close to the entrance, clad in a black tank top, black cargo pants and combat boots. She had a rather large, strange looking rifle slung over her shoulder. Sunglasses prevented him from seeing her eyes, but he pictured them fierce.
She looked absolutely stunning. He smiled dreamily at the picture, wondering how old she was. Twenty, twenty-two maybe...
"Jay?"
He jumped up, tore the picture from the wall and put it face down on his desk. The door opened, and Roger looked in. Jay felt himself flush.
"Are you ready yet?"
"Um," he said, realizing he had sat on his bed a little longer than he had thought, "No, no, not yet. Just... I'll take a quick shower, and then we'll go, alright?"
Agent M looked down pensively at the report on the desk before him. It was the only thing on the desk, apart from a shiny white laptop standing to the side. The desk was a shiny white too, as were the walls in the small office in the temporary GIW headquarters in Amity Park.
White signified purity. It signified righteousness, morality, unwavering superiority. To Agent M, it also signified order. And in order to maintain that order, he had just painstakingly gone over the report on the ghost-robberies. Something, he was sure, any other agent would have just skimmed over and then put aside to get to the more interesting part of this case: the ghost they had captured, now securely locked away in special ghost containment chamber in the basement.
To M, everything should fit together in his view on the universe. Everything had its place, everything should be explained, filed, labeled and put in its proper place. Discrepancies should be rooted out, examined and properly chastened, until they saw the error of their ways and discretely disappeared.
M didn't know it, but Danny Phantom would have seen distinct similarities with Walker, the ghost zone's self-appointed prison warden.
M sighed, looked at the pristine white walls for inspiration for a moment, and then looked down at the report again. It all made sense, the story seemed water-tight, and yet, there was something there, between the lines.
Daniel Fenton.
It wasn't obvious, just small things. The detective who had written the report had had contact with him almost from the beginning, yet had failed to inform the GIW that he suspected ghostly activity. Fenton had caught the ghost, and, by the looks of it, had then proceeded to dictate parts of the report.
Overshadowed people do not set off ghost alarms.
It was just a small line at the end of a long paragraph full of technical details. Yet here was a unique piece of information, something that could have only come from the independent ghost hunter. Something that needed to be investigated.
And then there was the matter of the boy who had been the... victim? Willing partner? M couldn't quite decide which it was, but that was not his major concern in this. In fact, he really couldn't care less – although the thought disgusted him – if the boy had willingly participated in the robberies, that was something for the police.
What did interest him was that his lawyer was paid for by a Ms Manson. The same Ms Manson that was one of the partners of Daniel Fenton. Why would she do that?
It was a puzzle, laying before him, and M didn't like it. He didn't have all the pieces, and when a puzzle is missing pieces, it represents chaos.
M sighed again, feeling a headache coming up. Slowly, he picked up the report, looked at it pensively once more and then got up, strode to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room and carefully placed it in the ever growing 'Specter Detectors' folder.
From now on, he was going to keep an eye on them.
Finally! The End! When I started posting this story, I had all but the last two chapters and this epilogue written, which, I thought, would give me plenty of time to finish it while editing posting the already finished chapters. I hadn't taken my tendency to procrastinate into consideration though. Meaning that when I had posted the last finished chapter, I still had to start on the next one. Hence the long waits.
Like I said before, this sort of was an exercise in switching POV, using third person limited, which, imho, is just as powerful as first person. You can use almost the same wording as you would in first person, but switching POV becomes easier and is a heck of a lot less annoying :).
I want to thank everybody who took the time to review and let me know what they're thinking. I think I replied to every single signed review, if I didn't, please let me know:
Luiz4200, Cordria, Super-Berry, mountainelements, starbustia, dragondancer123, Narumi, Anemone-the-Bored, Biisaiyowaq, rojeth, Thunderstorm101, itsbeenasecret, AnneriaWings, hawkflyer667, Ally666, ASP AUS.
(I think that's all of you...)
This story is supposed to have (a) sequel(s), but I haven't started any, nor have I decided what it should be about. I'm pretty sure it won't contain any of the OC's I used (and got fond of) in this story though.
The great thing about long author's notes at the end of a story is that they are so much easier to skip :)