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He hadn’t planned on revealing his identity like that, at least not so soon after saving the world for the hundredth time. But he had. His parents knew now.
They hugged him tight and told him that they would always love him. Jazz had said that she had always believed in him. She ruffled his hair and said she was proud of him for finally facing his fears.
The next day felt like the first of a world of peace. He could finally feel safe in his own home. In his own bed. Instead of being wary at every second he spent in bed, wasting time that could be spent on precious sleep.
His mom asked him to come down to the lab on that day. She asked him how often he transformed. He told her that he had to do it multiple times a day in order to fight ghosts. She nodded her head and wrote something down on a clipboard.
She thanked him, saying she loved him, before dismissing him so she could continue her work. He didn’t want to ask why she needed to know, but it wasn’t brought up again, so he didn’t ask.
She would do that a few times a week. She would call him down to the musty lab, full of vials and tubes, and ask question after question.
“Can you tell me this, Danny?”
“Can you explain this, Danny?”
“Can you do this yet, Danny?”
It felt normal to him. What mother wouldn’t want to know about their child? Especially one that had super powers. She asked questions even he hadn’t thought about. It was very informative for him. Things he never would have thought of.
He was grateful for her creative, scientific questions.
Then the questions turned into requests. She said them so softly, like she was persuading an animal to come out of hiding.
“Can you transform for me, Danny?”
“Can you use this power, Danny?”
“Can you tell me if this hurts, Danny?”
But then she wasn’t asking. Then it wasn’t a question if he would do it. At least, it wasn’t an option for him to say no.
“When can you do this, Danny?”
“Go over there and shoot the wall, Danny.”
“Let’s see what this does, Danny.”
It was small things at first. A transformation here, a power usage there. He felt safe doing them in the comfort of his own home. He felt safe doing them for his mother. She was just looking out for him. His dad asked how he was doing sometimes, how was this any different?
But then the requests turned into expectations.
“You’re going to do this today, Danny.”
“We’re going to test this power later, Danny.”
Danny didn’t like it when she treated him like that. He felt like a child being told what to do and how to act. Except, there was something else lurking there. A promise of retribution if he didn’t comply. The threat of something else if he didn’t accept her requests.
The next time she asked he said no. She looked at him, blankly, for what felt like hours. She laughed and said that he shouldn’t joke like that. He didn’t like the way her laugh sounded hollow. Like an empty tree with rotting wood on the inside, festering with bugs.
He told her that he wasn’t kidding. He told her that he didn’t feel comfortable doing these things anymore.
She laughed more, crawling with the skittering lies only she could say to him. She said that they couldn’t take a break now, that she was close to a grand discovery. She said she didn’t want to lose any progress. She ruffled his hair and walked off, leaving him alone in the cold, still lab.
That night he had a horrible nightmare. He couldn’t remember everything - dreams were stupid like that - but he remembered one thing: The cold, unforgiving stare his mother gave him while she stood over him. He couldn’t move his arms, nor his legs. Eyes forced up at the ceiling, she caressed his cheek and said, sickeningly sweet, that she loved him.
He woke up in a cold sweat, shivering so hard that his bed was stuttering against the wall. He curled in on himself, willing the vision to go away. But every time he closed his eyes he saw her, staring at him with piercing, judging, watching eyes. Intrigued by him, not as her child, but as another project. Another experiment.
He felt it in his core. The next step was experimentation. He paced around his room until his feet felt sore. How long did he have? Weeks? Days? Hours?
A shiver was forced up his spine when he heard a knock on the door. He couldn’t move, couldn’t force himself to answer until he heard Jazz’s voice outside. She had heard him pacing and wanted to know if he was ok.
He told her everything was fine and she walked off, not having opened the door to see him panicking in his very spot.
Hours it was.
He couldn’t run. They would find him. She would find him. She wouldn’t stop until she found him. And then what? She would keep him in the thermos until he apologized for running? She would force him into a cage and starve him until he gave up?
He didn’t want to think about it anymore, but the possibilities kept coming.
There was only one way to get out of this. He prepared everything he could until the sun rose. It shone into his window, but he just curled up into his blanket and tried to ignore it, arms full of supplies.
His mom was a very structure-orientated person. She left every evening for patrol with his dad at exactly 8:00 pm. Jazz left for her study group at 8:30 pm. All he had to do was wait until then.
It wouldn’t be hard, he knew. His mom had been encouraging him to stay inside. Forcing him, really.
“There’s so many ghosts out there, Danny. You should just let us handle it.”
“You don’t even have to go to school anymore, Danny. I’ll take care of everything.”
So he waits until 8:35 pm, when both cars are long gone. He makes sure they both leave. His dad made fudge for the four of them. He said to make sure to take them out of the oven in an hour.
Nothing had changed with his dad, something Danny was grateful for. A reprise from the rest of the world. His dad still cooked dinner poorly, caught ghosts poorly, still hugged him tightly, still called him ‘kiddo’ and ‘son’ and meant it.
The smell of kerosene was unpleasant. Oily and thick, with a hint of alcohol. Gross, but his parents never drank. He poured a layer over the couch, sprinkled it on all the rugs, and led a trail up the stairs, dripping down as more was added. He poured the last bit out outside Jazz’s room.
He had found matches in the hallway closet they never used. It was a scratched up box with folds and tears on the corners, but the matches were just fine.
His dad taught him how to light one when they went camping years ago. He pushed it against the side, sparking it into a small flame. He took a deep breath and threw it at the soaking living room carpet.
It was in flames in a second, so he wasted no time in walking up the stairs, socks growing damp with kerosene with each step. He opened Jazz’s door slowly, it’s pristine and organized look encouraging him to come closer.
He had, of course, set her favorite bear on the front porch. She would be devastated if it was destroyed. Her bed was soft and inviting as he sat down on it. He untucked the blanket from around the bed and wrapped himself up in it.
He could smell the scent of burning fabric through the open door. The stairwell was being lit up by a flickering fire, air full of ash.
It hurt to think about so he closed his eyes and thought about something else, leaning into her pillows so his head would stop hurting.
He thought about Sam and Tucker. About Jazz and Dani.
Some daydream about the four of them going on a road trip filled his mind, a pleasant distraction from the flames closing in on him and the only room he felt safe in.
He grew tired quickly, finally able to sleep without nightmares. He would dream of hugging Jazz. Of hanging out with Tucker. And of cuddling with Sam.
And if the last thing he ever thought about was the cold stare of his mother, hands ready to hurt him, even in his final moments, then that was his own personal hell.