Read The Dangerous Days of Daniel X Online
Authors: James Patterson,Michael Ledwidge
Tags: #FIC002000
WELCOME TO MY NIGHTMARES!
I have these incredible, vivid dreams that are like high-definition virtual reality. The one I had that night was a recurring one where I was a warrior in a world like Middle Earth in
The Lord of the Rings,
or maybe
300.
I was on a battlefield, holding a shining sword, surrounded by a Yankee Stadium–sized crowd of seething, hopelessly evil creatures. They were heavily armed, and every one of them was there to fight me. They all wanted their piece, but especially the real treasure—my brain.
I turned to try to run but then saw that Willy, Joe, Emma, and Dana were at my side. “We’ve got your back—well, kinda!” Willy yelled.
And then, as always, I saw The Prayer coming at me.
And, as always, Number 1 killed me! Set me on fire, cooked me to medium rare, and then ate me.
I really, really, really hope I haven’t just given away the ending of this story.
A DAY LATER I arrived in LA, hot on the trail of Number 6—or maybe he was hot on my trail, hard to tell. As I said earlier, his name was Ergent Seth, and according to The List, he lived somewhere called Malibu. The depraved entity was believed to be in the film industry, which made sense if you think about some of the movies they make these days.
I created my mom and dad again, and this time included my sister Pork Chop (Brenda), to help me rent a house in Glendale, which is a suburb of LA.
The nicest thing about the rent-a-house was its gleaming gourmet kitchen. After a long-overdue shower and a quick stop at the supermarket, I spent the next two hours cracking eggs, chopping onions, grinding meat, selecting herbs and spices.
Cooking is a hobby and a passion of mine. It calms me, helps me unwind, and, hey, I’m fifteen. I eat like a truck driver.
I kept my parents and even Pork Chop around for dinner and some nice chitchat. I decided it was Italian night, spaghetti, sausage, and meatballs to be precise, but done the real way. I like to go the whole nine. Top-quality, freshly ground beef, veal, pork, and pancetta, a type of Italian bacon. Roma tomatoes and extra virgin olive oil for the sauce. Fresh pasta. Fresh basil and oregano and Romano and mozzarella cheeses to top it all off.
I’d learned the wonders of authentic Italian on a trip to Sicily six months earlier. I wasn’t there on a vacation, unfortunately, but to take out Number 24, a homicidal, gunrunning alien known as Bang, Bang, Doom, who lived in a heavily guarded villa outside Palermo. Beautiful digs, great views.
After dinner, I was thinking about making a fire. Then I was going to catch up on reading this novel I’d picked up in Portland,
Water for Elephants.
A honey of a story!
From the looks of ecstasy on my family’s faces around the granite kitchen island, I knew I’d nailed the meal. Even Pork Chop shut her motormouth for a few seconds and shoveled in dinner.
“Thanks for helping me out, guys,” I said, lowering my fork and raising my Pellegrino in a toast. “Here’s to the best family in the world.”
Even though you’re not real.
AFTER DESSERT my mom hung back in the kitchen as my dad and sister went to see what was on TV. Pork Chop stopped the remote on an old
Simpsons
rerun, her favorite show.
“I saw The List of Alien Outlaws,” my mom said, sliding me her half-eaten slice of cake. “You’re going after Ergent Seth for sure? Number 6. Is that true, Daniel?”
I couldn’t help but detect the concern in her voice, and in her eyes as well. Kind of sweet, but hey, I’m not three years old anymore. And I’m battle tested.
“That’s right,” I said, trying to act nonchalant. “It’s no biggie.”
“You are aware that this is the first time you’ve gone after a monster in the top ten.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in exactly that way,” I said. “You’re suggesting that things are going to get more dangerous for me?”
“That’s putting it very mildly,” she said. “You make the slightest mistake, the tiniest misstep, Number 6 isn’t going to give you a chance to make a second one. Look what happened to your father and me. You could
die
this time. Do you understand what that means?”
I nodded slowly, remembering the worst night of my life, when I was three. The screams of my mom and dad, the gunfire blasting through our house. The fear as I crouched, cornered in the darkness as The Prayer came down the stairs.
“Thanks for the wake-up call, Mom. I’ll be careful. And clever and resourceful, and devious if that’s what it takes. Number 6 is up to something . . .
world shaking.
I have to do this.”
Then my mother did something that I think moms must have been invented for. She hugged me hard and kissed me on the forehead. She knew exactly what I needed somehow. Then she pinched my cheek, which she always does. I’ve never understood it, but I let her get away with it every time.
“OKAY, GUYS,” I said with a yawn. “Thanks for all your help. And counsel. I’ve got a big day ahead. Murderous aliens to catch, you know.”
“Daniel,” said my father. “You’re not ready for Number 6.
I
wouldn’t have been ready for Number 6. Even your mother and I working together would be no match for this fiend.”
“Wait a second. No way!” Pork Chop said as my mom put her arm around her shoulder. “We can’t leave now! There’s still five minutes of my show left. I’ve never even seen this episode before. I want to see what happens to Sideshow Bob.
Mom!
”
But then they were gone, and I clicked off the TV set.
I stood for a moment, taking in all the peace and quiet. And loneliness, I thought, looking at the empty plates on the counter.
And fear.
And paranoia.
After I finished cleaning up, I decided to crash right there on the couch.
I closed my eyes—and almost instantly I saw The Prayer. “Ergent Seth will destroy you,” he said. “Go back to Portland. Join the circus. Get a girlfriend if you can. Get an identity, Daniel X. Have a life. For a little while. Until I come for you.”
Great. Now my biggest enemies were parenting me. Guess that’s what can happen when you’re all alone in the world.
I DIDN’T SLEEP very well that night, barely an hour. No big surprise there, I guess. Who needs sleep anyway?
It was a quarter to eight the next morning when I reached Glendale High School. I wanted to try to blend into the community, and especially avoid a truant squad run-in like the one in Portland. So I decided I’d better at least sign up for school.
Plus, I’m sure I didn’t want to admit it then, but maybe The Prayer’s words in my dream were starting to get to me.
Until I come for you.
I stopped by the front steps, taking in the swirl of relatively carefree students unloading from the buses and minivans. I was a little skittish, but also excited at the thought of hanging out with people my own age.
I hadn’t been to high school in, well,
ever,
actually.
“Hi, I’m Daniel Hopper,” I said to the secretary behind the counter in the main office. “My mom said she faxed over my paperwork. Is it okay?”
The middle-aged woman checked a clipboard on the desk behind her.
“Oh, yes. Here you are, Daniel. Did you bring documentation from your last school?”
Not likely.
“Right here,” I said, handing over a forged birth certificate and Social Security card. The previous records I’d invented were from a fictitious private school in Haneyville, Kentucky.
“Welcome to Glendale High, Daniel,” she said, pointing at a door beside her. “Go inside and see Vice Principal Marshman. He’ll help you schedule your classes.”
I THANKED THE SECRETARY and opened the vice principal’s door in a cautious, respectful way. Mr. Marshman was a wide, flabby, middle-aged fellow, and the school’s head football coach, I gathered from the framed articles covering the wall behind his wrecking ball of a head. He was on the phone when I entered. “I know you booked the bus for the debating team, Leopoldo. But how many times are my guys going to get the chance to go to UCLA and watch the Bruins practice? I gotta go. End of debate. You lose.”
“Hi, I’m —” I started as he hung up the phone with a bang.
“I know exactly who you are, son,” the vice principal said. “Around here, students speak to staff, and especially me, only when spoken to. Let me see your records.”
I handed them over. “Sure.”
“Not one sport?” he said with a shake of his head. “I see you did get perfect attendance. I bet they gave you a shiny blue ribbon and everything back in Kentucky,” he said, laying on the sarcasm.
Was it me, or did the vice principal have some kind of anger management issue? I let out a breath, trying not to take his attitude personally. I like to give everybody a second chance.
“You do well academically,” he said with a snort. “What’s your favorite subject?”
Since I had the encyclopedic power to telepathically access human knowledge, that was a tough call. I noticed Civil War books on a shelf behind his desk.
“
History,
sir,” I said.
He turned and stared at the Civil War books on his shelf, then back at me with a who-do-you-think-you’re-fooling look.
“What a coincidence,” he said, letting my records drop to the desk.
I glanced out the window behind him. Under a pure blue sky, palm trees were softly swaying in the seventy-two-degree Southern California breeze.
And I chose to attend school
why
again?
“Okay, history buff. I’ll bump you into first-period Advanced Social Studies. The one I teach,” he said, standing, as the bell rang.
Call me overly paranoid, but I wondered if maybe Mr. Marshman was somewhere on my List.
SO THIS WAS HIGH SCHOOL—not too bad, not too good, could have been a lot more stimulating. I was coming out of bio lab, my last class of the day, when I brushed against a skinny freshman hurrying down the hall. He looked nervous and scared, and I felt kind of bad for the guy.
Then I heard his thoughts in my head.
Ugh. My sneakers are so six months ago. Everybody’s checking out my shoes. Everybody’s looking at me! Don’t look at me. Please!
I shook my head like a swimmer trying to get water out of his ears. I guess I was tired and my telepathic mental filters were shot. The
thoughts
of the students swirling around in the corridor were leaking into my head.
Well, well. Amanda’s definitely flirting with me,
I overheard a good-looking jock in a football jacket think as he winked at a pretty girl.
Back at you, baby.
I quickened my pace, trying to get out of there. I can promise you that knowing everybody’s secrets is nowhere near as cool as it sounds.
First day’s over, and I haven’t even talked to anybody,
I suddenly heard in my head, and it wasn’t my own voice.
I don’t want to do this anymore. I hate this school.
I stopped suddenly, looking around to see whose thoughts I’d just intercepted.
I spotted a tall, black-haired girl trying to lift a bulky backpack while also balancing a clarinet case. She turned around and I saw her face.
What felt like an invisible wall toppled over on me. She was really cute. Her eyes were amazing. So why was she so sad?
“Hi,” I said, stepping in her direction. “Sorry to bother you. Uhmm, could you tell me where the library is?”
“No idea,” she said quietly as she averted her eyes from mine. “I’m new here.”
I shrugged. “So am I. Say, could I give you a hand with those books? I’m Daniel. Not that you asked.”
She actually smiled, a half smile anyway. “I’m Phoebe Cook,” she said. Those eyes of hers were deep blue, flecked with silver. Gorgeous—and friendly. “So do you have a last name too, Daniel?”
I paused. Of course, I had a
fake
last name, but it never really feels like me somehow. It felt a little strange to say it to someone as genuine as Phoebe.
“Daniel Hopper.”
“Nice to meet you, Daniel Hopper. I actually
could
use some help. Just to get my locker back open,” Phoebe said. “Frankly, I don’t know if I can lug all these books home.”
I slid her bag off the floor and onto my shoulder.
“You’re in luck,” I said. “Lugging is one of my better talents.”
She smiled again. “I thought you were looking for the library, Daniel.”
She had me there. “I got a better offer, I guess.”
“I guess you did. Well, let’s see how you lug.”
I WALKED PHOEBE all the way home, and I enjoyed every second of it. She lived on South Cedar, about ten blocks from the high school. Her father was a computer salesman, and she told me they moved around a lot.
“Too much,” said Phoebe with a wistful look that got to me. One of the really nice things about her—she was practically unconscious about how pretty she was. I completely understood her feeling about moving.
“My family moves a lot too,” I said. “They’re kind of free spirits.” Definitely.
Daniel is gorgeous! I wonder if he would maybe ask me out?
she thought as we stopped in front of her house.
It’s okay, Daniel. Go for it,
I heard Phoebe thinking. Wishing . . . encouraging.
I smiled, and felt a little light-headed, actually. News flash: I had never had a date with a human girl. So I’d never actually asked a girl out before. But Phoebe seemed so regular and nice, plus I’d just read her mind and she was interested in me. Still, I was afraid.
“Why don’t we go to a movie, or maybe explore Glendale sometime?” I finally blurted out. Our hands grazed as I gave her back her bag.
“Okay,” Phoebe said. “The movies, whatever. That’d be great. Good. You know what I mean.”
She started up the stairs of her house, then stopped and turned back. Her blue eyes settled on me.
“Were you really looking for the library?” she asked.
I smiled. “Nope, I was looking for you.”
“Good answer,” she said, then disappeared inside.
And no, I didn’t
create
Phoebe Cook, in case you’re one of those people who like to look ahead in a story.