Daniel Aphmau Novels & Stories

A heavy, suffocating weight that seemed to have lived inside him for years. “Amara,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying a raw, jagged edge. “My name is Daniel. My full name is Daniel Johnson.” I watched him quietly, my heart aching at the look on his face. “Years ago… my life changed forever,” he continued, his gaze never leaving mine. “My family and I were coming back from a wedding ceremony. My parents, my siblings, and three of my closest friends were all in the car with me. We got into a terrible accident. They all died on the spot. I was the only survivor.”

Mom urged. I quickly dialed Idris. The first ring went unanswered, but he picked up on the second. “Idris, we’re outside Cleveland. What’s happening? Why are the guards chasing people away?” I asked, anxiety creeping into my voice. “Go home, Kate. There’s a Norovirus outbreak…” he started, but I interrupted him. “What? No, Daniel’s in there! He collapsed and was vomiting!” “Kate, listen. All the patients with those symptoms work for him,” he explained. “More are coming in, and this virus spreads easily. Did you come into contact with Daniel or see him when he was sick?” he asked, draining the color from my face.

His voice was accompanied by violent coughing, each cough sounding as if he were spitting blood. "Where are you?" My voice was cold. "I'm... at the lottery office..." He laughed, the sound as shrill as a ghost. "I got in... I made it in..." "But... there's no one here anymore..." I could imagine it. He had driven that damaged ambulance through streets full of infected people, crashing through everything. For that five million, he had lost his mind. "Maya... it hurts so much..." Daniel began crying over the phone like a helpless child.

Four men who once commanded legions. Colonel Duane Xander: Paralyzed from the waist down due to unknown spinal nerve degradation, resistant to all known nerve regeneration therapy. General Marcus Hutchins: Suffering from severe burns, nerve damage, and deteriorating lung function. He also had PTSD-induced tremors and chronic insomnia. No medications working. Captain Wesley Hamlin: A former intelligence officer with massive trauma-induced amnesia and recurring seizures. Conventional neurological scans show nothing conclusive. Commander Zachary Barnes: In a vegetative state following cardiac arrest, but his brain shows unusual fluctuating wave activity, as though he were trapped somewhere betw

James clenched his fists, anger mixing with pity in his chest. Then— The door burst open. Both men turned sharply as the figure rushed in. It was Daniel, Alex’s assistant. His face was flushed, his breath uneven as though he had run up the stairs. Papers trembled in his hand. “Dr. Spencer!” Daniel shouted, barely catching his breath. “I think… I think Amara is alive.” The words hit the room like thunder. Alex jerked upright from the bed, his weak body suddenly infused with energy he hadn’t felt in weeks. His eyes widened, his mouth open in disbelief.

When Amira looked up and saw Daniel's serious expression, she was understandably nervous. When Daniel finally reached Amira, he said a silent thank you to God in his mind. "Please give me a moment to speak before you leave Amira," Daniel said before approaching Amira. For her part, Amira finds herself wondering aloud what Daniel is saying to her at this moment. "W -what?" "I'm not a bad person," Daniel went on to say. "I don't eat people," he added. "I promise that we don't eat the flesh." Amira burst out laughing when she heard what Daniel was saying right now.

What does he fucking want? "What?" I answered. I heard a chuckle through the phone. *I'm gonna be late for school today. I'm going to the hospital to see my therapist* he said. Daniel is not okay. He has a phobia. Sometimes, I wonder how a person like him could get scared. But he is. His parents aren't aware of it. They're not based here anymore. He lives alone and that's his problem. "Hmm, okay. I'll see you later," I said.

I have called Mavin’s number for the upteenth time, he was answering, until I finally saw the pictures of Daniel on the television. “Daniel Caspian, the CEO of AZAL Pharmaceuticals has been shot and a search is going on to capture the perpetrator.” I was trembling, wondering what I’ve just gotten myself into and why they shot Daniel.

"Please, Amelia. We need you." The conference room is chaotic. Board members arguing. Phones ringing. Someone's yelling about short sellers. Daniel stands at the head of the table. Dark circles under his eyes. Coffee cup trembling slightly in his hand. He looks worse than he did on TV. Our eyes meet. Something passes between us—acknowledgment, exhaustion, the weight of everything we texted at 1 AM. "Ms. Hart." Richard Sterling—Daniel's father—gestures to an empty chair. "Thank you for coming."

Amara looked at him. She smiled—small, real. “It’s not a someone,” she said. “Not yet. It’s a place. It’s movement. It’s remembering how to feel something that isn’t pain.” Theo looked at her. Then he asked the question everyone had been avoiding. “Is it a man?” Amara hesitated. Then she nodded. “Yes,” she said. “His name is Daniel. He teaches at the studio. He lost his sister two years ago. He understands. He doesn’t try to fix me. He just… sits with me. He dances with me. He lets me be broken and still sees me.”