Archive of Our Own ^beta

The crowd was tense, milling around in shock and disbelief but no great panic. Yet. Families stood tightly together in unhappy clumps on the sidewalks encircling the grounds of the church they’d been forced to abandon. Harassing them were New York's Press Corp, grubbing for eyewitnesses and photos. A few dozen police officers were cordoning off the building, trying not to let on just how out of their league they were. An eternity passed in the bright Sunday morning sunshine. Everyone was waiting.

A strange siren sounded off in the distance. The harsh, guttural blare was completely unlike the high-pitched squealing of modern American emergency vehicles and all heads turned. It got louder and impossibly louder still as a classic ambulance shining with red and white paint and flashing gold emergency lights charged into view like the sun rising. The mob relaxed, relieved. Their wait was over.

The gentlemen inside the car were less sanguine. "Well, they're not running." Winston Zeddemore observed as he eased Ecto through the throng congesting the courtyard. "Whatever crashed the service can't be that bad."

"Or it's a stationary manifestation that can't go after them or it might actually be friendly!" Ray Stantz leaned forward in his seat and beamed reassuringly at the pale faces peering in at him as Ecto slowly rolled past. Many of those faces showed obvious delight at the sight of him, and Ray was warmed and gratified by their reaction. Children released vise grips on their parents long enough to wave at the four men in their glorious white rescue monstrosity, and their heroes waved back. “Wouldn’t that be great? Something nice?”

"They're too scared, Ray," Peter Venkman disagreed, the seriousness of his tone clashing with the beaming handsomeness he was projecting to his fans. Ray had a silly thought, There Is No Need To Fear! The Ghostbusters Are Here! Peter continued, "Whatever they've got here, I bet it's gonna hurt. Hurt beyond hurting! And it'll probably be me."

"It usually is. Fortunately for the rest of us."

"Die, Spengler." Egon Spengler smiled and activated his PKE meter. The church was fully in view. It was a dark, massive landmark, all leaded glass, bell towers and flying buttresses. "Addams Family, eat your heart out," Peter observed.

Egon scanned through the crowd to detect what was lurking inside. "I'm picking up strong readings but we're still too far away to specify exactly what it is."

Ray spotted movement and gasped, a excited charge shooting through him. "It's a demon!"

"What, Ray?"

"I see it! There! It's glowing." Ray almost took Winston's head off as he frantically pointed at one of the upper belfry windows. "It's ugly and red! Look! Look at that leer!" They all looked up in time to see a scarlet light fade away from the leaded glass. Ray was suddenly uneasy. He didn’t like demons. They were just so negative.

Peter opted for the humorous route as usual. "Ugly, red and leering. You just described our own ever-lovin' Janine Melnitz, Ray." Peter cut his eyes at Egon.

Egon didn’t rise but Ray did."I most certainly did not!" he protested, defending the honor of the Ghostbuster's redheaded fifth member. Ray smiled then, thinking of Janine, and the rare occasions she wore her yellow polka-dot bikini to work when the weather was too hot. Egon’s mouth, too, was quirking upwards.

Peter caught the subtle expression. "Thinking fun thoughts, Spengs? I don't blame you. She looked awful good in that blue miniskirt this morning." Peter's face became dreamy.

Winston grinned. "Personally, I like the green miniskirt."

Ray liked the low-cut summer shirts that displayed just a hint of cleavage and the bare skin of her shoulders but that was Too Much Information so he wisely kept his mouth shut. As always.

Egon muttered something insulting under his breath."'Microphallic' is not a word," Peter corrected.

"It's a state of mind, huh, Peter?" Ray asked. Peter licked the tip of an invisible pencil and mimed putting Ray and Egon's names onto his Black List.

Egon dragged the conservation back into clean pastures. "A demon taking over a church,” he mused. “Looks like we have another Feeder entity holding a Siege."

"A brain-sucker. Oh, great," Winston said and parked Ecto in front of the old edifice. Still, he was smiling and Ray believed he knew why. Winston loved to kick demonic butt. A devout man, he got a great deal of personal satisfaction out of ‘cleansing.’ At times like this, Ray always believed it was a great shame that Winston didn’t have a flaming sword as well as a proton pack. All four men confidently swung wide their car doors and burst out. Hail the Conquering Heroes. They were rushed by their admirers and the press but not surrounded. It seemed no one was willing to turn their backs on the church in order to face the Ghostbusters. A large crowd trying to hide behind four lone men was a sight to see. Everyone was shouting, waving and interrupting each other.

"It's HORRIBLE."

"It came crashing up through the floor!"

"It's big!"

"It's all red and smoky!"

"It's HORRIBLE!"

"It was cursing and growling!"

"It's HORRIBLE!"

Peter raised his hands for calm and silence. Flash bulbs popped from all directions. "Was anyone hurt? Is everyone out?" A very tall and incredibly skinny woman stepped forward, nose to nose with Peter, unaware, in her fright, that she was a little too close. Peter held his ground and Ray fought back a laugh at his friend’s attempt not to go cross-eyed.

The woman stammered, "Uh, some of us were banged up but no one has had to go to the hospital. We all got out okay and it, uh, it didn't follow us. It's still in there and it screams out and it's just...nasty."

Egon scanned the church. “Yes, one Class Seven Feeder,” he verified, his voice low and calm. He changed the settings and scanned again, “And no human life signs. Everyone’s out.”

"Good, then." Peter patted the woman on the shoulder, surreptitiously putting her at a safe distance from himself. "Everything's going to be just fine. We already know what it is and what it wants. We've done this about a dozen times before. Who's in charge around here?" A large man dressed in black pompously pushed his way forward, tapping a drum roll on Ecto in his enthusiasm. Ray had just waxed it the day before but, out of respect for the clergyman's position, didn't glare at him.

"I'm Philip Frank! I'm so glad you're here! You said you already know what it wants? What it is? What to do?"

”Yes, yes and yes,” Peter began then stopped. A red light began to move with ominous intent from window to window within the church, heading towards the ground floor. Ray watched it in annoyance. Here it comes. Spotting the glow, the crowd nervously moved back again. Frank drew closer to Peter. The light came to rest at an upper-story window, overlooking the entire crowd.

It was watching.

Abandoning the discussion, the Paranormal Eliminators moved towards the back of Ecto and began to help each other on with their gear. First and foremost, they affixed Psi-Scramblers to their wrists. A variation on the silver Dimensional Locater bracelets, tracers that kept the men connected between dimensions, the Scramblers were invaluable for creating a block that made it very difficult for a feeder telepath to settle into a human mind. They weren’t powerful enough to block a possession but Ray loved them dearly, anyway. He clicked the power on and felt his nervous system tingle as an annoying low-level hum sounded in his ears.

They shrugged the fifty-pound nuclear powered proton packs onto their backs. Then the Ecto-scopes and PKE meters were shoved into their belts. Watching their preparations, Frank was clearly excited. “Ooh, like Roman Warriors girding themselves for battle!” He was bouncing on his toes. "Are you ready now?" he nooged. "What is that thing in there?"

The crowd began to drift back as close as they dared, hoping to catch Egon's every phlegmatic word, but many made sure to keep Ecto between themselves and the monster inside their church. Egon gathered a couple of ghost traps and began his lecture, "It's a Class Seven Semi-Corporeal Psionic Feeder. A 'demon' in layman's terms."

“A demon?! A real demon?! From Hell?! Did Satan send it?!” All four Ghostbusters and several parishioners looked at Frank with distaste and he closed his mouth with a pop!

Egon continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted and began to clean his glasses with a handkerchief. “You, and your parishioners, are very fortunate. There are reports throughout the centuries of demons attacking religious gatherings and killing worshippers. There was an especially disturbing incident in 16th century England where a demon, in the form of a great black dog, swung down from the rafters of a Catholic Basilica and bit the head off a priest."

"CoME FOrTh aNd DO BaTTle wiTh ME, I am LORD of LoCusTs, DrINker of The BLOOD of cHRist...coMe TO yOUr DEATHS for THy SoULs are MINE!"

"Hark. What dulcet tones are these?" Peter asked dramatically, sneering in the direction of the diabolical shouting. He was the only Ghostbuster that looked up; the rest were finishing their preparations and trying to appear blasé. A Feeder. Yay. Hurrah.

"ReVeROF YrolG Eht dNa RewoP ehT MOdGNIK..."

The chanting continued and Ray, shoving his hands into heavy black gloves, rolled his eyes. "The Lord's prayer, backwards. This thing's watched 'The Exorcist' once too often. I wonder where it's been hiding? We should have run across it before now."

Frank rubbed his scalp nervously. "It came out of a box. We're having a neighborhood garage sale this weekend and a lot of junk is being stored in the basement. During services some of the kids snuck down to poke around and broke into an old Brazilian cigar box. The poor girls came running back, screaming. It followed them up through the floor." He shuddered.

"I bet it's been trapped in there for a long time. Probably by a very powerful witch or warlock," Ray pondered out loud. He noticed that Frank was boggling at him, appalled, and his indifference to the man began to refine into dislike. He turned away and continued to think. Ray decided it couldn’t have been a very smart magic-worker, really. Being powerful enough to keep a demon in, you’d think they’d have had the foresight to keep nosy kids out. But power rarely equalled intelligence. And people die, their possessions get plundered and scattered by the ignorant. So sad, really.

"I ShaLL HaVe THY OWN BLOOD to DrinK!!"

Rolling his eyes and raising his voice for the benefit of the mob and the press, (a battle of good versus evil in a church being a big deal for a slow news week) Peter addressed them, "Listen up! Let me tell you all exactly what's going on. Inside your church is a Class Seven entity. Class Seven’s are paranormal parasites that feed off human energy and emotions. Sometimes human flesh.” The crowd winced. “A demon, basically. We've labeled this sort of situation a Theo-siege. A demon storms into a church or temple or other place of worship and holds the sacred building hostage. This creates a lot of attention, a lot of spiritual turmoil, which is a hell of a strong vintage for a demon, and it feeds on the people's fear and rage until it's driven away or the building is burned down or abandoned."

Frank looked at his historic church in terror.

Peter went on. "I mean why go hunting when you can just look ugly and have hundreds of the pious faithful come to you and be destroyed trying to exorcise you? Good eatin'."

"FoRNIcATOR!!"

"Me or the Zedd-man here?!" Peter shouted back, pointing at a mortified Winston.

"ThOU SInFUL LuSTFul FreaKFREakFREAK! DESpisED By aLL HOLY CREAtureS!!"

"Oh, he means Egon. Sorry, Winston."

Ray watched expectantly as Egon opened his mouth to deliver something awful in retaliation when all the windows in the church blazed red, stopping him. Red. Red everywhere. The disgusting crimson light flowed through every dramatic curve and line of the gothic, haunted edifice. The bricks and mortar turned black against the unnatural light. Every upturned face, every inch of ground seemed drenched in blood. Children began to scream and panicked parents immediately scooped them up and rushed them away. As the wind blew over the faces of the crowd, chilled into silence, the terrible beam began to fade until red eyes glowed with fiery menace from one lone window above them. For an eternal moment Ray could feel his pulse beating in his neck. Red eyes. Red eyes pinning his soul right where he stood.

“Oh, Lord God, help us,” the skinny woman prayed. “Please help us.”

"Shh. Don’t.” Peter said gently then began to sarcastically applaud. "Oh, that was beautiful! I'm moved!" The spell was shattered. Relaxing, his teammates followed his lead. "ENCORE! AUTHOR!!" He turned to the gathering and gave them his warmest smile. "C'mon everybody!" Philip Frank reluctantly began to slap his hands together and soon the entire crowd was collectively thumbing its nose and cheering the demon's impressive display. The skinny woman cracked her hands together with force, blushing. “Never let ‘em see you sweat,” Peter advised and she smiled. Ray felt a surge of insulted rage flowing through him from the direction of the church. Peter noticed it, too, and dropped his voice. "Red-Eye up there is projecting. A mighty strong psionic, this time." They nodded in agreement. "Scramblers on? Okay. Watch your asses, guys."

"Aw, Peter." Ray grinned, double-checking the small device that he and Egon had worked months to perfect. "We don't have any secrets!"

"You certainly don't, Pollyanna."

Not true, but Peter was keeping up appearances. Ray wondered what nasty little memory or aspect of his own soul was going to be made public knowledge this time. How much had Red-Eye learned before they had turned the Scramblers on? They'd soon find out. His friends would not judge him or shun him but, damn, he desperately preferred to keep his secrets.

**************

The newly designated Red-Eye felt a shock as he listened to the applause, the cheers, the cat-calls. Being freed inside a church was a wondrous stroke of luck. Clearing it had been satisfying and delicious. But the little shriekers had stopped cold right outside the place when they realized he wasn’t following. Stopped and began milling around as if at a fair. Why weren’t they rioting? There should be screams! Prayers! Fires! Tramplings! An entire city in panic! A league of pious, moon-faced men and women coming to sprinkle water on him. Soldiers to shoot pathetic lead balls. Witches that appeared secretly to give him a real battle. But look, the crowd was calm and growing only slowly. A sea of faces gawking up at him with anxious curiosity. And nothing else. He felt like a display at a circus and raked his claws across himself in insulted frustration. It just wasn’t right.

**************

Ray wasn’t the only one worried. Peter had his secrets, too. Secrets such as the whereabouts of an autographed Agatha Christie novel that had once been Winston's but now belonged to one of Peter's ex-girlfriends. Also, the small matter of just who put the plastic explosives in Egon's chess set. Most importantly he did not want it known that he knew of a heart-shaped mole on Janine's body, the location of which Peter had discovered when he accidentally spotted her in the shower. Spotted her for ten long, glorious minutes. Oh, please, let that not become known.

Feeder Backlash was the clinical term he had assigned to the recovery process. Also known as pure, distilled embarrassment. They would walk on eggshells. They would avoid each other's eyes. Conversation would be kept to a minimum as each person dwelled unhealthily on how the others perceived him now. There would be flare-ups of anger and accusations. You did that?! How could you think this?! How could you feel that way about the other?! After the transgressions and resulting blow-ups were smoothed over and forgiven, heaven help them all, the teasing would begin. Janine would bat her eyes and worm every detail out of Ray who would spill his guts out of misplaced guilt. Egon would bury himself in research or opera music. Winston would rebuild Ecto. Peter would contemplate leaving the country. Then they'd all get over it as if it had never happened. Suck on that thought, you Red-Eyed Fucknut. Peter gestured for Frank and a few cops to come closer.

He addressed them with absolutely no nonsense in his tone."Listen up. We're going in but I want you people to stay out and to keep everyone else out. Out! No matter what you see or hear, it's probably a trick. This sort of critter feeds on mental energy, pain and fear. The more victims it can lure in, the stronger it gets." Everyone in the vicinity shuddered. "It'll only try to leave the church when it feels it's really in danger. We'll try to keep it busy but, meanwhile I want all these people kept way back." No one questioned Peter's authority or his orders. Peter fixed Frank with a hypnotic glare, "Demons are great mimics. You're going to hear terrible things, you might even hear us screaming for help, but it’s a trick. Don't come to our rescue. We eat nasties like this for breakfast so we don't need help. Do not open that door! Is that totally clear?" Peter got a mental image of the Mad Doctor in 'Young Frankenstein' issuing those same orders before he realized he was locked in with the Monster he had created. Open this goddamn door, you bastards, or I'll kick your rotten heads in! MOMMYYYY! His Bossman facade nearly cracked but he just managed to keep it together. Puttin’ on the riiiitz!

Frank and the members of the NYPD accepted their charge eagerly, wide-eyed and excited. They were obviously relieved to be doing something useful. Philip Frank puffed out his chest. Peter turned back to his teammates. "Let's go."The Ghostbusters casually strode up the church steps. More flash bulbs popped and the crowd began to scream encouragement at them. All four men walked tall as they approached the huge double doors of enemy territory. Adrenaline began to surge. They were ready and smiling.

The people were chanting their names. "Ghostbusters! Ghostbusters! Ghostbusters Ghostbusters Ghostbusters!"

Peter did a 360 degree turn, waving to everyone.Then it was back to business. "Pull 'em," he ordered. "The throwers, I mean."

"Suuure, you do."

They unholstered their particle throwers in unison and slapped them into the palms of their hands with a loud WHACK. A powerful electronic hum vibrated through the air as they charged up four nuclear accelerators, and their audience went wild, jumping. Coasting on the almost sexual thrill of the attention the sudden, unwholesome thought that he was just as psionically hungry as the demon crossed Peter's mind. He buried it quickly. They weren't hurting anybody and their grandstanding helped erase the very palpable dread that the Seven had inspired.

The double doors began to slowly open on their own and Red-Eye was revealed crouched in front of them. The form he had chosen was a stereotypical crimson, bipedal horned hulk with a barbed tail and cloven hooves. Too sophisticated to fear such an outdated shape, Peter grinned. Red-Eye squinted at him and Peter decided to rub it in, "What? No bat wings, sugar?"

Red-Eye bared a fang or two, then his ugly mug smoothed. He exchanged his theosophical yammerings for the deep, refined tones of Egon Spengler. "I do beg your pardon. How insensitive of me." With a hideous wet burst, enormous pustules on Red-Eye's back grew and erupted into clawed bat wings. He stretched them over his head and Peter could see pulsing veins running along the thin, fleshy webbing before Red-Eye began to flap them, sending a hot nauseating stench blowing over the four men. There was only one thing to say and Peter, fighting his gag reflex, said it. "Thank you. Accuracy is very important to us."

***************

Red-Eye stopped. The human males were not amazed or even impressed. Why? He sensed only dormant magic and since magic was the only thing that could harm or trap him he did not understand their surety. Perhaps they had other methods? They must, for their thoughts had become enigmatic. How? Their machines, maybe? Could human machines actually hurt him? Would those weapons stop him? Had so much changed in the fifty years he had been imprisoned? Perhaps what little he had learned of them as their noisy vehicle appeared would be enough and Red-Eye was nothing if not resourceful.

His tail thrashed like an angry cat’s as he and his opponents continued to size each other up. These human men were confident. Well, Red-Eye was hungry and no weakling. However, this feeding might require a little strategy. He decided to open the proceedings. "I will devour your minds whole."

"Our minds?" Winston inquired. "Man, you're gonna starve!"

Red Eye smiled, fangs gleaming. "I'll simply kill you, then. Make your peace with whatever harvest god you worship," he challenged in Ray's voice this time.

"Sorry, we're not religious men," Peter said.

"I'm a religious man," Winston corrected him.

"Oh, I apologize, Winston, you wanna take it then?"

"Hell, yeah." Winston fired. Fierce, twined bands of red and blue energy struck Red-Eye square in the chest and he was blown off his hooves back inside the building. The Ghostbusters leapt in after it and the doors slammed closed behind them.

"Yes! The expression on his face! Love it!" Peter fired his thrower, too. Both beams flashed like Thor's lightning bolts in the cavernous old structure. His questions answered, Red-Eye cast one last look of shock, marking him, before he vanished, leaving only an enraged howl to echo behind him.

**************

Oh, great, Winston mentally groaned, a teleporter, too. The four moved back to back. Winston, Peter and Ray's throwers covered all points of the compass as Egon adjusted his PKE meter, tracking the Seven."Where is he?" Winston asked, never taking his eyes from the shadows.

"This is new. Raymond, look at these readings." Peter moved to cover Ray's quadrant as his teammate examined Egon's findings.

"Wow, that's odd! That’s really, really odd!" Ray enthused.

"Whhheerrrre issss heeeee?" Winston patiently asked again.

"He's back in the belfry," Ray began.

"He's also in the basement," Egon finished.

"You mean there's two demons? Wonderful." Winston looked around the beautiful landmark building with regret. There was going to be some serious structural damage done before the day was through.

"No. Listen to this!" Ray began to work his own meter, correlating Egon's results. "There's one demon in two different places. He split!"

"That's impossible."

"Hardly," Egon backed Ray up. "There are sub-atomic particles that have been proven to exist in space and time at two different locations."

"And it's a common thing! Even among humans." Ray was really excited now. Teleporting, shapeshifting, psionically vampiric demons that could exist in more than one place at a time were exactly his cup of tea. Winston watched him give his thrower a caressing grip and considered going for a hose.

“Common among humans?” Peter asked. “What?!”

He didn’t sound as if he really wanted to know but Ray rushed to answer him. "Sure! One example is a French schoolteacher named Emilie Sagee. She lost nineteen teaching positions in sixteen years because she couldn't control her own psychic double. Creeped the children right out. The poor lady."

Winston looked to Egon for confirmation of this and was not reassured when Egon nodded matter-of-factly. Wow, indeed. What a bizarre thing. He would have to read up on it when he got back to the firehouse.

Egon continued Ray's tale while keeping a careful eye on the creature's movements. "Sagee would exhibit a definite languor whenever her twin appeared. This 'doubling' of the self requires a great deal of energy and, luckily, our Seven is also so affected. He's weaker."

"Weaker and in the two farthest points of the building," Peter said. "Ooh, how tempting for us to split up and go after it."

Winston tried not to think of the myriad different ways a teleporting monster could exhaust them with a futile pursuit before killing them. His skin puckered into cold gooseflesh. Smart. This critter was smart. Suddenly, he saw Peter jerk his head as if a fly had landed on his ear. Peter scowled and shook his head again. Then he turned his Scrambler up to its highest setting. That couldn’t feel good. “Pete? You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m Mithter Thenthitive, y’know, and I can feel the Seven testing the defenses.” He tapped his forehead. Winston nodded and watched him twitch again. Poor guy. Winston, himself, didn’t feel anything and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

The brain trust of the group was still conferring. "He's above us and below us. Hmmph." Ray examined the granite stone of the building. "The proton streams are totally antithetical to this thing. If we could run a positive charge through the entire building we should be able to trap it inside his separate rooms and keep it from merging again."

"It teleports, Ray. I bet it can float, too. There's no need for it to touch any surface unless it wants to." Winston said. His active imagination was working hard and he tried to curb it. Tried not to think about the circumstances wherein a demon would touch his friends. With claw and fang. "There's no trapping it that way." Ray didn't exactly pout but it was pretty close.

"How about if we diffuse a protonic pulse through the air?" Peter suggested with hope.

Egon shot him down. "The energy necessary to hinder an entity this powerful would fry us and burn down the building."

Peter let go of his thrower for a split second to throw his hand in the air. "We haven't been in here five minutes and we're already in a standoff?! I hate this! Janine’s gonna laugh when Ray tells her."

“He doesn’t have to say anything.”

“Sure, I do!” Ray gasped. “We can’t leave her out.”

“Tattletale,” Peter stressed. Then he sighed. The sound Winston recognized as his Time to Play Fearless Leader sigh. "Okay. It looks like we have to play the game," Peter decided.

"Split up?" Egon asked, scowling.

"Hell’s peckers, no! If Red-Eye wants his pound of flesh he'll have to play by our rules. We'll go to him and he'll torture us, following standard demon procedure. He’ll have to come closer to do that and that’s when we'll get him. Or half of him. Then we’ll go after the other half.”

“And if that half should half itself?” Winston asked.

Peter shrugged, looking tired already. “We’ll just hoover him up piece by piece, then. Now, question is, do we want to be tortured in the belfry or the basement?" Peter raised his hand, "I vote basement."

Winston shook his head, "Too much crap to trip over in a basement. I vote belfry."

"I hate heights. I hate stairs. Basement," Peter persisted.

"I want to see the bells!" Ray put in. "I vote belfry, too."

"Basement!"

"Egon?"

Egon tried not to look too much the smartass. "We could wait for the demon here but I want to see the bells, too. Belfry."

Outnumbered, Peter made a disgusted noise. "I hope you'll all remember me fondly when I fall out of the damn tower and go spuh-LAT!"

"Don't worry, Peter." Winston threw a brotherly arm around his friend and started to lead him towards the first of many, many flights of stairs. "’Til the day we die we'll never forget 'ol What's-His-Name."

******************

His ready ploy to separate them had failed and Red-Eye brought all of himself to the belfry to wait and think. Pain. They had actually given him pain with their human machines. Those damned boxes of steel and wire had driven him back immediately and closed their minds to him. Red-Eye cursed the asinine over-confidence that had prevented him from delving deeper into their souls when he had the chance but the lusciously fearful crowd had distracted him. Well, he didn't know! They had no magic! How was he to know they could hurt him with machines! Stupid human machines! He could leave but no, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. And he truly loved a challenge.Think. What little did he know already? As their blatant, noisy vehicle arrived what had these 'Ghost Busters' been thinking of? They had been relaxed, and curious as to what manner of creature they would be fighting, insulting each other, thinking salacious thoughts of their red-headed woman and glorying in the acclaim of their people. Not much to work with.

Wait.

Their woman.

Janine.

Janine and machines.

At 'Ghost Buster Central.'

Machines.

Oh, yes.YES!

An idea so perfect and so simple appeared that Red-Eye considered it with awe and self-indulgent pride. It was almost divine inspiration. He chuckled at his little witticism and split in two again. He was now in the belfry and roaming the lower stories in search of his very own machine. An infernal little device that he knew the use of but had never needed, or wanted, to try before. He'd better hurry; the men were getting closer. Hilarious how they had underestimated his technological resources while overestimating their own. He found what he was looking for in a dank closet of an office. A terrible, horrible little machine.

Most commonly known as the telephone.

*********************

“Ma! Listen to me! No, I’m not taking that job. I don’t care how much Aunt Enid wants to pay me, I’m not running that shop. I work here and I’m not leaving. Ma, honestly. No. No, it’s NOT too dangerous!” To Janine Melnitz’s great relief, the other line beeped. “Hang on, there’s another call coming in.” She put her mother on hold and tried not to wish she had the magic ability to do that indefinitely. She pressed another button. "Ghostbuster Central, damn it!"

"Good morning to you, too, Melshitz," Peter Venkman's familiar tenor drawled.

"Oh, it's you, Doctor Dinkman. What's up?"

"We have here, in our hot little hands, one devastatingly strong, handsome and intelligent demon who enjoys table tennis and walks on the beach..."

"I'll be right down, Doctor V."

"Thanks, Janine. I know it's not easy being single."

She hung up on him. Then Janine took a strengthening breath and pressed the other button. “Ma, that was Doctor V, they need a hand. Oh, no, nothing dangerous at all. Yes, I know you hate the guys. Yes, I know. Don’t worry. Pleeeease don’t worry. Yes, I’ll call you as soon as I get back. Love you, too. I gotta run. I gotta run! Bye!”

She made her escape and rushed to change out of her stylish (blue) mini-skirt and into coveralls and combat boots. She snapped a Scrambler onto her wrist. The call to assist in a bust wasn’t a rare thing but it wasn't a common one either and Janine buckled her utility belt with excitement and dread. Nothing dangerous, she’d said. Nah, Sevens weren’t dangerous. They just, y’know, would love to wipe their demonic asses with your flayed skin, that’s all. She felt a moment of self-pity. There was little the guys couldn't handle on their own and almost all of her experience was with the more dangerous entities. She had never busted a simple ghost. Kinda ironic. Mom did not approve. But at least the deadlier creatures didn't drip ectoplasmic slime so much. Ick.

Pumping up her courage, Janine shouted to the empty firehouse. "Look out! The Fifth Ghostbuster comin’ atcha!" Locking the doors behind her, she raced off to the rescue.

*******************

"STOP IT! PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE HELP MEEEE!"

Peter, Ray, Winston and Egon were exhausted. The constant back-to-back maneuvering as one demon came at them from all directions was sheer aggravation. However, the heavy weight of their packs, the pursuit that led them to the top of the belfry and back down to the main floor, and the infrequent chances to shoot at Red-Eye were not a factor in their almost complete loss of morale. Red-Eye, the mimic from hell, was using Janine Melnitz's voice to imitate her murder.

“HELP ME, GUYS!! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Egon, desperately desiring to hold his hands over his ears, stumbled on the torn carpet. He righted himself and kept going.

"EEGONNN! Egon! Egon! Help me, PLEASE!"

The manic screams echoed in front of, around and even above the sweating and enraged men. The noise. The nightmarish sounds. Janine being beaten, her heartbreaking sobs and pleas for help, mercy, even death echoing across cold stone corridors. Janine being shot. Janine being strangled, her voice and breath coming to an end as the crunch of her windpipe was heard. The terrible thud of her dead weight as her body was thrown to the floor. "Stop it," Ray was muttering, wiping sweat and grime out of his eyes. "Stop it. Just stop it. Stop it."

"It's not real, guys. It's not real. It's not her. It's not real," Peter was chanting.The screams got louder and Egon was snarling as he adjusted his shaking meter. The others waited for his signal, waited to be shown where to shoot. He suddenly thrust his finger up and to the left. They fired, ripping across the vaulted ceiling high above them. The terrible sound of Janine being whipped became a genuine yowl from Red-Eye. Stunned into visibility, it took him considerably longer to tear himself away this time but he managed it. Swirls of dust and glittering chips of stone coated the four men. Blessed silence descended for a moment. The Seven was getting slower and weaker. They all were.

"When I see Janine again," Ray gasped, slumping against the wall. "I'm going to be so happy. God, I can't wait." The others agreed. Egon noticed that Ray’s skin was grey and dark smudges were under his haunted eyes. "We’ll have a group hug!" Ray clawed his hands through his hair and smiled.

Winston reached over and picked a bloody stone chip out of his friend’s neck. He flicked it to the floor. Ray smiled his thanks. "Group hug?" Peter also smiled, weakly. "More like a dogpile. And you know how much she hates those." Egon said nothing and went back to compulsively checking and rechecking his PKE meter. Yes, it was still just the four of them and the demon in the church. Peter put a hand on Egon's wrist and the tall man jumped. "Put it down, Spengs. She's not here. She's safe at the firehouse." Egon shrugged and Peter pressed a little harder."The worst human fear in the world is to see or hear someone you love in pain. That thing knows it and he's using it against us. We were talking about Janine when we drove up. Don't listen to him. Don't let it get to you." Peter's voice was firm and calm. Egon was comforted by the lecture. Being the definitive academic, a lecture on tittle-bats would have comforted him, really. He slowly nodded and reluctantly put the meter away. "She's not here." Peter repeated firmly. "She's safe at the firehouse."

He fell silent and all four drooped, resting for a few minutes. ‘Janine’ screamed again, further away this time, in the direction of the basement. "GET OFF! GET OFF! EGON! I'M HERE!! I'M HERE! THE DEMON'S HERE! RAAAYYY!"

"Oh, God, please stop it. There's gotta be a way to shut that bastard up," Winston moaned.

*********************

Janine was thrown against the wall, hard. Gasping, she jumped up again. Her pack...her pack...it was gone.

Traffic had been miserable and it was forty minutes before she reached her destination. Philip Frank and his men had ushered her right inside. She was a Ghostbuster, after all, and, alone, she had cautiously stepped in and listened for sounds of a fight. The silence was unnerving. Her radio was useless, thanks to the Scramblers she and the guys were wearing - a drawback of their design that Ray had promised to correct when he had the time. Then Egon's voice had drawn her into the cavernous basement, "Janine, down here! We need you!" Relieved, she went.

Now, she was trapped. A trap. It had been a trap. She was caught in an enormous cave of a basement, almost a catacomb, full of dust and the collected debris of years. She was alone, her pack was gone and red eyes the size of baseballs were staring out at her from the dark.

"Hola!"

She faced them, her heart thrashing in fear inside her chest, but her voice was loud and clear. "Where are the guys?" She could feel it probing at her mind unsuccessfully. "Where...are...the...guys?" she repeated, stopping herself from twisting the sleeve of her coverall down over her Scrambler. Ignore it, please ignore it. It's just a bracelet. Just a piece of jewelry.

Red-Eye sat on his haunches, scratching a smiley face on the stone floor. He continued to use Egon's voice; and it unnerved her completely. "They're up on the next floor, resting, quite nearby. If you shouted, I guarantee they'd hear you." He looked at her, rather hopefully, and Janine elected to stay quiet. Red-Eye smiled, every fang properly sharp and straight. He gouged another smiley face and added eyelashes to this one. "I'm resting, too, you see." He went on. "As much as it hurts my considerable pride to admit it, their machines and their miserable persistence have exhausted me and I've grown tired of this fight. No food will come to face me so I am conceding the field to go find an easier meal. When I've learned more about this place and time, I will be back for them."

"And they will kick your ass then just as they have now." Janine was determined to be defiant.

Red-Eye grinned even wider, thrusting his head and shoulders forward as if he and Janine had just shared a lovely little joke. "We'll see. We'll see. It shall be a rather glorious War and losing this one battle, now, does not upset me very much. And now, at least I can leave them a little parting gift. A token of my esteem, you know." He scraped two more, smaller, smileys into the floor. He had an entire nuclear family now.

Janine glanced around for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. She knew a physical fight with this thing would be hopeless but she was determined to go down swinging. Junk. She was surrounded by junk. Lamps, mounds of Reader's Digest Condensed Books, someone's old knitting, rickety furniture, a display of Wild West memorabilia complete with rusted antique guns and Bowie knives. There was a Wanted Poster for the notorious Clubfoot Joe and even Clubfoot Joe's clubfoot floating in a jar of alcohol. Peter would like that, she thought with some disgust. There was nothing she could use and she faced Red-Eye again. She waited and wondered what now?. In answer to her unspoken question, Red-Eye pointed a mischievous claw over her shoulder. She looked behind her.

Jesus.

Literally.

It was the largest Christ on a Cross she had ever seen. More than life-size. The woodcarver's religious and artistic zeal had gotten the better of him. Nailed to two enormous logs, Jesus' every wound was gapingly huge and stylized blood dripped in perfect teardrops down his bluish, dead skin. His loincloth was settled almost obscenely low on his wasted hips. Basset Hound eyes ogled heaven. It was too garish, too realistic, too MUCH to be seen in public so it had been stored in the lower depths.

Red-Eye leapt to the top of the sculpture and swatted at the great wooden figure. Breaking the legs and the torso, he pulled off every limb and threw them to the floor. The head bounced into a giant urn. Finally just the cross of logs remained and Janine turned and hopelessly ran, realizing, at last, what the plan was. Red-Eye appeared before her and clotheslined her in the chest, knocking her violently to the floor. He grabbed her hair and dragged her back into the darkness. Panicked and enraged, she gasped air into her pained lungs and finally started to scream.

"GET OFF! GET OFF! EGON! I'M HERE! I'M HERE! THE DEMON'S HERE! RAAAYYY!"

*******************

"A way to shut the bastard up. You said it, Winston." Peter turned to the scientists of the team. "Egon? Ray? Can you two do anything to keep this thing still or at least confuse it so it SHUTS ITS DAMN MOUTH!" Peter shouted.

"PETER? PETER, PLEASE! I'M DOWN HERE!"

Egon took his PKE meter out again and popped the back of it off. Plunging long, cautious fingers into the wires and circuitry he turned and asked Ray for a spare Scrambler. Ray pulled one out of a deep pocket and handed it over. Egon began to explain. "I have an idea. I'm going to boost..."

"PETER! PETER! I KNOW I HEARD YOU, I...AAAIIIIIIIHHHH!" A slow pounding was heard as if someone were nailing a board. "PEEETERRRR!"

Ray furiously marched to the end of the hall. "WE KNOW IT'S YOU! WE DON'T CARE! SHUT THE HELL UP!" Peter motioned him back and Ray returned, pulling his own hair again.

"RAYYY! PLEASE, RAY! PLEASE! RAYYYYY!” More hammering. "SSTOPP! WINSTON!"

Peter continued his litany of, "It's not Janine. It's not her. She's safe." Ray hid his face in his hands. Egon shook him to get his attention. "I'm going to boost this Scrambler with the power unit from my PKE meter. It will be anathema to a telepath and should disorient the Seven long enough to keep it from teleporting while all four of us get a bead on it. Or it may infuriate it."

"Will it affect us?" Peter wearily inquired. 'Janine's' screams were getting weaker.

"Yes. We aren't exactly psi-blind ourselves. It will be very painful but there should be no permanent damage." Egon adjusted his eyeglasses, dirty with sweat and dust.

"If we piss it off we better get ready for that, too." Winston pointed out.

Egon nodded, twisting wires and making the necessary connections. Ray leaned over his shoulder and assisted. Peter admired the way they worked without getting in each other's way and began to plan a trap with Winston.

"OH, EGON, PLEASE! I'M HERE! I'M REALLY HERE! PLEASE! STOP IT! STOP IT! EGON, MAKE HIM STOP IT!"

"DAMN YOU!" Egon screamed back and worked faster.

**********************

"Darling, you can be louder than that! Like this! From the diaphragm! WINSTON! OH, GOD HELP ME! WINSTON!"

Janine understood. The guys wouldn't come. There would be no help. No last-minute rescue. Nothing. This...thing had been playing a 'Cry Wolf' game. She would scream no more. She could barely breathe anyway. The ropes binding her to the logs were impossibly tight but she was thankful they were there. Without them her hands and feet would have pulled free from the green knitting needles that had been hammered through them and she would have fallen a long way to the ground, tendons torn, crippled. She counted herself lucky. Red Eye had wanted to use the Burlington Northern Railroad spikes but had decided that amount of mutilation would be aesthetically unpleasing. He didn't want her to bleed to death before he had a chance to destroy her properly. The needles were cold in her flesh and they hurt. Oh, wow, they hurt..

Red-Eye finished off her Five Wounds by slashing a deep cut just under her right breast with his fore-claw. Janine gasped and felt the blood well and flow down her ribs. Sucking his finger, Red-Eye moved away to find materials for the finishing touch. She was exhausted. How odd. She never realized how tiring pain could be. Her throat was raw. Her body shook with horror. Shock. She was going into shock. There was disbelief, too. Anger. Fear. A gnawing loneliness. Her friends were so close. This old church echoed and she could occasionally hear a booted footstep. A low voice. The metallic clang of some tool being dropped on the floor. So close. They were so close.

"Phasma Regina." Red-Eye intoned softly, twirling samples of barbwire that had set off the Wild West Range Wars into a crown of thorns. "Or is it Idolarum Regina? Regina Idolarum? Mea culpa, my Latin is weak. Ghost Queen. The Fifth Ghostbuster." The crimson glow of his eyes reflected off the polished, sharpened steel barbs. Janine swallowed, waiting. "I crown thee the Queen of the Ghosts." He jammed the terrible circlet onto her brow and gave it a small, vicious twist. She remained silent.

Red-Eye returned to the Wild West display and picked up a three-foot bayonet that had been authenticated as coming direct from the Alamo. "They're entirely too quiet up there. Time for me to leave. Time for you to die." He's going to pin me right through the heart, Janine realized. Pin me like a butterfly on display. Red-Eye spun the bayonet through the air, making it give off a deep, bullroarer thrum. "Now might be a good time to start crying. Final confessions? I'm a good listener." Blood dripped down her closed mouth. A vein in her temple pulsed with hatred. "Come ON now! You are going to die. Won't you cry a single tear, at least? Isn't your life worth one little tear?" He stepped close and drew a gentle claw from her eye to her chin, Egon's voice dripping with false sympathy. "Don't you have regrets? Won't you miss your men? No? You won't miss them? I don't blame you. The things they said about you!" He whispered in her ear, conspiratorially, being sure to send a breath of air down her neck. "The things they thought about you. I saw you in their minds. Your naked body! The imagery! I was disgusted, I really was."

If Janine could have ripped his eyes out with her knitting needles she would have.

"Your 'Big Brother' Peter knows about your little heart-shaped mole. I shudder to mention how he knows but I will, anyway. You were showering off a layer of ectoplasm in the 2nd floor firehouse bathroom, the one with the broken lock? And he wandered by and, well, since the door had come slightly open he stayed for a while. Quite a long while wondering about that mole. What its texture might be like on his tongue. Not very brotherly of him, is it?"

"Shut up."

"Tossing you onto that Four-Poster bed of his would be such fun. He's sure of it. Then there's Ray. Dr. Stantz. Goodness, this should really surprise you. He loves you. Loves you with all of his considerable soul. Oh, sure, he wants you, too. Ray's favorite fantasy is the one where his hands roam down your shoulders to your breasts as he leans in for a long kiss, a real kiss, a deep kiss, one that warms a person up as the nuns say. Not the disappointing peck on the lips you gave him last New Year's.”

"Be quiet."

"You wouldn't notice him if he were on fire, though. You break his heart every day. His enormous, loving heart."

"Be quiet!"

"Winston likes your legs. He’d really like them draped over his shoulders."

Janine pulled on the ropes, abrading her skin, "I SAID BE QUIET!!!"

"Since I love you so very much, I will be." To hear those sincere words in Egon's voice made Janine shiver with hate. Red-Eye put an ear to her chest and savored her heartbeat for a moment, then drew away and raised the bayonet again. "The longer I talk the longer you get to live but your wish is my command. Goodbye, Your Highness." He placed the rusty tip directly over her sternum. It was cold. Janine was rigidly waiting, determined not to make a sound, not a single peep or a flinch or a wince. She was going to die well. If nothing else in her life she was going to do THIS very, very well.

A sudden shock of pain swept through her skull and she found enough energy to groan. Her muscles began to spasm. The bayonet hit the floor with a clang and she opened her eyes. Red-Eye was...melting? Sudden dim hope fixed her attention on the demon. It was unable to hold its form. It became a blurry red column of flailing energy and inarticulate despair. Janine could feel it. She could feel Red-Eye losing cohesiveness. Janine grinned. "You go, guys! Get him! Gethimgethimgethimgethim!" Wheezing, she rejoiced.

The pain in her head stopped, her limbs stilled, and she let out a gasp of deep disappointment. Red-Eye writhed and formed again, staggering up. His legs were uneven and he stumbled. He practically flopped in confusion as he fought to regain his equilibrium. "Kill," he croaked. Not in Egon's voice but the shattered tones of Janine's own. "I'm going to kill them." Demented and unaware of a job undone he left Janine and fled the basement. "I'm going to kill them," reverberated through the dusty air and Janine's own mind.

Janine disagreed. She raised her head and shut her eyes, sending a silent Thank You in the direction of her guys. Then she smiled, somewhat ashamed. She should have had faith.

****************

"He's coming for us. Ready?" Ray asked, his eyes watering. “Peter, you okay?”

Peter nodded, pale as death. Egon’s great idea had taken ten years off his life, he was sure of it, but his foot hovering over the pedal that activated his ghost trap was steady. At the other end of the hall, Egon was crouched over the trigger of his own trap and Winston gripped his proton rifle beside him. Ray was scanning. This wouldn't work if the Seven was coherent enough to come at them from above or below. "C'mon, you shit," Peter snarled. "Follow the path of least resistance!"

Ray studied his PKE meter and raised his hand. "Two of him. Pincer movement. Coming at us through the hallways, hallelujah. And he’ll get to ours first, Peter." Peter nodded again, ready, readier than he had ever been in his life. "Five...four...three...two...NOW!!"

Peter stomped the pedal, just in time for Red-Eye to charge into the piercing white light of the trap. He fired, capturing the confused, weakened Seven and Ray joined him, their beams holding the creature in place as the trap, quickly, inexorably, sucked him in. The trap slammed shut and Peter and Ray hooted lin triumph. Winston and Egon ignored them. Both men were cursing. They almost harmonized, they were so angry.

"What happened?" Ray asked, dragging Peter's smoking trap by the cables towards them.

"Our half never even showed!" Winston explained. He threw his arms in the air. “Lord, give some strength!”

Peter’s joy crashed into deep disappointment. All that damn pain and they'd only caught half? Egon swiped Peter's meter and began taking furious readings. Grabbing instruments was a very bad habit of his but, deferring to the Meter Master, Peter said nothing. Too fast. It had all happened too fast.

Egon bared his teeth in a dreadful grin. "Sacrifice tactic. Idiot. It's lost half its substance. It's going up the stairs on foot. It must be incapable of teleportation, or splitting, now."

"Crippled. Let's get it. Let's show it some real noise!" Peter sprinted for the stairs. "HAIYAHHH!"

"YEEEOOWWWW!" Winston was beside him.

"AAAHHRRROOOOOO!" Ray howled, holding his proton rifle in the air like a battle sword. That was a great idea and all four men took up the howl like a pack of deranged werewolves. Heavy boots thundered up the stairs and the church positively echoed.

"AAAHHRRROOOOOOOO!"

"AARRRRRGGGHHHHH!"

"RRRAAAARRRRRRRRRR!"

"Yes. Growl. Snort. Snarl." Egon passed them on the steps and Peter almost wet himself laughing. The fun was back. Ray bolted after Egon and the two of them quickly, and unwisely, left Peter and Winston behind.

*********************

Red-Eye crashed into the belfry, reeling, terribly weakened. He should have left when he had the chance but noooo. He had to play. He had to make a point and leave a little present behind. That galled him more than anything. He hadn't even finished that. The woman was still alive. Now her men were howling like beasts for him and they were coming fast. Impossible. Those machines. Those damned wretched machines! He'd lost half of himself.

No matter. Red-Eye staggered over to one of several ornate openings to the outside, cringing from the bright sunlight that poured in from all directions in the huge, circular chamber. He would leap from the tall tower and fly into the crowd. They would panic and scatter, covering his trail. Those ‘Ghostbusters’ would be delayed as they sought a safer route down. By the time they reached the ground he would be long gone. But Red-Eye swore he'd be back. They had won the first battle but the demon would win the war. His strength would return after many feedings, his mind would clear and then...then...he would stalk them and kill them...one...at...a...time. Slowly. Lovingly.

He jumped, shrieking, stretching his wings.

The people below had just enough time to throw their arms up and cower.

An entwined beam of scarlet and blue energy caught him and snapped him to a halt so sharp it would have broken every bone in his body had he any. Red-Eye roared, he fought, claws, teeth and tail whipping at the air frantically as Egon shortened his proton stream and began to drag him back inside. Red-Eye grew a tentacle and wrapped it around a thin, metal spire, hanging on for all he was worth. A second beam joined Egon's and the spire broke. Ray was on the scene, too. Red Eye’s claws left scrapes on the stone as they pulled him back inside.

"YOU WILL DIE! YOU WILL DIE!" Whipping his tendril around like a giant, medieval flail, Red Eye sent the sharp barb hurtling towards Egon.

"DOWN!" Ray shouted.

Egon stopped firing and dove out of the way, almost breaking his wrist on the hard floor. He rolled and rolled again as Red-Eye brought the wrecked metal spire crashing down again and again, his mobility increasing with just one beam around him. "HANG ON, RAY!" Egon cried. Ray hung on like a rabid dog. The Seven turned on him next, throwing the twisted clump of steel with enough force to impale. Ray turned and let his reinforced proton pack take the blow. The impact threw him against the granite wall and he bounced off, hurting and winded.

"RAY!" Winston and Peter had arrived and they rushed the fallen man as Egon regained his feet.

Red-Eye leapt from the belfry again, frantically pumping wings that were more ornamentation than substance in his desperate bid to reach the ground fast. All he had to do was reach the ground! Reach the ground! REACH THE GROUND!!

*************

No. Egon snared him a second time in mid-air. Another beautiful shot. Winston joined him, then Peter and Ray. They dragged him inexorably, mercilessly back inside. Trapped like a bloated, blood-sucking insect in their vital web of energy, Red-Eye struggled uselessly. The men could feel the Seven's desperation beating on their skin. They were almost overcome with justified fascination and joy as they watched Red-Eye frantically writhe. Caught, caught, caught, yes, yes, yes.

"YOU CAN'T!! YOU CAN'T!! YOU HAVE NO MAGIC TO HOLD ME!!"

"Yeah, we still got you, my pretty!" Winston crowed. "You and your little dog, too!" Most would have been content to let the thing fry in four proton streams all day but Winston unhooked a trap from his belt and threw it out. Stomping on the pedal, he opened the trap wide, sending an intolerable white light throughout the belfry. The people below covered their eyes from the glaring display of energy, but this light was clean. Clean and pure and strong and it sucked what was left of the Class Seven in.

"BUT YOU CAN'T!! YOU CAN'T!!" Red-Eye screamed. Janine's voice. Janine's scream.

"Shut the bastard up, Winston!" Ray was almost dancing. Winston took his foot off the pedal and the trap closed over the demon.

"MMAACHINES!" echoed in the air and then silence.

The ‘Trap Full’ light began to blink in a self-satisfied sort of way. Egon checked Peter’s PKE meter, attuned specifically for any and all demonic signals. Nothing. "No further trace of the Seven. We got all of it." They glared down at the ghost trap in deep satisfaction.

Then “YEEEEHAAAAA!” Peter crowed. They broke into a victory dance, “Boom Shakka Lakka Lakka BOOM!! Shakka Lakka Lakka BOOM!!”

So much for Red Eye’s War.

********************

Egon, ever dignified, stopped first. Their pain caused the rest to quickly do the same. Peter rubbed his eyes and turned off his Scrambler with a groan of relief. What a goddamn splitting headache. At least he didn't have to watch his thoughts anymore. At least the screaming was ended. Goddamn Feeders. "How long d’you think these psi-migraines are going to last, Egon?"

"Around three days for us," Egon indicated himself, Winston and Ray "But, ah, It might be a little longer for you. Possibly five days."

Peter groaned, "Oh, the joy of being 'gifted.'"

"I am sorry, Peter." The tall man sagged, weary.

Peter slapped an affectionate hand on the back of Egon's neck. "I'm not sorry. Anything to make some quiet around here."

"Speaking of quiet," Winston was looking out, "The folks out there are still nervous." A mass of upturned eyes faced the tower, waiting fearfully for any sign of life.

Peter adjusted his thrower to its lowest setting. "This is gonna kill my head but I can't pass this up." He aimed at the largest, shiniest bell, this church’s answer to Big Marie, and fired.

GONG!

The vibrations shook through their bodies. Hoping not to go deaf, the others followed Peter's example. With quick bursts of lightning they sent a joyous ringing into the air and the crowd went absolutely nuts. The bells! Victory bells! Breaking through the police barricade, they rushed the church and streamed inside.

"Ray! Quick! Where's the boiling oil?!" Peter exclaimed as he left off and looked down at the wild throng.

"Peter!"

Peter made a leap and clamped his arms around his long-suffering friend. "SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY!" Ray laughed, flying off balance. Both men crashed to the ground. Winston scraped them up, slowly, moving like a careful sea-diver. Peter dusted himself off and grabbed the still-smoking trap. "Let's go meet 'em." He sent one last, stronger, blast at Big Marie and the tones almost knocked him off his feet again. He was laughing. His eyes were red and watering from the pain in his cranium and the nightmare of the last hour but he was laughing. They had won. Of course they had. Best of all, no secrets were known and no one was hurt. (Beyond a week-long headache.) Why can't all busts go so well?

He raised the trap and let out a new hunting cry, “MMMORPHIIIIINE!!!

***********************

Philip Frank nearly knocked over three parishioners to get to them first. Peter swung his smoking trap in blessed circles as if it was a golden incense burner and the congregation adored him. Winston looked at them in amused disgust. Why don't you just kiss his feet while you're at it? Sheesh, people. Ray held the other trap discreetly by his side. There were a few flash bulbs going off but, for the most part, the press had already turned away. No blood. No carnage from anywhere. Not even a hangnail. Just another routine bust. At least they'd gotten some cool pictures from the light show in the belfry.

Frank shook their hands with enthusiasm. "Wonderful! Wonderful! Thank you so much!"

"Yes. Thank you!" The skinny woman was there and she hugged Ray. He happily squeezed her, too. Winston was joyfully pounded. Even Egon was politely patted on the arms and shoulders by a few souls brave enough to poke at his cool exterior. Receiving lines at a wedding saw less action.

"Dudes, thank you!"

"Ya'll were great!"

"Those lights! What were those lights?"

"Thank you!"

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Thanks so much!

"Where's Janine?" Frank asked, looking over Peter's shoulders.

Peter shook his head. "Janine's not here. You must have heard the Class Seven."

"Uh, no. We can't hear too much through these thick walls. Isn't she with you?"

"No. No, she's not. Janine’s back at the firehouse," Peter quietly insisted, looking at him strangely. Egon, Winston and Ray became suddenly, ominously, quiet.

"I swear she's here. I...I let her in myself."

Silence.

Black silence.

"You did what?" Peter calmly asked. The Ghostbusters were staring at Frank and he began to sweat. His congregation tensed. Some began to back, very, very slowly, and discreetly, away." I let her in myself. She said you were having trouble and called her for backup." Frank looked at Ray for reassurance. Ray ignored the clergyman and scraped his nails through his scalp. His eyes were clamped shut.

"No. No, she's not here. She's safe."

Face completely blanched of color, Egon set the PKE meter for Janine's biorhythms.

Winston was begging. "Man, don't tell us. Please don't tell us. Please don't tell us."

"She's here," Egon said. "She's alive." Egon turned and ran, shoving people out of his way. "She's in the basement!"

The basement. The sounds from the basement. Those horrible, horrible sounds.

Ray crumpled to his knees so fast Frank was left staring stupidly at the space he had been. Winston shot after Egon. And Peter...Frank looked around at the leader.

Peter, trap cables coiled around his fist, let fly. Frank's head rocked violently back and he was out before he even hit the floor. People screamed and two cops blocked Peter from reaching the downed clergyman. The press turned back."Call an ambulance!!" Peter snarled at the police officers and jerked away from them.

He hauled Ray to his feet."Oh, Peter, no. Please, no. She's not down there."

"Let's go, Ray." The two set off for the stairs.

The lights had been broken and the dark was total.

Ray felt like dying.

Egon and Winston were standing just inside the door. Egon was scanning the cavernous space. "She's by the farthest wall. Janine?" Egon decided he didn't need light and lurched in her direction. "JANINE?!" Only his echo answered.

"JANINE!" Winston barked, as if she were a child that was hiding from him. "Answer me NOW!" He followed Egon.

Peter and Ray followed in their wake, breathing harshly. There was a crash as Egon ran into something. Peter said, "We're all swimming in the dark. Where's a flashlight, Ray?"

"Right here." Ray unclipped a utility light from his belt and flicked it on. The beam was weak. Ray cursed himself. What the hell kind of person would equip the team with cutting-edge defensive technology but forget to pack a working flashlight? Ray Stantz was that person. Stupid, stupid idiot. He spied something on the floor. "Peter!"

"What?" Peter answered. Ray picked up what Peter had dismissed as a rag. It was the remnants of Janine's torn coverall. Ray clutched it to his chest. Egon returned to the two men and jerked it away. Ray moved to snatch it back but Peter grabbed him by the arm, hard enough to leave a handprint bruise. "Don't, Ray. We gotta find her. Come on."

They picked their way towards the back wall. Winston found her proton pack and powered it down. He set it aside.

Ray could dimly hear people milling around the doorway. Stay out, damn you, he thought savagely. Peter told you to keep everybody out and look what you did.

"Where is she?!" Peter demanded.

Egon had grabbed the flashlight and was searching the floor. He released her coverall to better work the light and the meter. Ray picked it up again. "She's here. The meter says we're right on top of her."

Winston was looking under and behind crates. Peter joined him and together they pitched heavy, bulky furniture and boxes out of the way with desperate strength. "Janine. Janine, please answer me," Ray pleaded. His fault. This was his fault. If only he hadn't been thinking of her. If only he had checked the meter. There were smears of blood on the floor. He was stepping in it. They were all stepping in it. Leaving footprints. “There’s blood here,” he whispered.

"I see it.” Peter answered, then began to bellow. “MELNITZ!! DAMN IT, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"JANINE!" Winston shouted again.

"Yeah?" came a weak voice far above their heads. Egon turned the weak flashlight beam up towards the ceiling. Ray opened his mouth in a silent scream. He shook his head. No. No. No.

Peter's vision swam with grey spots until the terrible sight had blacked out completely. Winston steadied him. Egon dropped his instruments. The flashlight cast fantastic and monstrous shadows as it rolled away, leaving Janine hidden in darkness again.

She was just above their heads, in the darkest corner of the basement, nailed to a cross of logs. Ropes and extension cords lashed her tightly to the wood. She was naked save for a brief
strip of fabric slung low around her hips. What looked like large knitting needles pinned her hands and feet. A crown of barbwire was on her head. She was coated in a thin layer of blood with her breasts pale islands in the dark streams of red. Above her, written in crimson script was "Regina Idolarum.' Those that could numbly translated it as The Queen of the Ghosts.

"Hi, guys," she whispered.

Four glittering drops fell from her pierced hands before Peter lost control. "Wake up and help me!" he barked. Dragging a heavy oak table beneath her, he, Winston and Egon leapt on top of it. Ray stayed on the floor, dazed and motionless. Peter stretched up and rested an unbelieving hand on her stomach. "Janine? She’s cold. Oh, god." Egon, the tallest man, was just able to reach her shoulder. Winston tapped her knee. She seemed to revel in the gentle touches. Her eyes gleamed at them from her gruesome mask and she smiled. There was blood on her teeth, too.

Janine looked across at Ray huddled on the floor and raised what was left of her voice, "Hey, Peter?"

"Yeah?" he whispered.

"Ask me, 'How's it hanging?'"

"No!"

"Then get me outta here!" She made an odd hreh hreh hreh sound and Peter realized she was laughing as best she could. Ray shot off the floor, galvanized into action. "Here!" He jumped on the table and it creaked under their combined weight. Ray searched his copious pockets. "Here's a pocketknife. Cut the ropes!" He spoke as if he were going to hand the knife over to someone else, but he began to hack at the ropes tying her legs himself.

There was a thrilled "Wow!" followed by a flash of light.

A reporter with a camera had arrived. He adjusted his angle and took another picture. Had the film survived what followed next, the last picture on the roll would have shown Peter Venkman's furious face.

Jumping from the table with more dexterity than a guy with a fifty-pound weight on his back should manage, Peter yanked the camera out of the idiot's grasp. He threw it to the floor and pulled his thrower. With a burst of light and heat the camera was reduced to atoms. "That was mine! You can't do that!" the photographer yelped.

Winston joined Peter on the ground and flicked his own thrower on with his thumb. It was the world's most intimidating electronic connection. The reporter screamed and ducked as Peter upped the power level and sent a blazing bolt into the air. The light revealed other people beginning to make the long trek across the basement, some with cameras, most without. They saw the brilliant proton stream and stopped dead. Peter could taste blood in his mouth. "Oh, looky Winston. Pre-Fours. Let's clean 'em out!"

Winston shouted "EVERYBODY OUT!" and both men charged. "OUT!" Another burst of protons hit the ceiling. "GET OUT!!" The two men moved by the light of the throwers and they ran the long length of the catacombs, rounding people up and throwing them out. Frightened, shocked, and confused, the reporters - and some few members of the congregation - abandoned their curiosity, turned and ran for their lives for the second time that day. All but one.The tall, skinny woman was there and she wasn't moving.

She watched, wringing her long fingers, as Peter took Winston’s PKE meter and scanned for further intruders. She was the only one left. Winston planted himself in the basement door. He was bristling with agonized fury and shouting at the reporters on the main floor who happily took pictures of him instead. Ghostbusters Go Berserk! This was more like it!

An old man broke through the ring of cameras and firmly approached Winston. Ignoring the high-strung tenseness of the angry man, he leaned in and said something inaudible. Winston nodded and called back over his shoulder. "Pete! The paramedics are on the way!"

"Good! Keep everybody else out!" Peter shouted back.

The old man moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder beside Winston and scowled at the press. Peter dimly heard Winston quietly explaining the situation to him as if he were giving a report to a commanding officer. "No, sir, we didn't call her. It was a trick. No, sir, she's alive but hurt bad. I hope so, too, thank you."

Peter walked up to Skinny and stood just a little too close out of fear and pain. Nose to nose. "I see you want to be neutronized. Can do, y'know."

She stood her ground, "I'm an emergency room nurse!"

"You're a nurse?" He was sweating and felt almost demented.

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, hard as a rock with tension, and carefully put a little distance between herself and the enraged man. "I'm a nurse. I'm going to go back there and see what's wrong. I'll be able to help."

"You didn't see what was wrong?" Peter asked. He glanced at the door. Winston and the old man had been joined by what looked like an entire contingent of WWII veterans and they were defiantly blocking the door. Good.

"No. I didn't see." A glow appeared at the far wall. Aisles of flea market clutter, darkness and distance hid whatever was there. “I’m going to go see now.” She turned her back on Peter and began to walk steadily towards the dark end of the cavern. Was she really a nurse? Could he afford the time to question her? No, he couldn’t. Peter followed her.

*******************

Ray, Egon and Janine watched the light show on the far side of the cavern as Peter and Winston drove the intruders out. Bizarrely, Janine seemed to be in high good humor. The flashlight died and darkness returned. Egon heard the ropes creak as she sagged. "Janine! Wake up!"

"I'm awake. But I'm so pooped. So…just…pooped."

Ray searched his pockets again and found his keys. He had a mini-mag light attached to his key chain and he switched it on. Then he leapt to the floor, shrugged off his pack, and seized a sturdy chair. He threw it on top of the table and Egon stood on it, bringing himself eye-level with Janine, at last. Ray rummaged around some more and found a set of home-crafted lavender candles. He lit them. Dripping wax onto boxes and furniture and the floor, he stood the candles up and their gentle light soon surrounded them.

Egon took her face in his hands and she weakly looked into his eyes. His hands trailed down and he found the almost hidden gash just above her ribs. He touched it, his fingers slipping into the deep slash. He jerked back, unbelieving. Unbelieving. This was not real. This cannot be real. He had not allowed this to happen. He had not. He had.

He was unable to speak. She spoke for him. "Cry Wolf. It was a Cry Wolf thing. That's why you didn't come. I know. I know what he did."

"We caught him. All of him." Egon breathed.

"I know. I felt it."

Egon quickly looked at her wrist and was relieved to note the Scrambler was still there. At least she had been spared being without it. He turned it off and Janine weakly smiled her thanks. "Janine, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He stroked her face again, fingers catching on the sticky surface of her skin.

"You still saved me. He was going to kill me but you stopped him just in time when you did... whatever it was you did."

Egon's hands moved up to Janine's barbwire crown. It was not too deeply embedded and he gently pulled it off. He threw it down and it bounced, leaving a ring of blood on the floor. Ray looked at it and groaned in horror. Janine looked down at him. "I'm okay, Ray. Just get me down. Just get me down and I'll be fine."

"Egon, take this." Ray held out Janine’s coverall. Egon looked at it, then at Ray, uncomprehending. Ray pointed at his own chest. Oh. Egon took the torn cloth and shook it out to find the largest intact piece. He could not wrap it around her so he tucked the stained shreds into a rope and let it drape down, covering her nudity.

"Thanks.” She slumped again, her head lolling forward.

"Janine?! Ray, she’s unconscious."

"Leave her alone, Egon. This is going to hurt and she doesn't need to be awake for it." Ray jumped onto the table again and his fingers curled around the slick metal needle pinning her feet. "Help me with this. It's been driven into the wood pretty deep." Egon stepped down and grabbed the top of the needle. "No, hold her feet in place," Ray corrected. "You brace her feet and I'll pull this out."

"All right." Egon's large hands pressed down on Janine's petite feet, holding them firmly still. Blood welled from the base of the thin spike and he shook with horror and loathing.

Ray wrapped a handkerchief around the needle for traction and gripped it firmly. "Okay, on three. Ready?"

"Yes." Both men were pale in the candlelight.

"One...two..."

"STOP!" Peter had returned with the tall woman and she looked up at them, at Janine, at the nightmarish parody of a shrine, and her face was twisting into a carnival mask of disgust and horror. "STOP!" She shouted again, "Don't do that!"

"We've got to get her down!" Egon shouted back.

"Let the people who know what they're doing get her down! Do you want to sever a tendon? Get away!" She clumsily crawled on the table, swatting at them. “I’m an emergency room nurse. Let me look.” Egon and Ray, abashed, backed off.

Egon watched as she took a good, close look at the situation. Her face stilled with concentration. She reached up and checked Janine’s carotid pulse. "It’s steady. Hi, Janine! Everything's going to be okay." She assured her patient mechanically as she then examined Janine's feet and stood on the chair to check her hands. "The ambulance is on its way." She pushed back red hair spiky with dried blood and looked at the small lacerations there. She pulled aside the coverall to make sure she didn't miss anything and noticed the deep cut. "Everything is going to be just fine. Your friends are here."

Janine raised her head. "It was a Cry Wolf thing. They didn't know it was me!" She drooped again. Egon realized with a suffocating shame that Janine was defending her friends as if they were in danger of being arrested.

Skinny patted her on the cheek and spoke more gentle reassurances. Finally she squatted down and faced Peter. "Shocky. Deep bruises, small lacerations in the hairline, larger laceration above the ribs and some blood loss. There's been plenty of blood flow to her digits so she won't lose any fingers or toes. We won’t know what damage has been done to the bones and tendons in her hands and feet until we get her x-rayed, though. All in all it looks worse than it actually is."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not kidding. There are people in Brazil, grandmothers even, who do this to themselves every year at Easter. Some sort of tradition. Every year in Brazil. Grandmothers." Skinny swung her legs over and got off the table. "Here come the paramedics," she announced, looking over their shoulders. "Remember, physically she's pretty much all right. I don't know about the mental trauma, though."

"Let me take care of that." There was a commotion and Peter looked up. Winston had left the veterans in charge of the door and was himself urging the horrified ambulance crew forward. The man looked green. Egon stared at the blood on his own hands. This...this...this...was hell. He was in hell. He had failed. Ray was staring at Janine as if she would disappear if he looked away and Peter was swaying on his feet, both hands on his head. As he had predicted in Ecto, he was hurt beyond hurting.

"Excuse me, please," Skinny said and calmly walked over to a large urn. A wooden Jesus head was in there, staring up at her with melodramatically suffering eyes. She carefully took it out and placed it to one side. Then she knelt and heaved, miserably vomiting her breakfast.

****************************

When Janine awoke, all the sedation, tests and bandaging were behind her. Barely conscious of her clean, antiseptic environment she became agitated. It hurt to lie still and she shifted back and forth on the hospital bed. Confused, she decided she had been involved in a traffic accident. Ray was there. She asked him if that was what had happened and he said yes.

Were the guys hurt? No.
Was anybody else hurt? No.
Was she hurt bad? No.
Whose fault was it? All ours.
Oh, good. They had better insurance.

A lyric of an old song ‘Sally Go ‘Round the Roses’ went circling ‘round and ‘round in her head. Which was doubly torturous because she didn't know the full song and was reduced to mentally repeating the same line over and over again.

Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.

Why did Sally do that? Oh, yeah, because the worst thing in the whole wide world was to lose your boy to another girl. Made sense. A nurse came in with another shot and Janine went under again.

**********************

"Wow. She's out of it." Ray stroked the bridge of her nose, just about the only area of her face that wasn't covered by a bandage or a bruise. "A car wreck."

"She's still shocky," Peter said. "Remember my last concussion? I was hit by a Class Two By Four but I thought I had an oxygen tank give out on me while I was scuba diving. Looking for mermaids."

"Don't touch her, Ray, you'll disturb her." Janine's mother, Leona, leaned possessively over her daughter and fussed with the blankets for the twelfth time since she had stalked into the room. Ray pulled away and Winston, squeezed against a far wall, keeping Egon company in No Man’s Land, was offended for his sake. Ray subtly signed 'Be Right Back' and struggled out into the hall against the tide of Janine's family. Winston went back to gloomily gazing at Janine. The nurses hadn't done a very good job of sponging her clean. There was still dried blood everywhere.

Janine's father, Mel, was next to his wife, looking down at his daughter with helpless eyes. Next to him was Janine's sister Monica and her husband and their four children. Next to them was Monica's twin, Veronica, her husband, and their two children. Both sets of paternal and maternal grandparents were present and various aunts, uncles, cousins and friends were trooping in and out. One of the aunts, Enid, even smuggled in a DOG, a damn Yorkshire Terrier, in her enormous purse. With Leona's verification of their identities, the stupid hospital had let them all in as Janine was not in critical condition.

Winston crossed his arms and sighed with frustration. Peter reached them, leaned in and whispered, "Now you know how WE feel when we manage to hospitalize you. All the Zeddemores in Christendom giving us the Evil Eye."

"Oh, come on."

"At least Janine doesn't have brothers bigger than we are wanting to kick our collective asses. Why can't you and Janine be as deprived as the rest of us? It'd make visitation a lot easier." Peter smiled bleakly.

Winston suddenly understood, fully, why relations between his family and the Ghostbusters were uneasy at best, especially from the Ghostbusters' standpoint. He himself wanted nothing more than to send a proton blast into the ceiling and clear out this room as easily as he and Peter had cleared out the basement of the church. He resented Janine's family's prior claim on her. The way they cut their eyes over at his team as if they were dangerous and unstable. As if the four of them had done this. As if they had no right to be present. Who the hell did those people think they were? Pushed to the side at this moment of crisis, Winston was resentful and jealous.

He appreciated Peter's sad attempt at levity, though. Let's all have a nice round of unreality before the time comes to face the truth. Winston shielded his eyes from the bright overhead lights and looked at the side of Peter's face. The man's skin was a stark white and his eyes were so red he looked as if he were going to cry tears of blood. Winston sighed again. Fearless Leader had said that the worst thing to happen to a human being was to hear someone they loved being hurt. That wasn't true. The worst thing was hearing someone you loved being hurt and not doing a damn thing about it. No. Wait. They HAD done something. They'd told her to shut up.Winston closed his mind against that memory.

*************************

Ray came back to the room and began to push his way towards them. God, it was like trying to move in a crowded elevator. Or like the stateroom scene from 'A Night At The Opera.' Open the door and watch the Marx Brothers and twenty boat passengers avalanche out into the hall.

The dog yipped at him in passing, and wagged its tail. He gave it a quick pet. His friends were glad to see him, too. He lowered his voice when he reached them, "I just spoke to the doctor and he's going to do something about this horde. I mean there really are too many people in here. I also asked him for something for our heads." He fought back a wave of nausea as his Scrambler-induced migraine became subtly worse.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" A very large Med-Tech stood in the doorway. "We have exceeded maximum occupancy! Very immediate family can stay but all the rest - especially that dog - have to leave now." There was some disagreement over which family members were more immediate than others but the room was soon whittled down to Janine's parents, her two sisters, and the Ghostbusters. "It's still a little crowded in here," the man in the door hinted pointedly.

The Melnitzes stared at the four Eliminators expectantly. They stared back with bloodshot eyes. Both groups unconsciously mimicked each other's defiant body posture, arms crossed, backs straight, feet firmly on the floor. Leona and her daughters were glaring. Mel simply looked sad.

The med-tech decided on the diplomatic approach. "Ooookayyyy, Ghostbusters? The doctors need to look at all of you. You won't do Miss Melnitz any good if you crash to the floor."

Egon snapped to life. "We're not leaving," he said.

"I'm not asking you to leave. We want to examine his face," He pointed at Ray's nasty bruises that he had won when he hit the granite wall. "His arm," Egon was obviously favoring his thrower hand, "And all of your heads. Er, your headaches.”

“I'm not saying a word. It's too easy,” Peter admitted.

The big man smiled. “It should take about an hour or so, and then you can come back. Janine's not going anywhere tonight. Or maybe the next couple of nights." He was kindly sympathetic but determined.

Peter sagged. He looked defeated at last. "Logic. I hate it. Let's go." Setting a good example, Peter headed for the door. Ray was just behind him and he ignored Leona's triumphant expression as he followed Peter and the MT down the hall. The others joined them. They were fussed over and patched up. The doctors, left dazed by Egon's detailed explanation of the psionic Scramblers and the Ghostbusters' adverse reaction to the increased level of energy, wound up just prescribing rest and pain meds and hoped for the best. Egon’s arm was x-rayed and, as it was just badly bruised, left alone. He and Ray were given ice packs. The Ghostbusters rejoined Janine’s resentful family and soon a tiny nurse brought them four tiny pills in four tiny paper cups. Their headache problem was solved.

Unfortunately, the pills solved their pesky consciousness problem as well.

The Melnitzes were essentially left alone at last as the four men slumped in chairs or against the walls, out for the count, the setting sun of a very long day reflecting off their white bandages. Leona glared at them. They had her daughter's blood on them. She cursed them. She shared many vile opinions concerning them and their ancestors with her husband and daughters. She studied their faces, their misery so obvious even in sleep.

Then she covered them with blankets.

*******************

Janine opened her eyes at midnight. Peter came awake at the same time. He watched her as her eyes curiously traveled over her sleeping friends and family. She inspected her hands, staring at the bandages, the IV tubes and the blood stains. Her fingernails were wrecked and she clumsily picked at them, grimacing at the pain.

And then she remembered.

Peter left his chair immediately and stood beside her bed, Leona’s blanket still around his shoulders. Janine looked up at him and her eyes were haunted and terrified. She covered her mouth with her bandaged hand. “Oh, Peter,” she whispered and shuddered with horror. “Peter!”

“I know,” Peter answered almost imperceptably. “I know.” Careful of her IV tubes he threw his blanket over her and tucked it tightly around her body, securely binding her in the soft folds. Then he lowered the rail on her bed and gathered her as closely to his chest as he could. Janine clutched at him, desperate for warmth, for the reality of another human being, and shuddered again.

She did not cry.

They did not speak.

He held her for a long time.

********************

The following morning Janine was given a bath stool and she gratefully sat on it underneath a stream of wonderfully hot water. Her hair was covered with a shower cap and she wore waterproof gloves and booties on her hands and feet. She would take her shower, washing off the remnants of the horribly itchy blood, dress in a soft hospital gown and a hospital robe and be wheeled out the hospital door through the gauntlet of the New York press to her parents' home in the suburbs. She would spend a week there and go back to work the following Monday.

But first...Damp sponging would not get her hair clean so, against doctor's orders, she pulled her shower cap off and gently washed her hair with her fingertips. Tangled snarls, like dead spiders, slid down her skin and into the drain. Not wanting to damage her delicate scabs any further, she rinsed her cap out and put it back on. Washing her body, she watched the water turn a rusty red before it cleared again. She was clean. Janine relaxed under the gentle spray and felt the throbbing ache throughout her body and mind with a weary disconnection. Everything was OK now. No damage to the tendons. She was getting out of the hospital early. She'd heal. She'd be fine. The guys were fine, her family was fine. Everything was fine.

A sob violently shook her and she brought a washcloth to her mouth to muzzle it before anyone could hear. Another uncontrollable sob and then another wrenched her entire body. She could hear a clinical voice in her head, sounding much like Peter, say, "Now, this is what is commonly known as a Delayed Reaction." She rocked and cried. Rocked and cried. Oh, god. Regina. Won't you cry a little tear, Regina Idolarum? Oh, god.

Half-smothered by the washcloth, she wept with all she had. It actually felt good.

She was soon exhausted. She coughed and stopped, breathing deeply. The hot water rained down and she relaxed under it until she felt as limp and pounded as the rag she was holding. But she was free and in control now. Everything truly was fine and she gratefully accepted that fact with every atom in her sore body. Completely cleansed now, she carefully stepped out of the shower.

She dried off slowly, cursing the limited use of her hands. She found a courtesy bag of toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, comb, skin cream and a tiny bottle of talcum powder sitting on a shelf. Brushing her teeth felt luxurious. She sprinkled the talcum powder liberally all over her body and breathed in its rich scent before dressing in her pastel blue hospital gear. Janine gently combed her wet hair. There.

Much, much better.

Human again, at last, she stepped out of the bathroom and gladly rejoined her parents waiting to take her home. "Oh!" Leona exclaimed. "You look so good!"

"Wow, there you go!" Mel beamed at her.

"Ready to come back to work today instead of next Monday?" came a ragged voice from the floor.

Janine looked down at the train wreck that had once been Peter Venkman and shook her head. "I don't have the strength. And neither do you. Everybody get up before I stomp you!" Janine aimed a slow play kick in their general direction.

Ray, clearly overjoyed by her transformation, jumped to his feet. And immediately sagged. "Oh, hell. 'Scuse me." He ran past her into the bathroom and gave in to his nausea. Peter, Egon and Winston, taking a tip from Ray's reaction, got to their feet very slowly. It had been a long, drugged night. They inspected Janine with piercing, relieved eyes.

"Dad? Could you give the guys a ride home?"

Winston smiled. "My brothers are here. They're pulling Ecto around now and Big Mama Spengler is waiting for us at the firehouse." Janine nodded in relief and approval. Good. They were being taken care of.

"Please don't call my mother 'Big Mama,'" Egon stepped up and gently hugged Janine.They were both a mass of bruises and Egon was dirty but she didn't care. She breathed him in. Life. She was alive. And Janine felt safe. Safe enough to almost fall asleep standing, there in his arms. She could hear his heart beating. She pulled away with great reluctance.

Winston nodded. "No Big Mama. Okay. Can I call her Snugglebunny?" Winston stepped in for his hug.

"Hey! That's what I call her!" Peter pulled Janine away from Winston and gave her a squeeze. She returned it with enthusiasm. She wanted to give them all a healthy pat or a rub on the back but her hands hurt too much.

Ray stepped out of the bathroom, embarrassed and smelling of mouthwash. He still stepped up with enthusiasm and they hugged. He wearily dropped his head to her shoulder for a moment. Then he broke away and pulled up a wheelchair so she could get off her feet and he could recover his composure. She sat with a sigh of relief, reached behind her and gratefully tapped his hand with her fingertips. She wanted to kiss it.

Peter leaned over her. "We told Winston's brothers to make a lot of noise as they drove Ecto up to the front door. With any luck, we'll draw most of the press and you and your folks can sneak out the back without too many problems."

"Oh, thanks Peter. I was dreading that." She realized, too late, that she should have made a crack about Peter being a glory hog instead of expressing sincere gratitude. Oh well. She was tired. It would be a while before things got back to normal.

"Everybody ready to go?" Leona was almost successful in keeping the pushiness out of her voice. Winston was clearly fed up and he snorted with disgust. Leona ignored him.

"See you on Monday, Janine. See if you can't bring us some donuts." Peter kissed her and straightened up. Another round of hugs followed, designed exclusively to annoy Janine's mother even further. Winston almost crawled up into the wheelchair. Leona bristled like a cat. Winston's sudden vindictive streak was surprising and very entertaining and Janine laughed. Even Mel was grinning behind his hand.

Then Peter pointed towards the door and they were gone, too soon. Peter reappeared in the doorway, waved, kicked up his leg like a burlesque dancer, and was gone again. Janine wanted to wail. Still, she smiled up at her family with genuine pleasure. Yes. A nice vacation in the suburbs. Plenty of sleep and plenty of food. Everything was fine.

Your 'Big Brother' Peter knows about your little valentine mole whispered an unctuous voice in her mind. Ray wants a real kiss. A deep kiss. Janine shook her head sharply, "Give me a break," she muttered. Leona pretended not to notice Janine talking to herself. After all she'd been through, her daughter could sit in a corner to blow spit bubbles and Leona wouldn't say a word. She wheeled her baby out the door with enthusiasm. The poor thing had obviously been crying. But she seemed more alive than she had been. Janine must quit that job. She really must.

************************

"PETER!! PETER!! I KNOW I HEARD YOU, I...AAAIIIIIIIHHHH!"

Peter was out of his four-poster bed and running for her before he woke up and realized where he was. The bunkroom at the firehouse. Janine was all right, he reminded himself. She was whole and safe at her parents' house. Of that, he was sure. Of course he had been sure the last time, too.

Pain clawed through his eyes and into his brain and he dizzily sat down at the foot of Egon's bed. Egon wasn't there. Peter checked the other bunks. Ray was gone, too. Winston was sitting up and looking at him with concern."Where are they, Zed?"

"I don't know. I just got here myself." Winston rubbed at his tired face and got up. He put on a robe and Peter pulled on sweat pants over his briefs. Barefoot and chilled, they headed for the stairs. "I had a nightmare, too, Pete."

"Yeah." There didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the firehouse. "Mine was the screaming. What was yours?" Peter started for the second floor kitchen. No that was wrong, they weren’t downstairs. Peter stopped, turned, and headed for the roof.

Winston followed unquestioningly. "I dreamed of my old Sunday School. I was seven years old. Old Lady Baxter sat in front of us and explained exactly what happened to the human body during, ah, crucifixion." Winston blew out a terrible sigh of stress. "Crushed feet. Crushed hands. Heat and thirst in the desert. Flies crawling over your face. Your body stretching and stretching until you die of suffocation."

"And just why was this important for a seven year old to know?"

"So we'd have a better appreciation of what Jesus suffered for our sakes."

Peter frowned in disgust. "Damn. How you turned out as well as you did is beyond me."

"I dreamed," Winston went on. "I dreamed Mrs. Baxter used Janine as an example since we didn't find her fast enough. And...and there were flies." Flies. Peter shuddered and dropped an arm around Winston's shoulders. "That's not the worst part," Winston mumbled. Peter stopped and turned to him. Winston kept his eyes on the stairs.

"C'mon, Zed," Peter prompted gently. "What's the worst part?"

Winston gritted the words out in a reluctant rush. "I actually do have a greater appreciation for what Jesus suffered after seeing what happened to Janine. All the art of the crucifixion that I've seen might as well be of Bugs Bunny, they're so far from the truth! God, poor Janine. I can't believe I'm thinking this way."

"You're only making a comparison, Zed" Peter gave Winston a gentle shake. "Don't feel guilty. If you have a better understanding of the things you believe in, then that's valuable. The truth is valuable. And, uh, invest in plastics."

Winston continued to stare at his feet. "I think," he finally said, so quietly that Peter had to lean in to hear him. "I think suffering makes people divine."

Peter thought about it. It was his own opinion that too much suffering wore people down until they became numb couch potatoes but he wouldn’t dream of mentioning that to Winston. "She always was divine.” Peter suddenly waggled his eyebrows. “'Specially in the blue miniskirt."

"No, the green miniskirt," Winston corrected and smiled, finally. Peter started him moving up the stairs again.

"We'll see how divine you think she is when she loses another phone message from your girlfriend," Peter teased. Winston, having gotten what was eating him out of his system, continued on in comfortable silence.

They opened the door to the roof and gratefully breathed in the cold air. Ray and Egon were leaning against the roof ledge taking in the sights and the sensations of the night in New York. As fair colored as they both were, they were still practically invisible, two more shadows in a world without light. It was almost as if they willed themselves dark.

Winston and Peter joined them and the four men gazed out on the moonless, still blackness. Peter cooled his hands on the cold ledge and placed his palms against his forehead. It felt good. Sometimes the pain was so intense he felt he was burning. The roof seemed to sway like a ship on the blackest ocean.

"Peter, I am truly so sorry," Egon began. Peter looked up and saw his friend watching him. "When I adjusted the Scrambler I never thought the intensity of the psi-pain would be so severe."

"Only results count, Egon," Peter quietly insisted. "I'll put up with any kind of hurt for a good outcome." He thought his comment would open up a necessary dialogue but Egon turned away, his face an impenetrable shadow.

Ray filled in the gap. "We were talking about the Scramblers before you two got here. Y'know, modify them so they won't block communication signals, increase their output and their effectiveness without causing neurological damage. Uh, streamlining our personal emergency supplies, flashlights, bandages, tools, so on and so forth without adding too much extra weight."

"Having you carry it all always worked before. I'm surprised you didn't pull out the kitchen sink on that last bust. You know, the church bust?" Peter said, beginning to sink his fangs into the necessary subject. He turned around and leaned his back and elbows against the low wall, stretching his legs. Winston crossed his arms on the bricks and laid his head down, resigned.

"Right!" Ray quickly stalled. "See, if we got separated that would be a problem. I was thinking something along the lines of Batman's utility belts for all of us."

"I don't think she's going to come back," Egon interrupted. Ray fell silent."Why not?" Peter simply asked. “She seemed fine with us at the hospital.”

The light of the stars and the streetlights reflected off Egon's eyeglasses, making his eyes unseen and unreadable. "She was on medication. I don't think...how can she trust us anymore? The interruption from the modified Scrambler was an accident. A fluke. She has to know that."

"She knows it saved her, still." Peter pinched a shard of brick between his thumb and forefinger until it began to hurt.

"All she knows is that we told her to shut up when she needed us most."

Winston said nothing.Peter breathed in the night air. "Well, we're all so certain of what Janine knows, let me tell you what I know. Judging by my headache you better believe that I know a lot." He faced them directly. "Janine came after us because she thought we were in trouble. She went in alone and, without the radio, she went in blind. Why? She thought we needed her. And, need I remind you, it wasn't the first time she's gone charging to our rescue."

"And look what happened. Trapped and tortured because of US!" Egon's voice was drained and bitter.

"No. This happened because she was tricked. We were tricked." Winston caught his eye and emphatically nodded his head. That was the truth. Peter felt a heavy weight slide off his shoulders as he, himself, finally realized it. It was no one's fault. They had all been tricked. He nodded back. "It was no one's fault and she knows it. Even before she got down from there she knew it. Cry Wolf, remember?"

Winston backed Peter up with the voice of complete conviction. "She loves us. She's suffered a lot for us over the years and she's not going to ditch us now." As if that ended the argument he stood up and headed for the door.

Ray stopped him. "Winston, she's never suffered anything like this."

Winston rounded on him. "You want the entire list?! I know exactly what she's been through. She's been possessed, kidnapped, dragged through the streets, pounded, shocked and blasted, just to name a few. After all that you think she's going to abandon us as if we were garbage, now? Man, where’s your faith?!" He turned to Egon. "And where’s your faith?"

Ray and Egon said nothing. Peter lurched away from the wall with a groan. "Would it help if you talked to Janine now? Instead of twisting yourselves in knots with your overactive imaginations?"

Egon scowled at him. "It is entirely too late at night to talk to Janine."

"Well, too bad, because in five...four...three...two...one..."

Nothing.

"Zero!" Still nothing. "HEYYY!!" Peter threw out his arms in exasperation. The phone rang. "She did that on purpose!"

They could hear the ringing echoing dimly up the stairs from the third story bunkroom and, after staring at Peter incredulously, Ray rushed down to answer it. Winston followed, in vindicated triumph.

Egon glared at Peter, furious. "Why couldn't you have done that in the church, damn you!" he shouted. He instantly regretted it. He even went so far as to slap his hand over his own mouth and Peter almost laughed at the sight. Almost.

Instead, he smiled tiredly and shoved Egon towards the stairs. "Good question, Spengs. I wish to hell I knew."

"No, Peter, I'm sorry. Please. I'm sorry."

"I know you are. You're the sorriest guy I've ever met." Peter reached up and gave Egon's hair a firm, painless yank. "I don't feel so well so I'm going to postpone your ass-kicking until next week. Meanwhile, it's okay, Egon. Come on." He pulled the tall man down the stairs.

****************

Ray answered the bunkroom phone on the fourth ring. "Janine?"

"How'd you know?"

"Peter told us."

"That jerk wrecks all my surprises. No donuts for him. Where were you guys?"

"The roof." Ray twisted the phone cord. His teammates surrounded him.

"Are they all here now?"

"Yeah, Janine, we're all here."

"Good. GO TO BED! IT'S TWO IN THE MORNING!" Her voice carried easily through the bunkroom and so did the dial tone as she slammed the phone down. Ray stared at the receiver and slowly began to smile.

"Well, she don't have to tell me twice." Peter's head was swimming and he fell back into bed with a sigh. Why couldn't he have known that it really was Janine in the church? Because he didn't. The Amazing Seer of Seers he was not. Oh, the joy of being 'gifted.' Good for nothing but parlor tricks and migraine pain. Egon lay down on his own bunk as rigid and cold as a steel beam. Winston threw his robe onto a chair and wearily crawled into his bed.

Ray was shaking with relieved chortles. Winston and Peter companionably joined him in laughter until he covered his face with a pillow and stopped. Peter tossed for a bit until he got up and took a pain pill. God, he hated Vicodin. It took away the pain but it made him nervous and paranoid. That afternoon, half-awake, he had become convinced that people were coming through the walls to get him. He had also been convinced the radiator was farting. Still, Vicodin stopped the physical agony. He was very glad he had a prescription. He dropped back into bed. Winston, Peter and Ray slowly became still and calm as mercifully forgetful sleep claimed them totally.

******************

Egon did not sleep. Eventually he gave up, got up and walked downstairs to the rec room's large bay windows. The firehouse was utterly dark. I can see you but you can't see me, he thought inanely as he watched a group of happy drunks reel down the sidewalk, bouncing off each other and laughing uproariously. Oh, shut up.

Shut up.

Egon pressed his forehead to the cool glass. Until the day he died he would be nothing but a savage disappointment to Janine Melnitz. He lunged for the phone and listened for the dial tone. He got "I told you to go to bed," instead.

"GAH!" He dropped it as if he had absent-mindedly placed a snake against his ear. He snatched it up again just as quickly. "Janine?! I was just going to call you."

"I'm glad you picked up before the ring woke anybody. Why were you going to call?"

"I... I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you were resting well."

"I'm resting fine. Well, I'm not resting now, of course." She suddenly laughed.

"What's so funny?" Egon smiled despite himself.

"I'm in my old room in my parents' house and I feel like a teenager sneaking a call to my boyfriend in the middle of the night. You ever do that, Egon?"

"Call my boyfriend in the middle of the night?"

"Hell you say! Call your girlfriend in the middle of the night."

"I believe I just did."

"So I AM your girlfriend?"

"Uh?"

Janine laughed again. “It would be so easy to take advantage of you right now. But I won’t. ‘Cause I’m sweet like that.” Egon laughed, then. Too late he tried to stifle it which only set Janine off again. It was glorious to hear. Pure unrestrained joy. Egon fell to the couch and almost bent himself double with relief and surprise. Janine was giggling with him long distance. She was all right. She was truly all right. She would come home.

Janine controlled herself. “I don’t want to wake my parents and get grounded or anything so, the reason I called, Egon?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say, I love you."

Egon breathed out a heavy sigh of released anxiety. "I love you, too, Janine."

Egon heard the effort not to cry in her voice as she answered. "Sure. Now, go to bed and get some sleep. Dream of me. I'll see you soon."

"Yes. Soon."

"Goodnight."

There was so much he wanted to say but he simply didn't have the words. Janine had to wait a while before he was able to respond. "Goodnight." She gently hung up. Egon followed suit.When he woke up on the couch the next morning his hand was still on the telephone.

**************************

It was Monday, at last. Peter, looking very much like a debauched rock star, wearily cleaned his darkest sunglasses on his shirttail and put them back on. He leaned back in Janine's desk chair and listened to the hospital florist's on-hold music (the Muzak version of Metallica's 'One' which was ten thousand different levels of wrong) while he watched Ray and Egon hang a bright white and pink banner over his head with Winston supervising them.

Winston looked like an orchestra conductor as he silently directed them to hang that end higher, then the other end lower until it was perfectly straight. Peter had suggested that 'She Is Risen!' was better than 'Welcome Back, Janine!' but he had been unanimously voted down. Philistines. Egon stepped down off his ladder while Ray vaulted onto the floor from his, landing with a resounding SLAM that echoed all through Peter's high-strung body. His sunglasses hid the pouting resentment in his eyes as he watched his pain-free teammates practically cavort, they were so damn healthy.

"Doctor Venkman?" A young voice interrupted the hold music. "Still there?"

"Yep, still here. What did you find?"

"It looks like the nicest flowers we have are the Ecuadorian roses, the orchids and the cherry branch blossoms."

"What are the roses like?" Ecuadorian roses? Is Ecuador in Brazil?

"They're gorgeous! Almost as big as cabbages and they smell wonderful. They're my favorites!"

"Well, that's all I need to know, then. I'll take three dozen of those, all different colors. You do have three dozen?"

"Oh, sure!" she assured him breathlessly.

Peter grinned."Okay, all different colors and send them to the Emergency Room just as soon as that Skinny thang gets into work."

"She's going to have a cow, we'll never hear the end of it! What do you want on the card?"

Peter ran a hand through his thick hair, uncharacteristically stuck. "Just say, uh, 'Thank you for your..." There was a deliveryman poking a cautious head into the front door. Winston spotted him and went over. "Just say 'Thank you for being so calm and perfect when the rest of us were freaking out.'"

"Freaking out. Okay."

"And I'm sorry I threatened to neutronize her. If she ever needs anything she knows who to call."

"Neutronize. Okay! Got it." Her voice was even and a little mystified. Winston came staggering back, gripping an enormous wicker basket full of food, fruit, jellies and Black-Eyed Susans. He carefully set it on the end of Janine's desk and began to root around for a card. The bulk of the fan gifts had been given over to a local nursing home, but they kept the cards in order to send out Thank You notes. Their mothers would have been proud.

Peter gave the florist his credit card information, thanked her flirtatiously and hung up. He joined in Winston's search and the card was located under a giant salami. It was a copy of the most maudlin religious poem in the world, 'Footprints' and it was signed by Philip Frank along with several notations from the Book of Job and a mismatched proverb. In Christ all things are possible for he is the resurrection and the life, forever and ever, amen.

"Throw it in the garbage!" Peter spat. Winston raised his hand for calm and shook his head. "Its Janine's. Let her decide what to do with it. And I'm surprised Frank's sending gifts instead of suing us."

"Frank knows he was at fault and he got off veeerrryyyyy easy." Peter cleaned his shades again; it was becoming a habit with him. Winston studied him with strong sympathy.

"Janine's late!" Both men jumped and turned to Egon. "She should have been here thirty minutes ago."

Ray turned a crystal vase of bright yellow daffodils to their best advantage on the file cabinet that separated Janine and Peter's work areas. "Janine can't drive yet so her mother's bringing her in. Probably she drives like a little old lady. They really should have called, though." Ray frowned, echoing Egon's expression.

"Stop right there. I'm on it." Peter, hoping to stave off another Ray/Egon paranoia attack, quickly picked up the phone and called Janine's parents' house on the off chance that the two hadn't left yet. The others watched him.

Two rings and then "Hello!" Leona snapped. Peter was instantly on his guard. He heard Janine in the background sounding frazzled.

"That's them, Ma!"

"How do you know who it is?!" Leona shot back at her.

"Oh, she knows!" Peter intoned with ominous, dark drama.

Leona gasped and fumbled her receiver. She recovered quickly. "Look, you," she snarled, "Janine isn't coming in today."

"Yes, I am!" Peter barely heard Janine's answer. He was fending off Egon's grab for the phone. The man had the long arms of an octopus and Peter was losing.

"You are not! You're just not well enough!" Leona hollered back.

"Guys! Babe in Distress!' Peter heard Janine's shout for help before suddenly releasing his grip. Egon staggered back and Ray caught him. The tall man put the receiver to his ear in time to hear Leona slam it down. Then he gave it back to Peter.

Egon, a master of understatement if there ever was one, simply said, "She hung up."

Peter rubbed his hands together and turned to face his team with a beatific smile. This would not be borne. "We are Men with a Mission. Let's go."

In the suburbs the fight continued. "Just one more day! Is that so much for your own mother to ask? For you to stay just one more day?"

Janine rolled her eyes. At least Leona had kept the peace during the week but when it came down to the Zero Hour she just couldn't control it anymore. "Ma! Can you be any more manipulative?"

"I'm not manipulative! I love you!"

"I love you, too! But oh," Janine put a melodramatic hand to her forehead and wilted across the living room couch. "How can my own mother be so cruel to her poor, injured daughter?!"

"Oh, stop it!"

"The pain! The paaaiinnnnn!"

Mel Melnitz turned the page of his Dickens novel and stayed well out of it. He rather enjoyed the battle of wills that went on in his house. Janine really should visit more often when she was healthy and could work up a really impressive volume. She made things lively!

"You know it’s not safe working for them! They’ll get you killed someday!" Janine pointed a well-manicured hand at the front door. It had been a challenge for Leona to lovingly fix the damage done to Janine's fingernails and the two women had genuinely savored every moment they had spent together. Janine had needed the comfort and unconditional support that only a good mother could provide but it was time to go back to her life and her job that meant so very much to her. Mel understood. Too bad his wife didn’t.

"Them? Ma, they are coming to get me and it’s not gonna be pretty!" Mel perked up. Did the camera have film in it? He snuck away to check. The way that Ray kid drove 'They' would be here any sec...

"AVON CALLING!" a bullhorn announced.

Janine and Leona yelped and Mel jumped back into the room. Powerful golden emergency lights began to strobe through the living room curtains and a piercing siren made coherent thought nearly impossible. It was obnoxiously loud, blaring and terrible and every door on the block opened to see what the tumult was. How Ray had managed to sneak-drive Ecto into their front yard Janine couldn't begin to guess and she moved as fast as she was able for the front door and flung it wide. Her guys were making a statement and...it was not pretty.

"MARS NEEDS WOMEN!!"

"SURRENDER DOROTHY!!"

A wild barbarian horde crashed into the room. Dressed in a kilt and body-painted blue, Ray blocked Leona from grabbing at Janine. Winston had white tribal zigzags covering his bare, brown chest and he held his Shima Buku souvenir spear on Mel. For his part, Mel was desperately intimidated. The older man laughed so hard he slid down the wall. Peter covered the door, looking even more like a strung-out rock star in his black cowboy hat and boots, black jeans, black shirt, ragged black duster, black heart and blackest shades. He pointed the bullhorn as if it were a pearl handled six-shooter. "Get her, Spengs! I'll cover you!"

Egon was dressed simply in jeans and a purple and yellow Minnesota Vikings football jersey but he still managed to look thirty times more imposing than the others. Janine opened her arms and Egon bodily grabbed her up, taking the pressure off her sore feet, and she laughed with sheer joy. "GOT HER!! RETREAT!!" He carried her out the door, fast, and his vile band of heathens followed, only Peter stopping long enough to steal the TV Guide. “RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!”

Leona was incensed. "You BAHSTIDS! Bring her back!" Mel was still laughing and waving so-long. He didn't have any pictures but he did have Winston's spear.

Winston himself turned back. He leapt towards Leona. "Learn to love us!"

He ducked her left-hook, turned and threw himself into Ecto's back seat as Ray peeled out of the yard and past the laughing neighbors. Leona shook her fists, stained blue from struggling with Ray, at the receding ghost-mobile. "Janine! Janine! I hope you have kids JUST LIKE YOU!!!"

Inside Ecto, Janine was in the front seat and twisted around to laugh like a loon with the nuts in the back. Excitement was exacerbating Ray’s lead foot and the danger there was adding to the fun. Peter looked at the entire gang and smiled. Excellent. A little pro-active violence and a dashing Janine-rescue (better late than never) was just what the doctor ordered to ease the lingering tension in the firehouse. He raised the bullhorn to his lips again. "Don't forget to pick up the donuts!" Peter winced at all the resulting hoopla and covered his ears.

********************

Two days later Peter raised his head to face the sunshine bravely. He looked directly at the sun, then looked away. Nothing. He turned from the window and cranked the volume up on his bedside radio. Nothing. This had been the longest two weeks (instead of one, oh, death) of his life and now, at last, no more pain. No more wincing when dust motes landed with a thud. No more living with all the curtains drawn. No more wandering around with dark sunglasses, listening to Winston singing Blues Brother's tunes at him. Soulmaaan! He's a soullmaaaan! The eternal headache had left him. What a beautiful surprise to wake up to. Oh, yeah. He wanted to sing Disney songs. "A whole, new wooooorrrllldd!"

He took a shower, dressed, and ate breakfast. (A meal known as lunch to the other residents of the firehouse.) Then he stretched out on the floor of the second story Rec Room and peered over the edge of the firepole hole at his patient on the first floor. Janine was slowly typing some data into the computer with her forefingers. It would be a long time before she regained her dexterity. Peter would have preferred she not type at all but Janine argued that it was good physical therapy. She made a mistake. "Agh!" Another mistake. "Gah!" Peter shook his head. Her hands were still stiff, poor thing. Her computer beeped in a sanctimonious way. "Oh, hell, piss, frig, fire, fart!"

Peter was pleased with her diatribe. No signs of depressed indifference. He also noted her posture, clothes, make-up, skin tone and hairstyle. All were indicators of her mental state. She was sitting up straight but relaxed. Her make-up was light and perfectly applied. Skin-tone was clear, not as pale as it had been, and her bruises were fading fast. Her red hair was clean and styled softly with little hair spray. She checked it constantly. He knew she obsessed over finding scab flakes in it. All in all, the signs pointed to a healthy recovery except for one thing.

Her clothes.The miniskirts and sleeveless blouses were gone. She wore loose dress pants, sweaters, and thigh-length jackets. Every inch of skin was covered in dim earth tones. Fortunately it was a cold spring and she could get away with it. Her extravagant jewelry was gone, too. No more gigantic brass and bone bracelets. No more hoop earrings big enough to swing a monkey from. Her wardrobe's one saving grace was the fluffy, pink bunny slippers she wore over her aching feet. They were the only items she wore that expressed her personality. This 'covering up' was consistent with victims of sexual attack but Red-Eye had done nothing like that. Peter had given her the third degree, bright lights and all, quite thoroughly on that suspicion before he was satisfied. Was she embarrassed that they had seen her naked? No, Miss Bikini was proud of her body. Or could it be...

Peter sighed. Oh, no. Time to walk on eggshells. Time to avoid eye contact and spend hours on meaningless chitchat about the weather. Time to obsess over what the other guy knows. Damn brain-sucking telepaths. He watched Janine scratch her scalp. Then she whipped out a compact mirror to make sure nothing was caught in her hair. It was funny, in a terrible sort of way, and Peter smiled down at her.

Winston wandered out of the library and Peter waved. Putting down his book on Emilie Sagee, the French schoolteacher who lost nineteen jobs in sixteen years, he quietly joined his friend and Peter scooted over to make room. Winston took a quick look. Janine put her compact away and turned up the volume on her radio. Winston whispered, "She looks okay to me?"

Peter shook his head. "Y'know what I used to be before I became a Ghostbuster?"

"A lap dancer?"

"No. Not for lack of trying, though." Peter pushed invisible glasses into place and looked intellectually smug. "I was a psychologist."

"No!" Winston's astonishment was great.

"Yes! I even taught classes at some school. I still remember some of it." Peter pointed downwards. "That woman there is suffering from an awful case of Feeder Backlash."

Winston pulled a face and his good humor was cut off at the legs. "Oh, no Pete. Not that on top of everything else."

"Remember, we were talking about her when we drove up to the church."

"Oh, nooooo." Winston covered his face.

"Yep. The ol' miniskirt debate might be coming back to haunt us. Look. Watch."

Ray had left his basement lab and was approaching Janine.

*********************

Janine turned down her radio and leaned back to peer suspiciously up at the firepole hole. She looked as if she suspected something and Ray frowned. It was too early for jokes wasn't it? Really. "Janine?"

"RAY!" She jumped a foot in all directions and Ray flinched. He looked down on her with concern. She did not meet his eyes. Her fingers came down on her keyboard and her computer shrilly beeped again. "What's up, Ray?"

"I, uh, was wondering how much water to give to the philodendrons." He stepped a little closer.

"Oh, they're practically weeds. Just soak the soil and they'll be good for quite a while."

"Okay." He didn't move. Janine was looking at the floor. He decided to be brave and rolled a guest chair over to her side and sat down.

"Ah, thank you for watering the office plants for me, Ray. I just can't lift the watercan yet." Was she leaning away from him? Yes, she certainly was. Her voice was still somewhat raspy. From the screaming, he knew, and that knowledge was awful.

"Janine." He softly gripped her wrist. "I've been talking to the side of your face ever since you came back. What's wrong?" A week ago he would have fretted that she harbored resentment over their accidental rescue of her but she had laid their worries to rest thoroughly.

"Nothing! Everything's fine!" To prove her point, she looked him full in the face. He gazed evenly back. The staring contest went on until Ray gave her the victory and checked the time on his bare wrist. Janine breathed out and turned red. She turned back to her desktop again, an obvious hint.

Ray was far from stupid. He'd seen this before. Oh, please no. Not Backlash. He fought back the urge to scream Demon's lie! Whatever Red-Eye said was an EGG-SUCKING LIE! Or had he lied? Had he told her everything? Did Janine know? He realized he didn't feel as badly as he thought he would. But, of course, he wasn't sure yet. Uh. Well. The only cure for Feeder Backlash was to face the truth and talk it out. Get everything out into the open right now. He sat up, determined. "Janine?"

"Hmm?"

The time had come. "Um, I'm going to water the spider plants next!" He jumped up and walked away as fast as he could.

**********************

Egon came down from his third-floor lab to the rec-room and was faced with an odd sight - Peter and Winston sprawled on the floor like lurking vultures with their heads down a hole. "What are you two doing?" They jerked around like guilty children. "It's really too soon in Janine's recovery to be plotting whatever it is you two are plotting," Egon whispered firmly.

"We're not plotting," Peter defended himself.

"Yeah, we're just spying," Winston confirmed with a 'what? You've got a problem with that?' sort of tone. Peter looked at him sharply as if his words meant more than Winston ever suspected and Egon wondered about the reaction. He crawled in between them and looked down. Janine was picking her nose. No, she was just scratching it. She turned the radio up again but she didn't go back to her typing. She just sat there.

Egon glanced up at Peter with a silent question that was answered with a single word. "Backlash."

Egon blanched. "What do we do?"

"Nothing. I don't think it's a bad case. She just needs to think things out," Peter said, firmly. "I wouldn't be too worried, we're all adults here."

Winston laughed at that one. “Methinks you protest too much.”

“Shaddup.”Janine glanced back at the firepole again and all three men craned, expertly, out of her range of vision.

**********************

Janine stared upwards for a long time before she relaxed again. The guys couldn't be planning something now? She had at least another month to go before it was declared open season on Janine again. She'd better take advantage of her downtime and plan her retaliations now but she was unable to concentrate. Ignoring her work, she stared at the wood grain on her desk, imagining all sorts of fantastic beasts there.

She picked up a pencil and rolled it back and forth between her bandaged hands. It was great to be back and things were winding down, more or less, towards normalcy. If you considered constant nightmares and cringing away from one of your best friends 'normal.' Poor Ray was, well, he was killing her plants but he was trying to be helpful.

He loves you. You break his heart every day. His enormous, loving heart.

"He does not! I do not!" Janine threw the pencil, point first, into the floor. It quivered there like an arrow. "We’re friends." She recalled pulling away from him as if he were a leper and bit her lip with shame. If Red-Eye was right about her valentine mole, and he could only have been right if Peter had indeed been spying on her, the perv, then he may be right about Ray, too. Or was he? Ray had never given any indication of anything! She leaned down and savagely yanked the pencil out of the floor. It was her clothes' fault. The mini-skirts, the heels, the jewelry. Janine never thought being proud of her appearance would backfire so horribly. Wait, what was this crapola?! It wasn’t her clothes fault! And it wasn’t her fault either! As if it were in her power to control what other people feel or think.She put her head down on her desk.

The things they thought about you. Your naked body! The imagery! I was disgusted, I really was.

She sighed, and suddenly smiled as another revelatory thought occurred to her. Naked? Naked imagery, huh? It wasn't as if she never spared a thought towards them! Their own naked bodies. Heaven help them all if a feeder ever looked into her mind. "Ooooooohh." Janine blushed but it was the truth. She was human, too. Peter liked the mole, huh? And Winston liked her legs? Of course they did, they weren’t fools.

Now, why didn't Red-Eye mention what Egon liked?! DAMN! Was there no end to that talkative bastard's cruelty? That was the worst. That was purest evil. She suddenly felt like a thwarted kid straight out of Junior High.

And Ray.

He didn't deserve this sort of treatment. Janine came to a decision and got up, hissing at her stinging feet. She slowly went downstairs towards Ray's lab. She was tired of the awkwardness. Time to have it out.

*******************

Peter, Winston and Egon watched her walk away. "She's going to apologize to Ray," Winston deduced and got up. He reached out his hands and easily pulled Egon and Peter to their feet. "What he did couldn't have been that bad. I mean, it's Ray. Are you going to talk to her?" Winston asked Peter.

"Not unless she wants to. No reason to make a federal case out of it." Peter chewed on his thumbnail.

"If you say so." Winston thought a moment. "But excuse me if I start to watch my back."

"Hey," Peter leaned in hopefully. "I've got your back if you've got mine!"

"Deal!"

Egon glanced at the two men over the top of his eyeglasses, wounded. Who would watch his back?

*******************

Janine opened the basement door slowly. The hum of the Containment Unit and the warm rumble of the washer and dryer masked her entrance. Ray was standing next to a seven-foot palm tree that had nearly killed Janine when she tripped on the stairs while carrying it down two years before. Luckily it had only been a baby palm tree then and, even more luckily, no one had witnessed that graceless spectacle. The tree flourished under a large natural light lamp that Ray had rigged to the ceiling, and he was standing in that lovely beam reading the instructions on a box of plant food. He looked pinpointed by a loving God.

"Ray."It was his turn to jump and he did, scattering blue Miracle-Gro crystals all over the floor.

"Oh! Hi, Janine. Um."

"Hi, Ray. Again." She carefully navigated the steps down and Ray came closer in case she needed assistance or fell. When she reached the floor safely he retreated back to the tree. Janine bypassed the spilled plant food and stepped to his side. The palm was a vibrant green, healthy and luxurious.

"Ah, how much food should I give it?"

"It doesn't need any. I just," Janine drew in a deep breath and looked up at him beseechingly. "I just want to say I'm sorry, Ray."

"You’re sorry?! I mean, sure! It's okay. No problem!" He smiled at her with relief.

"Don't you want to know why I'm sorry?"

"I know why. I do." Ray nodded and reached out to wipe a non-existent speck of dust from a green leaf. "Telepaths bite. They dive into your head and bring up all sorts of terrible things. Bad memories and secrets or just wild events are suddenly public knowledge and then you..." He looked down at her, then quickly focused on the tree again. "You worry your friends will think less of you. I mean...Janine, whatever I did, I'm sorry, too."

Janine wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. "Please, don't be. I'd never think less of you, Ray. Even if you turned out to be like Peter or worse." Ray carefully returned her hug. She continued, "Just so you know, there was nothing terrible in what Red-Eye had to say about you. He didn't have enough time to really dig up the awful stuff."

"Really?!" His hug finally became tight and genuine. "Wow, I was so worried!"

"You were worried?" She looked up at him. "What deep, dark secrets do you HAVE, Dr. Stantz?"

Ray's mouth quirked to the side. "Well, I stepped on a daisy once." Janine laughed. "Seriously, Janine, for my own peace of mind...and you'll know I'll obsess over it for weeks otherwise...I want to know...what you know. Please?"

Janine studied his shirt buttons and wondered if he was going to let her go anytime soon. Probably not until she told all. After that, what would he do? Was he enjoying this? Damn you, Red-Eye. She strangled her paranoid thoughts and put a haughty expression on her face. She glared up at the scientist. "Humph!"

"What?!"

"I couldn't believe it."

"WHAT?!" He was holding her tighter.

"You didn't like my New Year's kiss, you jerk." Ray burst out laughing and rested his head on her shoulder. She was just the perfect height for it.

"I did too!"

"You did NOT. You thought it was disappointing!"

"I did not! I mean..."

"Tell the truth! If you can!" She snarled at him.

"Well, it was an air kiss. I didn't even feel it!"

"Oh, poor baby!" They exploded with mirth together. It felt wonderful. "Egon was standing right there, what was I supposed to do?"

"If he weren't standing right there, would you have given me a decent kiss?"

"Ray, if it weren't for Egon you wouldn't buh-lieve what I'd do to you."

Ray blushed and backed away, smiling with that 'Aw, Shucks' expression that was so endearing to Janine. "I'm just so glad you're okay. Alive and pretty and okay...you've no idea..."

"I'm glad, too. Here." Janine stepped forward and pulled his head down to hers. It was just a bit of pressure, just a peck, just a friendly thing. Oh, but Ray, Ray, ah, automatically returned her kiss with a will, with eagerness, with the fastest response she'd ever received in her life. He had strong lips. She felt a flush spread over her entire body as his hands came up to cup the back of her head.

Why, it was lovely.

Surprised, surprised through and through, she released him.

Red-faced, Ray stepped back, stunned, directly into the arms of the palm tree. "AGH!" He struck at the innocent plant as if it were attacking him and ducked away.

Janine swallowed. Well, gosh. "There. I...uh... don't wanna hear any more complaints out of you. Understand?"

Ray held his palms up in apology and surrender. "Yes! Um. Never again, I swear."

"Good." Janine, aware that all pain had left her body, quickly walked to the steps. "Er. If you ever come near me again I'll break your arms," she threatened over her shoulder.

"Okay." He was watching her walk away intently. It made her a little nervous.

She reached the door and stopped. She had only meant to apologize! She had to say something, anything. She felt a laugh bubble up. "Think of it this way, Ray." She looked down at him gazing up at her. You think you know a guy.

"What way?"

"We just gave the next Feeder something to work with. Wasn't that nice of us?" Janine pulled an exaggerated face of wide-eyed dread and Ray matched it, grinning. She lunged out of the door, back to the Upper World and Egon. She made a mental note: Stay Out of the Ray Zone, and covered another incredulous giggle with her hand.

Normalcy had returned to the firehouse. Yes. Situation Normal. All Fucked Up.

Very far along the road to recovery now, and feeling more alive than she had ever expected, Janine slowly walked back to her desk with her head held high, stretching and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

The End