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Janine took all his pictures down from the wall, singing as she moved from frame to frame. They had all been up there for three years, now. Three long, fruitless years and the photos left light, square imprints on her wallpaper. Frames of wood, frames of glass and frames of steel to capture the same face, blond hair and blue eyes, over and over again. Egon in the sunlight, Egon in the shade, Egon as a baby, and several other Egons Caught Unaware joined each other leaning against the wall on the floor.
"Baby, we can talk allll night. But that won't change the way that I feel!" Janine sang, smiling. She fished a small screwdriver out of her petite, pink tool kit and went to work on the backs of each picture frame, prying away the fastens and hooks and carefully pulling the photo's out to place in a neat stack on a cherrywood sidetable.
She attacked the sedately faded wallpaper next, cleaning it gleefully, stopping only long enough to fix herself a glass of sweet tea. Then up went the new wallpaper with its bright and colorful flowers of red, blue and green, all the elements of a Monet floral. She'd chosen it because she loved it and he'd hated it. He preferred subtle, glossy greys but, god knows, the poor man had never tried to influence her. Her entire home was cheered immediately and she laughed as she admired the effect.
She ate lunch and rested, listening to her favorite rock and roll and enjoying the spring breeze as it cooled her and carried away the wallpaper glue fumes. "I want you, I need you, but there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you but don't feel bad. Cause..."
Eventually, she lit a stick of strawberry incense to help the breeze along and moved back to the empty frames.
In this plain oak frame would go a gorgeous print of Picasso's Pink Lady. She found some tacks and hung the picture in her bathroom. Inside the Victorian mosaic frame went her photos of her family, dating over the past 30 years, her beloved mother and father and all her sisters and their children. That one was displayed in the main entrance hall. In this small frame of silver wire and gemstones went a foggy postcard of the Thames. Egon lying on the beach was replaced with an original portrait of Janine herself, brilliantly sketched in pastels by a good friend. And on she went.
Finally, she was down to her last frame. It was crystal with four panels in it. Trimming her favorite 'Egon in the Sun' photo down to fit she inserted it in one of the four. Next to him went a photo of Winston engrossed in a mystery novel. Janine smiled to think that she had caught him at that precise moment when he'd figured out who the murderer was before getting through half the book. He looked appropriately annoyed. The same expression he wore when he was accusing the others of foolishly ignoring his battle strategies. Next to Winston was a picture of Ray grinning over an armful of wrapped Christmas gifts. His auburn hair was haloed by a streetlight, softly muted by the falling December snow. He looked like an angel made flesh, which is, indeed, what Ray Stantz is. Last but never least was Peter, in the fourth panel. Arms raised in a stereotypical Rock God pose of triumph with a smoking trap in one hand and a proton thrower in the other, Peter was great and he knew it.
Janine placed the four panels over her mantelpiece in a place of honor but they did not overwhelm the rest of the room. A few seashells, china boxes and a charm bracelet were arranged around them.
There.
She stood back and took in her home, her bright colors, her scents, her jungle of houseplants, her fabrics, her art and her music. She felt as if she'd been gone a very long, very sad time.
She turned to the mantel again and studied Egon's face. His panel was no greater or lesser than the other three's, now, and that was precisely how it should be. Perspective was a wonderful thing.
Janine ran her fingertip against the wave of his sun-blown platinum hair. After three years the truth had finally been accepted. This was her brother. There was love here but no passion. No future. Time to give up and Janine had. Her defeat made her light as the foam in the sea and she suddenly laughed, a great shout of joy. She did an impulsive pirouette. Free.
She was free.
She didn't have Love but she had Perspective and Freedom and that was wonderful.
"'Cause two out of three ain't bad."
End