Archive of Our Own

Trap Out
by Mara

It was not turning out to be a good day. That much was evident from the expressions on the faces of the four men standing in the middle of the Tulsa Airport, watching with growing alarm as the word "cancelled" popped up again and again.

"It's not cancelled," Peter growled, dropping his carry-on to the carpet. "It can't be cancelled."

"Due to weather." Ray sighed and turned away from the board.

"Weather!" Peter turned to the windows that ran along the

wall near the boarding gate. "So it's a little cloudy--"

"That's twister weather, Pete," Ray said, giving him a sympathetic smile. "We just have bad timing, that's all."

"No, Ray, the weather has bad timing. We have perfectly good timing. But now our timing's shot and we're not going to be in Vegas by tomorrow for Egon's conference and my day at the slots. We're stuck here overnight." Peter glanced over at Egon, who was still studying the board with a faint frown on his lips.

"Spengs, you can stare at that all you want. It's still gonna

say cancelled--"

"I'm aware of that, Peter." Egon turned to him, a wry twist to his own lips. "I'm not any happier having to stay the night here, but we have no choice. Let's find a hotel."

Find one, they did; one close to the airport, should the flights be cleared for take-off. But night fell and weather forecasts predicted more bad weather spawning more tornadoes.

Waiting in the hotel room, the four men tried to occupy themselves in the meantime. Egon sat at the table, laptop open as he revised his speech one more time. Ray sat opposite him, flipping through the stack of magazines and comics he'd purchased at the airport. Slumped on the beds lay Peter and Winston as Winston channel-surfed.

There was nothing on television. Peter sighed and rolled off the bed, going to the window. "Maybe we should drive into town. There's gotta be something to do around here."

Winston joined him at the window. "Not in this weather, Pete. We're stuck here for the night."

"Perhaps I could practice my speech for you again," Egon suggested, glancing up from the computer.

"No!" Ray, Winston, and Peter said in unison. The simultaneous exclamation made Peter break into a grin. "Twenty-seven times is plenty, Spengs."

"It was just a thought," Egon said mildly, and returned to his revisions.

"Hey, guys, listen to this," Ray said, lifting up a newspaper opened to the classifieds. "Reward: $10,000.00, for removal of spirit or spirits haunting Indian Springs farm." Ray glanced up, wide-eyed. "Isn't that something?"

"Sounds like a prank, Raymond," Egon said, a soft chuckle in his voice.

"Or a scam," Peter added instantly.

"Or a typo," Winston put in, sitting down next to Ray. "Let me see that, Ray. Indian Springs. Is that even on the map?"

"It's about seventy miles north of here," Ray said. As Winston looked at him in surprise, he smiled. "I checked."

"It's a scam, Ray," Peter said, and flopped back down on the bed, picking up the remote.

"Maybe," Ray said. He turned to Winston. "What do you think?"

Winston studied the ad thoughtfully. "I don't know. It's only 4:30. Let's give the newspaper a call and see what information they've got on it."

"That's a good idea!" Ray said eagerly, flipping to the front section of the paper.

"Oh, come on!" Peter groaned, dropping his head back and sprawling on the mattress with an exasperated air. "You guys know that can't be for real."

Winston got up and swatted at Peter's head with a magazine. "We're looking for something to do, Pete. This'll kill five minutes anyway." He grinned.

Peter snorted and rolled over, tucking his arms under a pillow. "Great. Wake me when you've collected the reward."

Winston sat on the edge of the bed and turned back to Ray, who was already dialing. Even Egon, Winston noticed, had stopped typing for the moment and was watching as Ray dialed.

Winston glanced over his shoulder at Peter. Half-buried in the pillow, Peter had one eye open and fixed on Ray. Winston elbowed him and grinned. Peter glowered back, but didn't interrupt as Ray spoke.

"Classifieds. Yes, okay." Another pause, and then, "Hello, I'm calling about the ad in your paper. The ghost ad. Indian Springs farm?" A small, intent frown appeared on Ray's face. "Yes. Well, I was wondering. . . " He trailed off, frown deepening. "Oh, I see. That much?"

Winston leaned forward. Behind him, the bed creaked as Peter shifted nearer, too. Egon had closed the laptop.

Ray nodded; then, as if remembering he were on the phone, quickly said, "Okay. But. . .well. . . we're the Ghostbusters. . ." He stopped suddenly and an instant later was grinning, his cheeks red. "Yes, ma'am, the New York Ghostbusters."

"The only Ghostbusters," Peter murmured, winning another poke from Winston.

"No one has?" Ray said, his eyes widening. "But. . . " He paused again. "Oh, I see. Wow, really? What did he say?"

Another long stretch of silence followed, occasionally punctuated by Ray's "uh huh"s. Peter groaned and covered his head with the pillow. "Winston, remind me when we get back home to teach Ray the meaning of the word 'succinct'."

Winston chuckled. "That's one battle you can't win, Pete."

Egon sighed and, stretching his long legs out under the table, sat back and folded his hands over his stomach.

Ray bent over a notepad and wrote something down. "Okay. How far off that road? Is the accounting firm in town? Oh, good. Yes, just for a day. What's the name of the firm? Great! Thanks, Mrs. Halifax."

He hung up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. "Guys, you won't believe this!"

"Probably not," Peter said. "But tell us anyway, Tex."

"The owner of the farm, Ben Harper, claims it's haunted by at least two spirits. He wants to sell the place, but he can't because no one wants to buy a haunted farm, at least for the price he says the farm's worth--$400,000.00."

Peter whistled. "Must be quite a spread."

"The homestead dates from the 1930's," Ray said eagerly. "It's over 4000 square feet, according to Mrs. Halifax's information, and there's 150 acres with a big old horse barn.

Ben Harper lives there alone right now--"

"He's not afraid of the ghosts?" Winston asked.

Ray shrugged. "Maybe he's used to them. Sounds like Class 3's or 4's."

"Former owners?" Egon asked.

"Ben's father built the house," Ray said. "But Mrs. Halifax didn't say anything about Mr. Harper being the spirit haunting the place."

"The reward?" Peter asked pointedly.

"Oh, yeah," Ray said with a grin. "That's for real, Peter. Ben Harper gave the money to an accounting firm in town to hold onto until someone got rid of the ghosts."

"Okay," Peter said slowly. "I guess a man might be willing to give away $10,000 to sell a piece of land for what it's worth."

"And there must really be ghosts there," Ray said. "Guys,

we can handle this and get back to the hotel tonight, no problem-

-"

"We may be able to get a flight out tonight," Egon interrupted sternly, opening his laptop. "We should stay here. . . " He trailed off, aware of the expressions on the three faces before him. Ray's face was shining with excitement; well, that was to be expected when there was an opportunity of a bust. But Winston looked intrigued, and Peter. . . well, there was a good sum of money to be made, and that alone was enough to put an interested sparkle in the green eyes.

Egon sighed and folded his laptop. "Can we do this quickly then? I'd really like to go over my speech once more and make sure I'm ready in case we can fly out tonight."

"Egon, you have that speech ingrained in our brains," Peter said, sitting up. "It's gotta be permanently etched in yours."

"We should also take into account the current weather conditions," Egon said, choosing to ignore Peter's remark.

"Weather bad enough to affect air traffic can be just as

hazardous for driving--"

"It looks pretty clear right now," Winston said, standing to glance out of the window. "The weather report said that the worst of the weather was moving southwest, remember? We'll be heading north."

"If we use the packs to attempt capture of this ghost, we may find ourselves too low on power for a proper demonstration at the conference."

"When we get there, we can let the ghost out," Peter said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "And chase it down again. Just think how impressed all those Ph.D.'s will be."

"We're not taking a ghost to Vegas," Winston objected. "Ship it home to Janine and let her dump it in the containment unit."

"The packs are fully recharged, Egon," Ray said earnestly. "One little Class 3 isn't going to require that much power. We can still demonstrate our equipment at the conference tomorrow."

"Hmmm." Egon sighed softly. It seemed that he was outvoted. He took a PKE meter out of his suitcase. "Very well." He glanced up to see Ray bounce to his feet. A thought occurred to him but before he could speak, Peter interjected.

"I'll drive," Peter said, and his eyes met Egon's with a faint smile. Ray's driving was bad enough under good conditions, they both knew. The combination of the weather and the occultist's excitement would make the trip more of a risk than any of them wanted to take. Egon smiled back and nodded a brief thanks.

Packs gathered and meter in hand, they left the hotel and ten minutes later they were on a long, lonely stretch of road. A drizzly rain fell, but traffic was light and they made good time. Following the directions Ray had obtained from Mrs. Halifax, they turned off onto a small dirt road that wound through the grassland. A few miles further on, they saw the hulking dark shapes of buildings against the deep blue evening sky, windows unlit except for two lights in the first floor of the main house.

"Ben Harper must be a tough old coot," Peter remarked as he drove the rental car up a long driveway. "I don't think I'd like living out here on my lonesome with only a ghost for company."

"Wow, that house! It's so old," Ray said. "I bet we read more than one entity here."

They piled out of the car and gathered their equipment.

Egon turned on the meter as he traversed the stone path that led to the front door. Ray, sliding his pack on his back, fumbled with the straps as he raced to catch up with Egon. Egon slowed down and waited for him. "Ray, look at this. At least two Class 4's."

"Fantastic," Ray said, beaming at Egon in delight. "Come on, let's go talk to Mr. Harper."

Peter and Winston reached the door first. Peter gave the ornate brass knocker a knock. "Nice digs," he commented. "They've kept it up well. Shame it's in the middle of nowhere."

"Ah, Peter, this place is great!" Winston said. "Imagine

how peaceful it'd be living out there. That big sky overhead--"

"Yeah, throwing those big tornadoes down on you every spring." Peter grinned. "No thanks."

Winston shook his head. "It wouldn't be so bad. Think of how many tornadoes this old house has survived."

"I'm not concerned about the house's survival," Peter retorted, giving Winston a meaningful look.

Winston laughed. "Yeah, but I'm sure there's a storm cellar around here somewhere."

"Just hope we don't have to make use of it." Peter glanced up at the darkening sky and a cool sprinkling of rain hit his face. "Hope it wasn't a mistake coming out here--" He stopped abruptly as the door swung open. A short, stocky man peered out at them, face twisted in a stern frown as he first looked them both over, then noticed Egon and Ray climbing the steps to the porch. "Who're you fellows? What do you want?"

Peter caught a whiff of alcohol on the man's breath and thought wryly that maybe Ben Harper wasn't such a tough old coot after all. He certainly wasn't particularly old, either; around forty, Peter guessed. He was dressed in jeans and an untucked plaid shirt, and his brown hair was mussed, eyes squinty, as if he'd been awakened.

"Sorry to disturb you," Winston began politely. "Mr. Ben Harper?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm Winston Zeddemore," Winston said, and introduced Peter, Egon, and Ray. "We're here in response to your advertisement in the Tulsa paper."

"We're here to capture your ghost," Ray said, peering past Mr. Harper's shoulder to get a glimpse into the house.

Ben Harper scratched his head, messing his hair even

further. "Something about you fellows--"

"We're the Ghostbusters," Ray said. "From New York. You might have heard of us."

"Yeah, I heard of you," Ben said, an impressed note in his voice. "You come all the way out here because of that ad? I didn't run it in no New York papers."

"Actually we were on our way to a conference in Nevada,"

Egon explained. "Our flight has been delayed--"

"Cancelled," Peter corrected.

"Cancelled," Egon amended patiently. "Though we hope to catch the next flight out when the weather clears. Meanwhile, we thought we might take a look at your situation and see if we can assist you in resolving it."

Ben Harper stared at him. Peter grinned. "He means we're here to catch your ghost. Mind if we come inside?"

Harper didn't answer right away. He looked at them again, a

long, appraising look, and finally shook his head. "Yeah, I

mind. It's late--"

"It's not even six-thirty," Peter said in surprise.

"Peter," Egon murmured, slipping his fingers around Peter's arm, a silent warning.

Peter glanced around at him as Egon's blue eyes shifted to settle on Harper. "Mr. Harper, would you prefer it if we came back in the morning?" Egon asked.

"I don't want you coming back at all," Harper muttered, shaking his head. "I'm done advertising for help. It's over. Just go on and leave me be."

The man was clearly upset. Peter wriggled out of Egon's

grasp and took a step toward him. "Mr. Harper, we're not

interested in claiming the reward money. If you have a ghost

here that's troubling you, we can take care of it for you--"

"My ghosts don't need catching," Harper blurted out, his hand clenched tight around the door handle. "They're gone. And I want you fellows gone, too."

Peter stared at him. "Mr. Harper. . . are the ghosts threatening you?"

"No, they ain't threatening me," Harper said. "But you're trespassing. Now go on. Or I'll have to fetch my rifle."

Peter raised both hands in a placating gesture. "If that's the way you want it, sir." He exchanged a troubled look with Egon, who shook his head slowly in response. Peter turned back to Harper. "If you change your mind, you can reach us at the Radisson, right across the road from the airport."

"I won't be changing my mind." Harper's face was set in a grim, waiting look. He clearly just wanted them to leave.

Ray started to speak, but Peter grabbed his arm and pulled him off the porch, following Egon and Winston. Harper stood in the doorway, watching them until they'd reached the car. Then the front door slammed shut.

"Charming fellow," Peter commented.

"You really think the ghosts threatened him to get rid of us, Pete?" Winston looked as troubled by the idea as Peter felt.

"I don't know. Maybe not." Peter gazed toward the house.

"But something weird is definitely going on."

"Yeah," Ray said, "Mrs. Halifax told me dozens of people have been out here, trying to capture the ghost. I don't get why he doesn't want us to give it a try."

"Maybe he's become accustomed to their presence," Egon suggested, "and he no longer wishes to pay that sum to have them removed."

"But he's still trying to sell the place," Winston argued, nodding toward the FOR SALE sign in the yard. He slowly removed his pack, as the others did, and put it into the trunk of the rental car. "I hate leaving under these circumstances, guys. I'm afraid Harper might be making a big mistake by not letting us help him out."

"We can't force him to allow us to trap the entity," Egon reasoned gently. "I appreciate your concern, Winston, and I share it. But Mr. Harper has made it quite clear that he wants us to leave the property."

Peter glanced at Ray and noted the disappointment in his face. "Hey, Ray, you wanna drive? I'm kind of tired."

Ray closed the trunk and gave Peter a small smile. "Sure." As he moved toward the driver's door, Peter gave his hair an affectionate muss. "Come on, Tex, don't feel bad. There's bound to be some ghosts in Vegas. That town's probably as much of a ghost magnet as our own beloved Big Apple."

Ray sighed, still smiling. "Yeah, I guess so. I just thought it would be kinda neat to come out here and capture what no one else has been able to."

"I know." Peter opened the car door and handed Ray the keys. "I'm riding shotgun. If Winston falls asleep in the back, I don't want him snoring directly into my ear."

Winston, in the middle of a yawn, grinned. "Die, Venkman."

Peter, about to open the door, hesitated at the increased pitch of the meter Egon still held in one hand. Egon began to fiddle rapidly with the dials.

"Egon?" Peter glanced down at the meter. "What is it?"

"Gentlemen, I believe we have a presence," Egon said quietly, turning around to face the house. He raised the meter. It reacted dramatically, at the very instant a light appeared in the air, bright as a hundred watt bulb, not twenty feet from where they stood. A second light joined the first, and both swooped simultaneously in Egon's direction. The physicist's attention was still focused on the meter.

"Spengs--" Peter didn't have time for a warning, so instead he lunged and, crashing into Egon, knocked them both to the ground beside the car. The lights shot past them and rose higher into the air, circling each other as they floated a few feet above the car.

"I hate it when they do that." Peter looked down at Egon, who lay on the ground under him, glasses askew but meter still clutched tightly in one hand. "You okay?"

"Yes, if you would kindly get off of me," Egon said, starting to sit up.

Peter stood and, grabbing Egon's arm, help him to his feet.

He gave a futile slap at the mud clinging to Egon's pantleg. "Guess you're gonna have to soak the suit in the hotel room before the conference, Egon," Peter said with an apologetic grin.

Egon's smile was serene. "Not at all. I am prepared. I brought a second jumpsuit."

"Uh, guys?" Winston cut in, gesturing skyward. The twin lights spun another few seconds, then, as if in agreement, shot toward the house.

"Mr. Harper," Peter said, starting toward the house after

the lights. "I'm gonna tell him--"

"Peter, your pack," Ray said. Already out of the car and opening the trunk to get the packs, Ray turned as Peter headed toward the house. "Peter, wait!"

Peter stopped dead, not at Ray's yell, but because the house door had suddenly swung open wide. Light inside the house silhouetted the sturdy figure of Ben Harper and the rifle he held in his hands. A very loaded-looking rifle. Peter swallowed and retreated a step. "Mr. Harper," he called, and pointed up at the lights, which were still moving steadily toward the house.

The lights were noticeable, but Harper hardly glanced at them. He stepped across the porch and onto the steps. Then he lifted his rifle and aimed it. Peter, shocked by the stance, backed up rapidly, then jerked himself around and headed toward the car. In the growing dimness, he saw the alarmed looks on his friends' faces. Just before the gun went off.

A searing heat tore along his calf and knocked him off his feet. He fell sideways, landing on the wounded leg and, with a yelp of pain, curled up and twisted around in an attempt to remove the injury from contact with the ground. He heard his name yelled by three voices raised in panic and he struggled to sit up, to show them he was still alive and, he hoped, not fatally wounded.

"Hold it right there!" Harper's voice, angry and harsh, cut across the yard. Peter leaned back and saw the man standing right behind him, rifle aimed directly at his head. Peter sank to the ground and lay there, panting and wincing in pain. Maybe if he appeared worse off than he was, Harper would feel less threatened and wouldn't blow a hole in his head right in front of Egon, Ray, and Winston.

"Mr. Harper." Egon's voice, deathly calm and level. "You

must allow me to go to him--"

"You stay put!" Harper shouted, and the rifle came closer.

Peter shuddered at the sight of it and shut his eyes.

Harper poked at Peter's shoulder with the tip of the weapon.

"You boys close that trunk, right now."

Peter heard the trunk close and his heart sank. He had hoped Ray had been able to remove at least one of the packs and set it to incapacitate Harper. He opened his eyes and looked up. From his vantage point, all he could see was Harper's belly and the jut of his chin. And his hands. Peter saw that his hands were shaking.

"I told you boys to leave," Harper said.

The rifle wavered but did not dip entirely. One pull of the trigger and bye-bye, Dr. Venkman. Peter took a deep breath. "We were leaving. Your ghosts came after us and we were protecting ourselves. We were protecting you too, pal. You have entities on your property, Harper. You can't just--" He broke off and gasped. The throbbing pain in his leg was getting increasingly worse. He knew the bleeding had to be stopped but he couldn't sit up to do it. "Um, guys? Uncle Peter could use a little help here."

"Please, Mr. Harper," Egon said, voice so steady that no one but his closest friends would ever know he was fighting down both anger and panic. "Let me tend to my colleague."

"Yeah, you don't want a Ghostbuster dying on your property," Peter put in, between gasps to control the pain. "Create a lot of suspicions. You advertise for ghost catchers and when the guys show up who can do the job, you shoot them. Make people wonder if you aren't pulling some sort of scam after all."

"You shut up," Harper snapped, jabbing at Peter's shoulder again with the weapon. "And you. . . " He nodded at Egon. "Get over here--just you--and take care of this."

In less than a heartbeat of time, Peter saw Egon's face above his own, blue eyes fixed on him searchingly. "Peter, lie still. You're bleeding quite a bit."

"And I thought Ray had a knack for stating the obvious," Peter murmured, resting his head on the stone walkway. He felt Egon's hands carefully drawing back his pantleg and then heard Egon's murmured, "Damn it."

"That bad, huh," Peter whispered, opening his eyes to look up at Egon.

"No exit wound," Egon said quietly as he yanked a handkerchief out of his pocket. "The bullet's still in there."

"That's the trouble with you, Spengler. You never look on the bright side. At least with just one bullet hole, I'm bleeding less."

"Shut up, Peter," Egon said gently, and began to wrap the kerchief around Peter's calf.

It began to rain again. Egon grimaced at the cold drops running down the back of his collar. He leaned over Peter to shield him from the rain as much as possible. "Winston, I need the first aid kit from the car. And if you and Ray have any more handkerchiefs, those, too."

"Hold on a minute," Harper commanded, lifting the rifle. "You," he said, nodding at Ray, "You get the kit. Nobody else better move a muscle, or your friend ain't gonna be needing medical attention." To emphasize his point, he aimed the rifle at Peter again.

"I can't do this properly in the rain," Egon said, his jaw

so tight Peter wondered that it didn't crack. "You have to let

us take him indoors and tend to him there. He may go into shock-

-"

"You ain't coming in my house," Harper said. But he was blinking in annoyance at the rain. He scowled. "The barn. Get him up and take him there. It's dry and warm in there."

"There isn't enough light--"

"There's light enough. It's either here or there. Your choice."

Egon exhaled, breathing out a sigh shaky with both worry and anger. He bent down and slipped an arm around Peter's shoulders. "Peter, don't stand on your leg. Winston and I will carry you to the barn."

"Spengs--"

"Don't argue," Egon cut in tightly. He bent his rain-soaked head closer to Peter's. "Please, Peter. You can see how entirely unpredictable this man is. I'm going to follow his orders for now, at least until we stop the bleeding and get you warm and comfortable."

"Thanks," Peter murmured, clinging to the physicist's shoulder as Egon slowly sat him up. "You're going to be a comfort to me in my old age, Spengs."

"It's going to take all my energy to make sure you do reach old age, Peter."

Peter smiled at the deliberately dry tone. Egon was trying to reassure him as much as he was trying to reassure Egon. Winston reached them, and together they lifted Peter. Peter hid his face against Egon's shoulder and didn't make a sound; but Egon felt the tight grip of Peter's hand on his shoulder, the fingers twisting the material of his jumpsuit as pain lanced the bleeding wound.

"Hang on, Peter," Egon murmured. "We need to be quick, but we shall do our best to make sure it's not at the expense of being gentle."

The rain came down steadily and by the time they reached the barn, Ben following with the rifle, they were not soaked, but wet enough to be uncomfortable. The barn was enormous, dark, and rich with the musty odor of hay and animals. It was also warm and dry.

Egon and Winston set Peter down in a pile of straw and immediately went about tending to his leg. Ray handed over the first aid kit and crept around behind Peter to serve as a warm shoulder to lean against.

"The bullet's still in," Egon told Winston. "We're going to have to clean it and stop the bleeding, then get him to help as quickly as we can." He glanced up at Harper, who stood near the barn door, watching them, the rifle trained on them all now. "If we can get out of here," Egon added quietly.

"Sure wish I had a pack with me," Winston muttered, leaving the rest of his threat unvoiced. "Hand me that gauze, Egon. Can you lift his leg?"

"Shit," Peter gasped, and writhed in Ray's hold, clutching at the occultist's arm. "Shit, shit, shit. Ray, tell Egon to knock that off right now."

"He has to do it, Peter," Ray said, his voice soft but earnest with sympathy. "We have to stop the bleeding--" He broke off as Peter seized a handful of his collar and dragged him down to eye-level.

"Ray."

It was all he said, but Ray understood that tone, and even if he hadn't, the grip on his collar was cutting off his breathing. "Egon," Ray wheezed, "I think you're hurting him."

"I imagine so," Egon said calmly, without glancing up from the cleaning. "I've heard every complaint that's crossed his lips. And I am supremely grateful that he's alive and conscious enough to be complaining." Egon stopped bandaging long enough to glance up and meet Peter's gaze, an intensity in his eyes that silenced Peter's next complaint.

Peter let go of Ray's collar and slumped back against the occultist's arm. "Don't suppose there's any aspirin in there?"

"Listen, guys," Winston whispered as he handed the aspirin to Peter. "Harper's pretty shook up. I bet he's threatened folks off his property before, but I bet he's never shot anyone.

His hands were shaking--"

"I noticed that." Peter struggled to sit up straight and

winced. "He's steamed, but the guy's pretty scared, too. He

doesn't know what to do about us now, I'm sure. If I can talk to

him--"

"Uh, Peter?" Ray interrupted, "Guys--look!"

The lights they had seen before were now in the barn, bright and glowing with a golden cast, and they were swirling around Ben Harper. Ray started to rise and Peter grabbed him and hung on tight.

"Don't, Ray. He's got a finger on the trigger and we don't know what else might set him off."

"But, Peter, the ghosts," Ray protested.

"They don't appear to be harming him, Raymond," Egon said, turning enough to watch as the lights moved nearer to the farmer.

Ben Harper did not seem afraid of the lights. Instead, there was an angry scowl on his face, even angrier than the one he had directed at the Ghostbusters. He lifted the rifle barrel to his shoulder, but held on firmly to the weapon. "What'd you go and do that for?"

The vexed statement startled the Ghostbusters and they stared at Harper, realizing he was addressing the ghosts. Harper didn't notice their stares. His gaze was on the lights, which now hovered inches from his face. "You should'a kept hid! I'm the one who's supposed to decide, not you! These guys, they're professionals. They could've captured the both of you, do you realize that?"

"Now the question is," Peter murmured, "are they talking back? Or does he just think they're talking back?"

"Maybe he's thinking he can blame the shooting on the ghosts," Winston suggested in a quiet voice.

"Hey, guys," Ray breathed, clinging to Peter's shoulder.

"They're getting bigger!"

The intensity of their glow fading, the lights grew larger, taking on a definite form. As the Ghostbusters watched, two shapes emerged from within the glow, that of a young woman and an older man.

The man grew distinct first, an elderly farmer with a short white beard and a slight stoop to his frail shoulders. As he became visible, he turned toward the Ghostbusters, his face screwed into a suspicious scowl, his eyes dark.

The girl, as she grew more distinct, wore an entirely different expression as she regarded the strangers in the barn. Dressed in jeans and a plaid blouse that revealed a figure a bit on the skinny side, she was beaming down at Peter, Ray, Egon, and Winston with a look of utter delight. She flicked the long red braid of hair off her shoulder and leaned close to the old man, locking her arm in his.

"Look at 'em, Pa. Ain't they cute?"

The older man eyed the Ghostbusters with the same suspicious look. "Not sure about this, Charity, honey. Ben's right. You should've waited to make sure it was safe to come out."

"But, Pa, it's been months since anyone's come visiting," Charity protested. "Ain't it, Ben?"

"It's been a while," Ben said shortly, his gaze settled on Egon and Winston as the two men slowly rose to their feet. "But that ain't the point, Charity. These men are dangerous."

Charity turned cornflower blue eyes on the Ghostbusters. "Really?" She didn't seem in the least afraid. "They do look a little dangerous," she added, sounding pleased by that idea.

"I told them to leave," Ben said, eyes fixed on Egon, then shifting to the others. "They would've, if you two had stayed put."

The old farmer looked again at the Ghostbusters, then turned a regretful face toward Ben. "I'm sorry, son. We've gotten you into trouble."

"No," Ben answered, his tone less angry now but still edged with impatience. "I'm just protecting our property. These fellows were trespassing. I ain't getting into trouble on account of them." He broke briefly away from the men to look at Charity. "Think you can pick one of these fellows, sis? It'd be a help. Then even if they brought the law up here, the two of you'd be safe."

"Hey, wait a minute," Winston cut in, standing protectively in front of Peter, and, effectively, Ray and Egon as well. "What's going on around here? What do you mean, 'pick one'? For what?" he demanded, though he already had a good idea.

"I believe their intention is to seek a suitable mate for the young woman, Winston," Egon said quietly. "And I would further suspect that has been the purpose of the newspaper ad all along."

"You're kidding!" Peter looked from Egon to Ben to Charity. "You mean they've been trying to lure unsuspecting guys up here so Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm can go husband-shopping?"

Ben's father looked darkly at Peter, then stepped toward him

with a menacing air. "You watch how you talk about my little

girl. Charity's got a right to find a suitable husband same as

her sisters did--"

"But," Ray blurted out, "she's dead! I mean. . . " His cheeks reddened. "isn't it kind of. . .well. . . "

"Too late?" Winston finished for him bluntly, hard stare

fixed on Ben Harper. "If that's the game, buddy, you'd better

just let us go then, because you're not gonna find a minister--"

"Don't need to," Ben interrupted. "Pa was a minister. He can marry Charity to one of you fellows, if she'll have any of you."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a darned second here," Peter said, trying to rise to his feet in spite of his wounded leg. Egon slipped to his side, putting an arm around him to support him. "If I'm gonna bestow the honor of becoming Mrs. Peter Venkman on any woman, it's gonna be a mutual decision." He wobbled and grabbed on tight to Egon. "Better set me down, Spengs," he muttered.

Egon lowered him gently onto the straw pile and turned to Ben. "Mr. Harper, I would agree with my colleagues' assessment, that your wisest course would be to let us go. . . "

He trailed off as Ben lifted the rifle, aiming at him. "Now you be quiet. All of you. Charity's gonna be married so she and Pa can go on to Heaven."

"That's right," Charity said, standing closer to her father. "Pa knows that's why we're still here. I have to find a husband, just like my sisters did."

Ray edged slowly back to Egon's side. "Egon," he whispered, "I know this is gonna sound weird, but maybe we should play along with them. If Charity needs to get married in order to disperse peacefully, that's our best shot at getting out of here quick and getting Peter to a doctor."

"I've considered that," Egon murmured. "As concerned as I

am over the possible legal ramifications of going through with a

forced union--"

"Not to mention the emotional ramifications," Peter added quietly, overhearing them. He glanced worriedly at Ray, then looked at Egon. "I want to get out of here, too, Egon. My leg hurts like hell--but I'm not about to tie any one of us emotionally to this situation in order to spare myself some pain."

"I appreciate that, Peter," Egon said with a faint smile.

"That is why I thought I would make the sacrifice, since I can

most logically see the situation for what it is--"

"I don't think we're going to be allowed to draw straws on this one," Winston whispered, glancing away from Ben to look over his shoulder at Egon. "I think Pa and Ben are leaving it up to Charity."

"What are you fellows whispering about?" Ben demanded, sounding annoyed. "Don't think you're gonna jump me or nothing. Remember, I got the gun." He jerked a shoulder at Charity. "Go on, sis. Pick one of them."

Charity clasped her hands together eagerly, her eyes bright with excitement. "Can I, Pa?"

Pa Harper gazed over the four strangers in his barn and frowned. "Can't say as I much like the looks of any of them.

Ain't a one of them built much for farming, 'cepting maybe the

little red-haired fellow--"

"How about this one, Pa?" Charity cut in, sidling up with a shy smile at Winston.

Winston, considerably startled to be the one noticed, instinctively backed up a step, until he was beside Egon. "Um, Egon. . . "

"You may have just drawn the short straw, Zed," Peter murmured, his voice wry but his face sympathetic.

Pa Harper intervened. "Hold it right there, little lady.

You gotta think about what your ma would've said--"

"But Pa!" Charity interrupted, turning a pout on him. "I like him. He's so big and strong. He'd be a fine farmer." She turned back to Winston and moved even nearer, smiling at him coyly. "And don't he have the prettiest eyes!"

Winston made a faint strangled sound in his throat and retreated another step, bumping into Egon.

Before Winston could say anything, Ben Harper exhaled

noisily in obvious irritation. "Pa, folks don't care about that

anymore--"

"Ben Harper, I don't care what some folks think is all right

nowadays. I ain't about to be kicked out of church and Heaven

for letting Charity marry a coloured man--"

"Hey!" Peter cut in indignantly. "I don't think you

realize--"

"Peter," Winston instantly broke in, staring down at Peter with a pleading look. "Thanks, buddy, but please. . . just let it go, all right? If Mr. Harper doesn't want me to marry his daughter, I'll just have to learn to live with it."

Peter heard the relief in his voice and made a face at him. If Winston was prepared not to make an issue of it, he would let it drop, too. Besides, he was rather glad Winston was out of the running. Winston, in spite of all common sense, was likely to take this vow of marriage seriously, as seriously as Ray would. Better it would be either him or Egon. They could both probably brush it off later as the farce it was.

Charity, apparently accepting her father's decree, had already moved on. Her gaze fixed on Peter for an instant, then shifted to Ray, and finally settled on Egon. The coy smile returned to her lips and she drew closer to the physicist. "My, you're tall," she said, leaning her head back to look up into his face.

Egon stiffened slightly, his cheeks faintly pink. "Indeed," he said, and cleared his throat.

"You got pretty eyes, too," Charity observed, removing his glasses. "It's a real shame you gotta hide 'em. What's your name?"

Egon cleared his throat again. "Dr. Egon Spengler." He extended long fingers in a vain effort to retrieve his glasses.

"A doctor?" Pa Harper sounded impressed.

Charity didn't seem to care as much. She hid the glasses behind her back and gave him a teasing look. "Can you still see me?"

"Not quite as well," Egon said. "If I may?" He held out his hand.

"Trade you for them," she said, and tilted her head back, lips puckered.

Egon, hearing muffled snickers from the three men on either side of him, groaned softly and realized the only way he could get his glasses back was to kiss the girl. He reluctantly bent down toward her and closed his eyes, knowing a ghostly kiss was likely to be not at all pleasant.

Then rescue came, from an inspired Ray.

"You can't marry Egon," he said.

The Harpers all looked at him. "Why not?" Charity demanded.

Ray smiled apologetically. "Egon's already spoken for. Aren't you, Egon?" Ray gave him a significant look. Egon realized that being "spoken for" would evidently be enough to allow him to escape this predicament. Still, he hesitated, aware of the barely-concealed grins on Peter's and Winston's faces.

"Go ahead, Egon," Peter encouraged, a wicked light in his eyes in spite of the pain he was in. "Tell them."

Egon gave him a stern look. He knew none of the guys would let him live this down, but he had no choice. He turned back to Charity. "Yes, it's. . . ah . . . true. I am, as you say, spoken for."

Egon sighed softly as small muffled explosions of uncontainable merriment followed that admission.

"You are?" Charity's disappointment flooded her young features. Her shoulders slumped. "Shoot." She handed him his glasses, then gazed up at him regretfully as he put them back on. "She pretty, your intended?"

Egon had a momentary wish that the ground might open and swallow him at that instant. In the most even and emotionless tone he could manage, he said, "She is an attractive young woman, yes."

"What's her name?" Charity sounded wistful.

Egon paused. Why did answering that question suddenly make him feel like he was spoken for? "Her name is Janine," Egon said, more quietly, trying valiantly to ignore the ill-concealed snickers from either side of him.

"Janine?" Charity sighed. "Do you love her?"

"What kind of fool question is that, Charity?" Ben asked.

"Of course he loves her if he ain't wanting to marry you."

"I want to hear it from him, Ben Harper," Charity said firmly, without even looking around at her brother. Much to Egon's dismay, she clutched at his hand and looked earnestly into his eyes. "You love her?"

Egon shivered at the touch of the cold fingers. There was almost no pressure from her touch, and yet it felt like he had plunged his hand into a bucket of ice water. "I'm. . . very fond of her," he said quickly, hoping that would be enough to end the questioning.

Egon realized that as much as he had not relished being chosen by a ghost for marriage, he dreaded the idea of Ray being chosen next. If Peter had not been injured, he probably could have swept Charity off her feet, Egon reluctantly admitted to himself.

But Peter was in no shape to romance the farmer's daughter. The psychologist, a small grin still on his lips, sat leaning against the wooden slats of the horse stall, his legs stretched out in the straw, his face pale. He had closed his eyes, but Egon knew he was awake and listening to everything that went on. Egon also knew that the blood loss and shock of the injury had left him exhausted. They needed to get him out of this place and back to Tulsa as quickly as they could.

As if aware of Egon's gaze on him, Peter opened his eyes and grinned tiredly. "Knew you had a thing for Janine, Spengler. Can't hide anything from me, y'know."

"Fond of her?" Charity folded her arms. "Do you love her or don't you?"

Egon sighed. There was only one thing for it. "If you must know, yes. I love her. Does that satisfy you?" He did love Janine, though perhaps not quite in the way Charity had in mind; still, it didn't feel like a lie, somehow.

Charity sniffed and turned away from him, her gaze falling on Peter. She tilted her head thoughtfully. Peter, catching her glance, tried to put some charm into the smile he gave her. If he just weren't so tired. . .

Charity's gaze wandered over to Ray. Ray, under a direct feminine stare, smiled bashfully, a faint blush in his cheeks. Charity smiled back and ambled in his direction, her long braid swinging behind her. "Are you spoke for, too?" she asked.

"Um. . . well. . . no." Ray smoothed down the front of his jumpsuit, then squared his shoulders as if preparing for inspection. "I'm Ray. Ray Stantz." Ray coughed slightly, cleared his throat, and quickly added, "Dr. Ray Stantz."

Peter, watching him, broke into a grin and caught Egon's glance. A faint smile betrayed the physicist. Winston was hiding a smile of his own behind his hand. Though none of them liked the idea of Ray being dragged down the aisle by a ghost, they all found it endearing that he was attempting to make a good impression on the young lady.

Charity heaved a blissful sigh, slim shoulders rising and falling. "Want to come on a walk with me?" she asked.

"No walks," Ben said flatly. "I can't let any of them out of my sight, Charity. Not til you're wed and free."

Charity turned instantly to her father. "Pa!"

"It's okay, honey," Pa Harper said. He turned to Ben.

"Son, the boy's got a little courtin' to do. It'll be fine. It's done raining for now. And I'll chaperon. If he tries to make a break for it, I'll just grab onto him and drag him back here. I've managed it once or twice before, if you remember."

Ben gazed around at the Ghostbusters for a moment, considering the situation. As he turned back to his father and sister, Ray glanced around at Egon and surreptitiously tapped his pocket. Egon heard the faint jangle of keys and remembered that Ray had the car keys. Egon nodded once to show he understood.

Ben did not look pleased, but evidently did not want to argue with his father. He stepped back, eyes fixed on Egon and Winston, as Ray joined Charity and her father, and the three of them left the barn.

Egon slipped to Peter's side and knelt down to examine the wound. "Peter, Ray has the car keys," he murmured. "If he can, he's going to go for help."

"If he gets out of here, Charity's going to have to make another choice," Peter said, and shivered at the realization that she only had one choice left to her.

Egon patted his leg and smiled at him. "Don't panic, Peter. Perhaps if she gets a chance to think it over, she'll decide she'd rather be single."

"That's right, Spengler, pick on me when I'm down." Peter noticed the frown on Egon's face as the physicist drew back the pantleg further and studied the blood-soaked bandage. "I think it's stopped bleeding," he said, not sure at all, but wanting to ease Egon's worry.

"I don't know." Egon's frown deepened, and his eyes lifted, dark in the dimness of the barn, to gaze at Peter. "You look too pale." He set a hand against Peter's cheek.

"I don't know how you could even tell in here. It's too dark." Peter did not resist the examination but sighed softly when the long fingers curled around his wrist to check his pulse. "I'm not going into shock, Spengs. I'm okay. Just tired and sore. My leg hurts, but I can stand it for the moment."

"Peter." Egon sounded faintly exasperated.

Peter grinned. "Okay. It hurts like hell. Happy?"

"Not remotely." Egon glanced toward the barn door. "I

don't like this. I should have insisted we gather more

information from the newspaper, or from people in town before

coming out here. I should have--"

"Whoa, whoa, Egon, wait a second. This is not your fault. We all got excited about this and pretty much dragged you out here. But it's no one's fault. We came ready to help the guy. Hell, we would've passed on the reward just to trap his ghosts for him. But Harper was the one to throw a trap out and we just walked right into it."

Egon sighed. "No good deed goes unpunished."

Peter's eyes widened at the physicist's wry comment. Then he laughed tiredly. "Hey, don't complain, big guy. You've already been thrown back in the water. You're safe."

"None of us are off the hook yet," Egon reminded him, making Peter wince at the bad pun. Egon paused, noticing that Winston had painstakingly managed to move closer to the barn door without attracting the attention of Ben Harper, who still stood in the shadow of the door, watching them, rifle cradled in his arm.

"Winston's checking on Ray," Peter whispered. "Ray'll get out and get help. He'll have the cops storming this place."

As if on cue, a commotion was heard outside. Charity yelled, followed by the sound of a car door slamming shut. Peter jumped at the sound, then exhaled worriedly and exchanged a look with Egon. Ben Harper moved toward Winston. "You stay right there," he warned, lifting the rifle.

Winston raised both hands and froze. Ben Harper gestured at the door with his gun. "What's going on? What do you see?"

"I see Ray," Winston began, his voice raised in an effort to make sure Peter and Egon could hear him. "He's in the car."

"Go, Ray," Peter whispered, closing his eyes.

"Shit." The unexpected curse from Winston startled both Egon and Peter. Winston took a step toward the door and Ben Harper instantly raised the gun.

"Not another step!"

Winston stopped, nodding to show he'd heard. "Ray's out of the car. I can't see Charity, but your father is following Ray. Ray's got the trunk open."

"I really don't like this," Peter whispered.

Egon's only response was a brief compressing of his mouth and a soft shake of his head.

A moment of silent stretched, while the three Ghostbusters in the barn listened desperately for the sizzle of a thrower. Only silence.

"Come on, Ray," Peter murmured, dropping his head back against the wall of the stall. "Blast them."

"I see Mr. Harper," Winston said finally, his voice strangely quiet and subdued. "Charity. And Ray. Ray's. . . aiming the thrower at her. . . and. . . " He paused, his gaze straying to Egon and Peter. They could see the rueful smile on his face in the faint light coming from outside the barn. "She's crying."

"He's not going to blast her," Egon said, only loudly enough for Peter's ears.

Peter refused to acknowledge that. "He's a Ghostbuster.

She's a ghost."

"Peter." Egon sank down beside him on the straw and rested one hand on Peter's knee.

Peter sighed. It was no use. He knew as well as Egon did. Ray might get more excited about busting ghosts than Peter, Egon, and Winston combined, but he was too soft-hearted to blast a young woman who was standing in front of him, crying.

"He's not gonna blast her. Damn."

Ben Harper yelled, "Okay, put that stuff back into your car and come on back in here." He raised the rifle and aimed it at Winston's head. Peter and Egon both sat up straight, Egon starting to rise. "Get in here," Ben yelled, "or I'll put a bullet in your buddy."

"Egon," Peter rasped urgently.

They heard the slam of the car trunk. Egon took a step toward Ben and Winston. Ben's head jerked in Egon's direction, to fix for a moment on the physicist before turning back to Winston. "You stay right there, Doc. You boys are making me real nervous. I'd hate to have to kill anyone accidentally."

"How do you feel about killing someone on purpose?" Peter responded.

Suddenly Ray appeared in the doorway, without his pack. Peter could not see his face, but he knew the look of apology that must be etched there. Ben gestured with the gun for Ray to come into the barn and join Egon and Peter near the horse stall. Winston followed Ray, and Peter saw him clap Ray on the shoulder.

Ray's shoulders sagged.

As soon as they were near enough to hear him whisper, Peter reached up and tugged at Ray's pantleg. "Stantz, you okay?"

Ray knelt down beside him and Peter could see the anguished look in the brown eyes. "Peter, I couldn't. I know I should have. . . but her face. She just looked like a little girl and she seemed so afraid. . . "

"Ray," Peter interrupted gently. "It's okay, pal. I know there's nothing harder to blast at than the formerly human." He saw a hesitant smile lift Ray's mouth. "We're gonna get out of this, Tex. We'll just think of something else, that's all. Okay?"

"If I marry her. . . "

"I really don't like that idea, Ray," Peter said soberly.

"None of us do."

"But you guys were willing to--"

"But it'd be different for me or Egon, even for Winston," Peter explained to him, pulling Ray a little closer so he could keep his voice low. "Egon could look at it with some detachment, and you know me, I'd just blow it off. Marrying a ghost? I mean, come on!" He shook his head. "The whole thing's unreal. But I think going through with it might bug Winston, and I know it would bug you. You'd think you'd taken a real vow, before a minister and all--even a dead minister--and you'd start thinking of yourself as hooked and reeled in. You'd feel like you had to be true to this crazy female, even though she'll never be around to know the difference."

"Aw, come on," Ray said, but he lowered his gaze, avoiding Peter's knowing stare.

"Come on nothing," Peter said, giving Ray's shoulder a little shake. "I know you, Tex. And I'd hate to see you living the life of a monk for the next fifty years because you'd been forced into a promise to love, honor, and abstain." He grinned at Ray affectionately. "So we're going to try to keep the noose away from that neck of yours, and hopefully keep the rest of us single, to boot." Peter glanced toward Egon and Winston. They were close enough to have heard every word.

Before either of them could speak, Pa Harper floated through the door of the barn and moved directly toward them. His face was grim with disapproval. "You upset my little girl, Ray Stantz. She's out there trying to pull herself together afore she comes back in to talk to you. I think you owe her an apology, don't you?"

Ray's mouth dropped open, but no words came out. Peter, angry, intervened. "Look here, Farmer Brown. Your son's holding us at gunpoint, trying to force Ray into a wedding against his will, and you think we owe you an apology? I've got a bullet in my leg that says otherwise, buddy."

Pa Harper's chin worked back and forth, his eyes darkening. "I don't like you, boy. Didn't your folks raise you any better than to talk to your elders that way?"

Peter's temper unravelled swiftly. "You're keeping us prisoner here, in case you hadn't noticed. You want respect from me, pal? Then let us go before I bleed to death all over your nice pile of straw. Otherwise, you ain't got a prayer of getting a polite word out of Peter Venkman, or any of the Ghostbusters."

Peter stopped, catching his breath, still steamed, but also too tired to keep going. He met Ray's look and put on a weary smile. "Well, maybe out of Ray Stantz. But he's always polite." Peter looked up at the two Harpers. "He could'a blasted your little girl and you. He's a deadly shot with a thrower. But he's also a damned nice guy and he couldn't do it, even to get us out of this fix. So don't you go making him feel bad about your kid out there bawling. She's lucky she's not in a trap right now. And she isn't because Ray's got such a soft heart."

"Aw, Peter," Ray muttered.

Peter leaned against him and put an arm around Ray's shoulders. He closed his eyes and pillowed his head for a moment against Ray's arm, thinking how nice it would be to just lie down and sleep for a while. But he couldn't do that. Not until they were out of this mess.

"Peter, you okay?"

Ray's voice, soft and worried, made him open his eyes. "I'm fine, Tex. Don't count Dr. Venkman out just yet. If you guys could find some way to leave me alone with the blushing bride, I might be able to talk her out of this. It would take more energy. . . and patience. . . than I've got right now to get around Pa Kettle there, or Mr. Trigger-Happy. But Charity. . . maybe. " Peter sighed and sat up, leaning back against the stall.

Ray gazed at him for a long moment, and Peter noted the quiet sparkle in the brown eyes that meant Ray's mind was going a hundred miles a minute; as compared to the ninety miles a minute it normally went. Suddenly Ray smiled. "I have an idea." He rose and turned to Ben Harper. "You know, if I'm going to be married today. . . well. . . I'd like to clean up a little. I want to look nice for. . . "

He paused as Charity appeared in the doorway. She moved hesitantly, rubbing her hands over her face to wipe away her ghostly tears. Ray saw the fearful look on her face and he felt bad for frightening her in spite of what her brother had done to them. He was angry at Ben Harper for hurting Peter; but he found it hard to be angry at Charity.

"Hey, Charity, look," he said earnestly, taking a step toward her. Ben raised the gun, but his father gestured for him to lower it. Ray moved closer to the girl. "Charity, I'm sorry I scared you. Are you okay?"

Charity nodded. She sniffled and her hands fumbled in her pockets. Ray instantly pulled out his handkerchief and held it out to her. She took it but she didn't blow her nose. She just gazed at him, smiling. "Thanks, Ray."

"Say, young fella," Pa Harper began, moving to Ray's side, "about that idea of yours, getting yourself cleaned up. I bet you could fit yourself into one of Ben's suits." He turned to Ben, who was scowling. "Son, why don't you take Ray into the house and let him clean himself up proper? Might as well do this right."

"And leave these three out here plotting an escape?" Ben retorted, waving his weapon in Egon, Winston, and Peter's direction.

Pa Harper looked shrewdly at the three men. "Don't believe they're going anywhere any too quickly, son. These two," he gestured at Egon and Winston, "won't leave without their buddies. I can keep an eye on 'em for ya, and if they try to leave the barn, I'll come fetch ya. I can move faster'n they can."

Ben's scowl only went darker. "I don't know. . . "

"I'll watch them, too, Ben," Charity piped up.

Ben hesitated a second longer. Then he turned to Egon. "Listen close. I'm taking your buddy here into the house. If Pa shows up and says you're running for the car, I'll put a bullet in this fellow too. Got it?"

"Ben!" Charity protested.

"Don't worry none, sis," Ben said grimly. "It won't kill him right off. He'll be around long enough to marry you." Ben's lips twitched in a faint smile. "And maybe if he's been a good Christian, he'll be following you right along to Heaven."

It was not a line of thought Peter had been hoping the three of them would pursue. Now that they had, he could add a new worry to his growing collection; whether or not the Harpers believed it was in Charity's best interest to kill her new husband so that the two of them could live happily ever after on the Other Side. Peter shuddered. That was not going to happen, not while he had breath enough in his body to fight it.

He caught Ray staring around at him anxiously, and knew that Ray was not even concerned with what the Harpers might do to him; that look on his face was pure worry for Uncle Peter. Peter shook his head firmly. "Go on, Ray. Go get gussied up for Charity. We'll be right here when you get back."

Ray glanced at Egon, who nodded in quiet agreement, and then at Winston, who gave him a slight grin and a thumbs-up sign.

Looking a little more resolved, if still worried, Ray joined Ben and the two of them walked out into the darkness beyond the doors.

Peter sagged back against the stall, trying to gather what energy he could in order to talk to Charity. He felt movement on either side of him and knew it was Winston and Egon. "Guys," he whispered, opening his eyes, "think you can distract Harper for me for a few minutes? So I can give out some brotherly advice to the bride-to-be?"

Egon sat down beside him and took out a flashlight to examine his wound. His frowning visage focused on Peter's leg, he extended his right arm and pressed a hand to the psychologist's forehead. "How are you feeling, Peter?"

"Like Pa Harper ran his tractor over me. Look, Spengs, it doesn't matter. We can't do anything about it right now anyway. Just get Charity over here so I can talk to her."

"I'm not sure you're up for this--"

"I know I'm not up for arguing about it," Peter interrupted firmly, giving Egon a look that conveyed his exasperation with the entire situation. "I just want to get out of here. If you've got a better plan, I'd love to hear it."

Egon gazed at him, blue eyes dark with the same worry Peter had seen in Ray's eyes moments ago. Peter tried to look reassuring; if only his leg would stop throbbing for a few minutes, he knew his grin would be much more effective.

Egon saw through the weak grin and shook his head. "I don't like this. Winston and I shall be working on possible alternatives, should talking to Charity fail to work."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Spengs," Peter said plaintively. He managed to look more put-upon than he really felt, judging by the prompt expression of apology that appeared on Egon's face. But that expression vanished an instant later in a stern look.

"Peter, you aren't well. Don't tax yourself trying to convince the girl she shouldn't marry Ray. I am not sure that she can be convinced. She clearly wants to be married."

"Perhaps she does," Peter agreed, folding his hands over his stomach and resting back against the stall. "Then again. . . perhaps she doesn't."

At that enigmatic statement, Egon lifted an eyebrow and regarded Peter curiously. Peter just smiled back and waved a hand. "Go on. I'm sure Ray's lingering as much as he can, but we won't have much time before Ben hustles him back out here."

Egon looked at Winston, who, after a brief glance at Peter, just shrugged. "Hey, if anyone can scare a girl out of marriage, Peter Venkman can," Winston offered, clapping Peter on the shoulder.

"Watch it, Zeddemore, or I might be tempted to enter into a little race dialogue with old Pa Harper over there." Peter grinned wryly. "You know how persuasive I can be. . . and you were Charity's first choice, if you recall."

"Please don't," Winston said, starting to rise. "There's one mind I don't want to change for the better."

As the two of them moved in Pa Harper's direction, Peter eased himself up off the straw and onto a nearby crate. It wasn't nearly as comfortable as the straw, but he wanted to be as close to eye level with Charity as he could. He watched Egon engage the farmer ghost in conversation, Pa Harper looking reluctant at first to talk to him. No doubt expecting a trick, Peter guessed. But evidently Egon had chosen a subject that interested the man, because Peter could hear Pa Harper's self-satisfied drawl expounding on the yearly rainfall in the area, or some such thing.

That was all Peter needed. He glanced around to look for Charity. She hovered near the doorway, straining to see some sign of her returning intended. Every few moments, she looked around for her father. When she glanced around again, Peter waved at her. She hesitated, gazing at him. Before she could look away, he gestured to her to come closer.

Charity wrung Ray's handkerchief in her hands. Peter realized for the first time that the girl seemed a little intimidated by him, though she had appeared comfortable enough around Winston, Egon, and Ray. Peter wondered if she had known someone like him before, when she had been a living woman.

He flashed her a friendly grin and gestured again. She glanced nervously at her father, then back at Peter. After a moment more of indecision, she floated toward him. When she was near enough, Peter could see the war of emotions on her face. Excitement, anxiety, and something else. Fear?

"How are you doing, Charity?"

A little frown furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

"You excited about getting married?" Peter leaned back, trying to find a more comfortable position for his aching leg. "That's a pretty big step in anyone's life."

"Well, of course I am," Charity said. "Why wouldn't I be?" She folded her arms and her gaze wandered around the barn as if there was something more to look at besides dark stalls and piles of straw.

Peter smiled. "Of course. And you gotta know you're getting a great guy in Ray Stantz. Ray's the sweetest guy in the world. You couldn't ask for better."

Charity's arms unfolded and her left hand curled around the end of her braid. She licked her lips and glanced down at Peter. "He sure seems nice," she said.

"He isn't in love with you, though," Peter added gently.

"Nor you with him."

Charity tugged at her braid. "I could love him," she said. "After a bit. I'm not too particular. Pa says I shouldn't be."

"Why not?" Peter asked.

She heaved her shoulders in part shrug, part sigh. "Well, I guess it oughta be obvious," she said. She glanced sidelong at him, and at his questioning look, she sighed again, loudly this time, in exasperation. "Well, I ain't the prettiest one!"

Peter realized what she meant. "Your sisters good-looking?"

"That's what folks always said. Fay, she was the prettiest, and Hope was mighty cute, too. Then there was me." Her head hung, her gaze focused on the pile of straw at her feet. "Folks'd say it's good to have one old maid in the family. A daughter at home can take care of you in your old age."

"Folks can be hurtful sometimes," Peter murmured. "Without altogether realizing how hurtful they're being. Charity?"

She responded to his gentle tone by lifting her head just enough to glance at him. He waved her closer. "You aren't afraid of me, are you?" he asked, when she hesitated.

She bit her lip and took a step closer to him. "I ain't afraid," she said.

"Do I remind you of someone?"

Her eyes widened. "How'd you know?"

Peter laughed. "Just a guess. Old boyfriend?"

Charity's pale cheeks tinged pink. She giggled. "Not a beau, exactly. Ma wouldn't let him. Said he was a sweet-talker and nothing else." Her gaze grew distant, wistful. "I thought he was just sweet."

"Did he marry someone else?"

Her smile faded. "No. He died."

"Died!"

At Peter's shocked tone, Charity just nodded, a little sadly. "In the war."

Peter realized Charity and her father had been stuck here longer than he'd imagined. "Vietnam?"

Charity's eyes widened. "No, silly. World War II."

Peter stared at her. "Charity, when did you. . . " He swallowed. "When did you die? Do you remember?"

Charity looked a little uneasy, but she answered. "Sure I do. May 2nd, 1942."

Peter did not attempt to hide his astonishment. "You've been stuck here 45 years?"

"It ain't nobody's fault," Charity said instantly. "Ma, she didn't know we were still here. Ben was just a baby. Fay and Hope were off married, and Ma had to sell the place and go live with Fay. It was only after Ben grew up, he come back here for a visit and found us here. We were alone for a long time while the bank owned us. Folks bought the property every once in a while, but no one stayed after we tried to talk to them."

"I bet," Peter murmured. Then he realized what she had not said. "When did your father die, Charity?"

Charity ran her hands down her long braid as if trying to smooth down the already sleek coil of hair. She took a little step away from Peter. "I don't remember exactly."

Peter heard the lie. He struggled to sit up straighter, to hold onto her attention. "Did you die together?"

"What do you want to know that for?" She looked at him, a hurt expression on her face. "Why you asking me so many questions, anyway?"

Peter met her look with a sympathetic eye. "Ray's my friend, sweetheart. I want to know about the family he's marrying into. Can't blame me for that, can you?"

Her eyes held his for one long moment, and he could see the fear there, and the uncertainty. She was just a kid. She probably didn't have a clear idea of just what she wanted, and probably no one had ever bothered to ask her. "Charity, how old are you?"

She lifted her chin, smoothing her shirt with her hands. "I'll be seventeen in July." She paused, frowning. "No, that's not right. I would have been. . . " Her face crumpled into a distressed look. "You're confusing me," she said, looking angrily at Peter.

"I'm sorry," Peter said in a quiet, placating voice. "I guess I'm a little confused, myself. See, when people like you and your father die, but they don't move on, it usually isn't because they want something, Charity--like you wanting to get married, or your Pa wanting you to. It's usually because they've been hurt or upset by something, or maybe so afraid, they get confused and they don't know what to do about it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She blinked rapidly, her hands twisting the poor braid into knots. "I don't know what you mean. I'm supposed to get married. Like Fay and Hope. I'm going to be a farmer's wife and. . . " She stopped, her hands tight around the length of hair. She looked at Peter, her whole face radiating fear, then swiftly looked away.

Peter had to know. "Charity, how did you and your father die?"

She turned back to him then, almost shaking with anger. "That ain't none of your business. I don't care if you are Ray's friend. You don't have to know everything. It wasn't my fault. And I can get married if I want. Pa says I can. So don't try and talk me out of it. Do you understand, Mr. Sweet Talker?"

Peter, a little taken aback by the intensity of anger but not too surprised that he had provoked it from her, decided to dare one more question, though it might send her flying to her father. "Charity. . . what wasn't your fault?"

Her lips parted in dismay. She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes briefly closing. Then she lowered her hand, giving him a resentful look, and started to turn away. Peter instantly rose on his good leg, wincing as his injury reminded him of its presence, and reached out to stop her.

"Charity, wait a minute. Please."

She looked at him, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "I don't like your questions," she said in a hurt little voice.

"Okay, no more questions," Peter agreed, lowering his hand to her arm without actually touching her. "I just wanted to tell you something, all right?"

She looked dubiously, but she sniffed and patted at her face with Ray's kerchief, succeeding in doing nothing but smearing ectoplasm all over it. "Yeah. What?"

"A lot has changed in the world in forty-five years," Peter said. "A lot. You have more choices. You can make any kind of choice you want to, Charity, and no one says you have to get married. Now if you fell in love with a guy, that'd be one thing. People still fall in love and get married. But they don't do it any more because someone tells them they'll be an old maid if they don't. And they don't do it because they want to prove something to their family. You deserve better than that, Charity. You deserve to feel everything that goes with getting married. All the love and excitement and passion. Even the worries and anxiety. You're missing out on all that if you get married just to please your father or because you think you have to keep up with Fay and Hope."

Peter paused, watching her carefully. She looked troubled and sad, and her hands had found the end of her braid again, twisting it in slow circles while she pondered what he'd said.

Then Peter added, more to himself, "And Ray deserves it, too."

Charity heard him. She bit her lips, raising wide, grave eyes to look up at him. "I might fall in love with someone," she whispered. "But no one's gonna fall in love with me."

Peter broke into an exasperated smile. He patted her shoulder, ignoring the chilly sensation. "Come on, Charity, you're being way too hard on yourself. You're a cute girl, and I'm sure there are guys out there who could fall head over heels if you gave them the chance."

A shy smile touched her lips. "You think I'm pretty?"

Peter leaned toward her and bestowed every ounce of the Venkman charm in his grin. "Pretty? You're a regular Michelle Pfeiffer, honey."

"Michelle who?"

"Uh. . . um. . . Lana Turner?"

Charity's eyes widened. Then she snorted with laughter and pushed at his arm. "Go on! I ain't neither."

"You could attract guys as easily as she did," Peter retorted, pushing her back teasingly. "If you'd just believe you can." A wicked thought came to him. "You know, you had quite an effect on Egon earlier. He thinks you're adorable, kiddo."

"He does?" Charity looked delighted. "Shame he's spoke for. I like him, too."

"Yeah, it's a shame," Peter said, barely containing the laugh that wanted to bubble up at the thought of Egon wedded to this little red-haired minx. He imagined poor Charity had been twitted endlessly about her looks; that was a tough thing to overcome. She needed a boost of self-confidence, the same as Ray had needed all those years ago back in college.

"Charity, I want you to think about something for me. You know, even if you marry Ray, you'll be separated when you have to leave here. And Ray's got to go back to his job in New York. He's part of an important team and we need him with us. But if you let us go, and we help you move on to. . . um. . . Heaven, you're probably gonna run into all sorts of eligible male ghosts up there. More good-looking bachelors than a girl would know what to do with."

Charity seemed to consider it. "And you think one of them would like me?"

Peter extracted the braid from her endlessly fidgeting fingers and gently brushed it off her shoulder. He flashed the patented Venkman grin at her. "What's not to like?"

She giggled. "You're funny," she said.

Peter shrugged, the smile still on his lips. "I'm a great guy all around," he said airily, winning another giggle from her. "Nice to be acknowledged though."

She took a step closer to him, beaming up at him. "What's your name? Peter, isn't it? I heard them call you that."

Peter froze for an instant at the all-too-familiar flirting tone of her voice. Maybe he was being a little too nice a guy.

He cleared his throat and backed away a step, wincing as he inadvertently set his weight on his injured leg. Charity reached out and caught his arms. A sharp sensation of cold went from shoulder to fingertips and Peter winced again, trying to wriggle away, though he knew he might topple over without her support.

"Peter, you'd better sit down," Charity said anxiously.

"You're not strong enough to be standing up so long. Come sit,

and I'll take care of you--"

"No, no, that's all right," Peter gasped, squirming in vain to get out of her hold. "I just need--" He looked around anxiously for Egon and Winston. Egon was still deep in conversation with Pa Harper, but Winston was eyeing Peter with obvious concern. Peter nodded urgently and Winston started toward him.

At that instant, Ben Harper, Ray at his side, appeared in the doorway. Ben took in the sight of his little sister with her arms around Peter and he lunged across the barn toward them.

"You get your hands off my sister!" he yelled.

Charity released Peter and turned to her brother. "Ben Harper, what's the matter with you?"

Ben ignored her, grabbing onto Peter as Peter swayed unsteadily. "What do you think you're doing, buddy? Trying to trick her? Charm her, like that slimy little college boy back in '41?"

"None of the above," Peter wheezed, grabbing at the hand that was hooked all too tightly over his collar. "Just giving her the ropes on how to be an '80's kind of gal."

"We don't want her to be an '80's kind of gal," Ben snapped, shoving Peter back against the wall. "We like her just the way she is."

"What, your little live doll you can boss around and make all the decisions for?" Peter responded, green eyes flickering in disgust as he stared at Ben Harper. Angry as he was, Peter found he could barely stand. His leg was one solid burning source of agony and the rest of him was not feeling much better than that. He blinked desperately as his vision swam and two Ben Harpers appeared before his eyes. Ugh. One was bad enough. Peter closed his eyes, pressing his arms against the wall as the barn continued to play Tilt-A-Wheel with him.

"Live doll?" Ben sputtered, making Peter wince at the loud angry sound. "I've had about enough of your insults, Ghostbuster."

Peter opened his eyes just in time to see Harper lift the rifle, the butt of it aimed at the psychologist's head. Peter sought to slip out of range, but none of his muscles would do as instructed. This is gonna hurt. . .

But the blow never came. Peter blinked and his vision cleared enough to show him Winston and Ben Harper in a desperate tussle over the rifle. Egon and Ray were both moving toward them, but Pa Harper reached them first. The farmer's arms encircled Winston and, at the chilling touch, Winston gasped, his grip on the gun loosened. Ben Harper instantly pulled back and lifted the rifle, aiming at Winston. "Right there, boy! Hold it right there!"

Winston needed no further warning. He held still, hands upraised, his dark eyes watching the hands that held the gun carefully. Harper's finger hovered over the trigger, but did not rest there. Winston exhaled and stole a fearful glance at Peter.

Peter met his glance with a weak grin and lifted one hand to wave at him.

"Hey, Zed. Good try, buddy." His voice faded and he toppled over, landing in a limp bundle on the straw. All three Ghostbusters stepped instinctively toward him. Ben Harper stayed them with a warning.

Peter heard Harper's voice, quivering, furious, ready to kill them all. He moved with an effort, trying to show the guys he was still conscious, he was okay. He had to hang on. He heard Egon's voice, seeming far away, "I'm going to check on him."

Peter groaned softly. Egon, if you get yourself shot. . .

But a moment later, an apparently unharmed Egon knelt down in the straw beside him. Peter felt the physicist's hand brush the hair back from his forehead. Egon's palm rested there a long moment, a warm, reassuring sensation. Peter exhaled, trying to steel himself against both pain and dizziness, and opened his eyes.

"Egon. . . "

"Don't talk, Peter. Take it easy. Your wound isn't bleeding again, but you're pale and clammy. I don't want you to lose consciousness." Egon leaned closer, until all Peter could see were two worried blue eyes. "Just stay still. We're going to go through with this. Ray's going to be all right. But we have to get this done and get you out of here. Do you hear me?"

"Tried," Peter murmured.

"I know you tried," Egon whispered, resting his hand against Peter's pale cheek for a moment.

"Guess you were right."

"Nonsense," Egon chided softly. "You can't bring every misguided soul to its senses with one session of analysis, Dr. Venkman. Especially when you've been hurt."

Peter felt another hand clutch at his arm and he knew who it was. "Hey, Tex," he murmured.

"It's gonna be okay, Peter," Ray said.

Peter noticed the blue suit Ray was wearing. It was a

little too large for him, and he suddenly looked to Peter's eyes

all too young and vulnerable to be in such a situation. "Damn

it, Ray, I don't like this--"

"It's going to be okay," Ray said, more firmly. He looked up at Charity and her father, who both hovered near. "I'm going to marry Charity, and then they'll let us go. Right?"

Peter knew the question was directed at Charity's father, and he held his breath, waiting for the answer. But it was Charity who spoke.

"No."

All three fully-conscious Ghostbusters began to immediately protest. Even Pa Harper and Ben looked surprised at the girl's response. But Charity put two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle that silenced everyone. Lowering her hand, she relaxed into a quiet smile, her gaze settled on Peter.

"I am getting married," she announced, smiling from ear to ear.

"But I ain't marrying Dr. Stantz."

Peter forgot the pain in his leg as his heart lurched out of his chest in sure knowledge of the next words out of Charity Harper's mouth.

"I want him," Charity said, pointing down at Peter. "Peter. He's got respect for me and he thinks I'm pretty." Her voice was defensive and she looked defiantly at both father and brother. "I want to marry him."

"No way, Charity," Ben said angrily. "I know his type. He's slick and clever and he's only in it for himself. He ain't any good for you, sis."

"Pa!" Charity wailed, turning to her father.

Peter groaned. The family dynamics were becoming more clear by the moment. But Peter knew Pa Harper didn't like him, either. Maybe they'd talk her out of it. Then Peter realized maybe they shouldn't.

"Now, Charity," Pa Harper began in a stern, fatherly tone. "You're my baby and I don't want to see you hooked up with the wrong type. This fella. . . " Harper looked down at Peter, a distinct expression of distaste in his eyes. "He reminds me of that travelling salesman come through town when I was a boy in Iowa. Crafty dog as ever lived, that man. Selling band instruments. What the hell do farmers need with band instruments?"

"Pa, Peter says I can marry whoever I want to!" Charity said, facing her father with a flushed face and determined stance. "I'm. . .I'm an '80's woman now, Pa. I can make my own choice, and you have to let me. Isn't that right?" she added, turning to Peter for support.

"Well. . . uh. . . " Peter swallowed hard, trying to resign himself to his fate. Better he than Ray. That thought alone did the trick. "You're absolutely right, Charity." He looked at Pa Harper. "You gotta let her decide. Even if she makes the worst decisions a girl can make, they'll be her own." He grinned tiredly. "'Sides, I'm not such a bad guy. Am I, Egon?"

Egon's hand tightened sympathetically on his shoulder. "No, Peter, you're not a bad guy."

"He's a great guy," Ray declared indignantly, rising.

Peter heard Winston's quiet chuckle and his words, "Don't know if I'd go that far, Ray."

Peter smiled and then winced. "Die, Zeddemore." He wanted to make a face at the man, but he didn't have the strength to even open his eyes. He could feel himself shivering, and couldn't seem to stop.

Egon's arm slid around him, lifting him slightly, and then he was held against a warm chest, arms close around him to keep him there. "Ray, hand me that blanket on the shelf."

Peter snuggled against Egon, grateful for what warmth he could find. "She picked me, Spengs."

"I know, Peter."

Was there a faint note of amusement in Spengler's voice?

Peter couldn't tell for sure. "'Bout time, huh."

"About time," Egon murmured, and there was soft laughter this time in the bass rumble close to his ear.

Peter, satisfied that the situation had been straightened out and the rest was just semantics, decided it was a good time for a nap, and Egon's shoulder was just as good a place as any if he was going to steal a few zzz's.

When he woke, he was lying in a bed in a darkened room. He lay for a moment, wondering if he had just had the most unpleasant and vivid dream of his entire life. But some instinct told him this was not his own bed in the firehouse. He stared into the darkness for a long moment, feeling disoriented and uncomfortably alone. He held out a hand, into the inky darkness.

"Anyone here?"

He heard a creak across the room and turned his head to see a tall figure leave an overstuffed chair in the corner and approach his bedside. There was the click of a lamp, and light chased away the darkness, to Peter's relief. He blinked up into Egon's face and saw the searching look in the physicist's eyes.

Egon sat down on the edge of the bed.

"How do you feel?"

"Me first," Peter muttered, lifting his head to glance around, thoroughly bewildered. "Where the hell are we?"

A smile twitched Egon's lips. "You don't remember being

moved here? You woke once or twice, grumbling at us when we

carried you into the house--"

"Harper's house?" Peter said in disbelief.

"Yes. Charity's bedroom, to be precise. It was where she wanted you put."

"And Harper didn't object?" Peter struggled to sit up and Egon pressed a hand down on his shoulder, effectively keeping him from doing so.

"Peter, you're in no shape to be up yet. I've re-dressed

your bandage and it should hold you for the moment, but you need

medical attention--"

"Where are Winston and Ray?" Peter demanded, again trying to rise.

Egon sighed patiently. "Peter, if you will hold both yourself and your tongue still for a moment, I can explain the situation to you."

Peter dropped back onto the bed, folded his arms, and looked expectantly at Egon. Egon looked amused, but continued.

"Winston and Ray are, for the moment, under lock and key in the next room, the key being in the possession of Ben Harper. It was the only way he would permit us to take you out of that barn and into the house."

"But he let you stay with me?"

"When I refused to leave you, he chose not to argue the matter," Egon stated calmly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"The weather is getting worse--"

"Worse?" Peter took note of Egon's extreme calm and realized things could not be good. "How worse is worse?"

"The wind has picked up and, from the weather report being relayed on the radio as we came into the house, I would have to assume a particularly virulent system has made its way to this area."

"English, Spengs!" Peter grabbed onto his arm. "Are we talking tornado?"

"Quite possibly," Egon said, still as calm as if they were discussing the chance of a light, pleasant rain shower. "However, Mr. Harper did inform us that there is a storm cellar to which we may retire if further weather reports warrant it."

"Do we have time to get through this wedding and get out of here?"

"I estimate that we do, but I'm not sure that you are ready

to--"

"I'm ready as I'm ever gonna be," Peter declared, making a more concerted effort to sit up and succeeding this time, ignoring the troubled frown on Egon's face. "Let's do it quick, before she changes her mind and decides she wants Ray, after all." He swung his good leg off the bed, then more slowly eased the wounded leg over, wincing as it came off the mattress. "Think she'll mind if I sit through the ceremony?"

"Peter--"

"I'm fine," Peter said. "Great. Wonderful. Hey, I'm getting married today." He cast a rueful grin at Egon. "And you guys thought it would never happen to little Petey. See, Egon, you can't always be right."

Egon sniffed. "I don't think this counts, Peter. You are hardly doing this of your own free will."

"Yeah, but since I am doing it, I'm counting it, okay?" He sat on the edge of the bed, looking far too pale and battered to be getting out of it. "And since I'm doing it. . . " He trailed off for a moment, catching Egon's gaze with such a serious expression that Egon leaned forward in concern.

"What is it?"

"Well, you know how it goes with these things, Spengs." Peter ruffled a hand over his hair and tried to pat it into shape. It was hopeless without a comb and mirror. He dropped his hand into his lap and looked up at Egon. "A groom needs a best man."

"Peter, I am hardly going to take this seriously, and

neither should you--"

"I'm not taking it seriously," Peter cut in gently, shaking

his head. "But Ray will, so I'd thought--"

"Oh, I see." Egon broke into a quiet smile. "You'll ask Ray."

"That's what I was thinking," Peter said, watching Egon's face intently. "But I wanted to tell you first, Spengs. Didn't want you thinking I hadn't thought of you, or Winston. When the real thing comes along, well. . . " He shrugged. "I'd never narrow it down to one of you."

"I would not be hurt, Peter, and neither would Winston if you chose Ray," Egon informed him, the warm sparkle in his eyes confirming that he was touched by Peter's words.

"All three of you," Peter said in a decided tone. His green eyes were unusually bright as he looked up at Egon. "This time, and any other time I might feel like getting married. That's how it's going to be."

"If that is what you wish," Egon said, sounding so pleased that Peter knew he'd made the right decision. "I have no doubt that when you finally do marry for real, it will require the presence of three best men to get you to the church on time."

Peter grinned. "Pot calling the kettle black, Dr. 'I'm Spoken For' Spengler."

Egon was saved from having to respond by the door swinging open. Ben Harper, Charity behind him, peered into the room. Charity appeared less substantial than she had in the barn, and Peter wondered if she was having trouble keeping herself visible after remaining so for such a long period.

"Let's get this done," Harper said. "Charity's waited long enough."

"Think I could use your facilities?" Peter asked, as Egon helped him to his feet.

Ben snorted in impatience and hefted the rifle.

"Maybe not," Peter continued, sliding an arm around Egon's shoulders. He ran his fingers through his hair, and it fell forward in an untidy tangle. "Guess there won't be any wedding photos, though--right?"

"Move it," Ben said, stepping back to let them pass through the doorway.

Peter limped at Egon's side. The physicist bore most of his weight, half-carrying him to the doorway. Peter slowed and turned to Ben. "How about a truce, since we're about to become brothers-in-law?" he began, holding out a hand. "I forget about the slug you put in my leg, and you let us all four go the minute Charity says, 'I do'."

Ben's eyes darkened and he rubbed a thick thumb slowly up and down the sleek metal barrel of the gun. "I'd just as soon put a bullet through your heart as let you marry my sister."

"Ben," Charity hissed. "Stop it!"

Ben's eyes remained on Peter, starkly hostile. "Maybe if I just kill him, you can marry his ghost."

"Don't be stupid, Ben," Charity said, poking him in the arm.

"We don't know where he's going once he's dead!"

"Hey, wait a minute," Peter protested, then paused as Egon's arm tightened around him in warning.

Charity turned to Peter and an adoring smile broke out on her freckled face. "You better just tell me, honey lamb," she said with an encouraging nod. "You're saved, ain't you?"

Peter opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just stared at her.

Egon could not recall the last time he had seen Peter speechless. . . if ever. He turned to Charity, answering for Peter. "It is my unfortunate duty to inform you, young woman, that you have requested the hand of without a doubt one of the most inveterate sinners in the city of New York."

That seemed to wake Peter out of his astonishment. "Hey, wait a minute." Then he stopped, realizing he'd already said that.

"I'm sorry, Peter," Egon said, seizing upon the green-eyed gaze as soon as Peter glanced his way. He nodded almost imperceptibly. "I felt the truth was absolutely necessary under the circumstances."

Peter caught on instantly. He turned back to Charity and tried to look penitent. "Sorry, sweetheart, but my buddy's right. I'm a sinner."

"A thorough reprobate," Egon concurred gravely. "A man who

thinks nothing of dating several women at once. A man who was

once well-known around college campuses for his ability to drink

even the largest of football players under the table. A man who

has never even considered--"

"I think she gets the picture, Egon."

Egon favored him with a surreptitious twinkle. "I just wanted to be sure, Peter. She should know what she's getting into."

He turned back to Charity, who was staring at Peter, her eyes round, jaw slack with awe. Ben looked more annoyed than ever. Before her brother could say anything, Charity all but leapt upon Peter and threw her arms around him.

"It's all right, Peter," she began, pressing her ghostly cheek against his chest. "I'm here now, darling, and I'll save you from yourself." She lifted her head and gazed up at him, eyes shining. "Even if you was wicked as could be, Pa says a wicked man can be saved by the love of a righteous woman."

Her arms slid close around his neck and she pressed up against him, placing small icy kisses along his jaw. Peter shuddered visibly and cast a look of silent appeal at Egon, who had reached out to steady him as even Charity's near weightlessness threatened to throw him off balance.

"We should proceed, then, with the ceremony," Egon suggested. It was obviously useless to try and dissuade Charity. "But we shall need both Winston and Ray. Peter has requested that we all serve as best man."

"Three of you?" Ben looked suspicious.

Peter met that look with an angry sparkle in his own eyes. He wasn't going to be moved on this one. "I'm not getting married without my buddies there."

Ben seemed to sense it was not a matter to argue with. Winston and Ray were released and, at gunpoint, marched into the kitchen. Charity took Egon's place at Peter's side and cuddled close to him, much to his discomfort. Egon stood at Peter's other side, Ray and Winston joining him. Ben planted himself in the doorway, keeping the gun trained on them all.

Charity looked around anxiously. "Pa!" she yelled.

Peter jumped at the sound, then glanced in near-panic at Egon. The sympathy in the blue eyes calmed him, but not much. "If only Janine were here," he joked weakly. "She'd be eating this up."

He was shivering again, more due to the proximity of the ghost beside him than any other reason. He still felt weak and dizzy, due to blood loss he assumed, and it was reassuring to see Ray, Egon, and Winston so near, all three of them keeping a sharp, worried eye on him.

Pa Harper appeared, fainter, but clear enough to recognize. He came forward, standing before Peter and Charity. His eyes were warm on his daughter, hardly noticing Peter at all.

"Charity, honey, you ready now?"

Charity wriggled and slid an arm under Peter's arm. Peter stifled a small gasp and tried not to shudder at the contact. The girl hardly seemed to notice. She nodded at her father.

"I'm ready, Pa."

Egon was aware of Peter's distress. He leaned forward.

"Peter?"

"I can make it," Peter said, stubbornly setting his jaw and straightening his shoulders. Plenty of time to pass out later. He knew the whole wedding night was gonna be pretty much a no-go, anyway.

Pa Harper folded his hands as if he were holding an open

bible. He smiled benignly upon the assembled group. "Dearly

Beloved," he intoned, "We are gathered here in the sight of God

Almighty--"

"God?" Peter looked uneasily at Egon.

Egon knew exactly what was on his mind. "Peter, I very much doubt that any Supreme Intelligence which may exist will look at a forced union as a binding one."

"Yeah. Okay. Of course not." Peter blew out a breath of air in a relieved laugh. "Just making sure. You never know who's paying attention to these things on the Other Side."

"Shhh!" Charity whispered.

Peter coughed. "Sorry," he said to Pa Harper. "Go ahead."

A wicked grin crooked his mouth. "Dad."

Pa Harper's brows came together, lips puckered, thin jaw

thrust forward. He leaned toward his daughter. "You sure about

this, Charity? The little red-haired fella, he seems real polite

and respectful--"

"I'm sure, Pa," Charity said, clinging tight to Peter as if she feared someone would take him away from her. "Go on now. Finish up."

Pa Harper looked extremely reluctant, but he continued with the service, reaching the "I do's" in record time. By that time, it was all Peter could do to remain standing. The pain in his leg was worse and promised an imminent collapse for his entire body if he did not sit down soon. To make matters worse, he remembered he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, except for a bag of nuts on the plane. None of them had. And Charity's grip on his arm was growing unbearably cold. Peter wished desperately for a chair. He let his eyes slide shut, hoping that would stave off the dizziness somewhat.

"Do you, Charity Miranda Harper, take this man. . . "

"Peter Venkman," Egon supplied quietly, gaze on Peter, who was white-faced and swaying.

Peter, hearing his name, blinked and opened his eyes. "I do," he blurted out.

Charity giggled. "He's so eager. Not yet, honey. It's my turn." She turned to her father. "I do, Pa."

Pa Harper turned toward Peter. "And do you, Peter Venkman,

take this woman, Charity Miranda Harper, to be your lawfully

wedded wife--"

"Unto death and beyond," Charity cut in dreamily, resting her head against Peter's shoulder.

Peter winced and, shying from her touch, inadvertently set his weight full on his injured leg. Pain shot clear up to his hip and he gasped aloud. Suddenly the room spun way too rapidly for him to keep up with. He knew he was falling, but he never landed. Hands caught him and bore him to something soft and comfortable. He sank into it gratefully. "Hey, being hitched ain't so bad after all," he mumbled.

"Peter?" Egon's insistent, worried tone roused him a little. "Peter, can you hear me?"

Peter lifted his eyelids just enough to see a sea of faces hanging over him. "Am I. . . " he swallowed, "married?"

Egon bent close enough to whisper. "Technically, no. However, the completion of this ceremony may be delayed." He lifted his head and looked up at Ray and Winston. "Do you hear that?"

Both of them wore listening looks. Winston frowned at the distant low rumble. "Sounds like thunder. But louder."

"Sounds like a freight train," Peter said, grabbing onto Egon's arm in an effort to sit up.

Egon looked at Ray, who hadn't spoken. Ray's expression was stricken with alarm and Egon knew he was fully cognizant of the imminent danger. "Tornado," Ray said, lifting his gaze to meet Egon's.

Egon nodded. He turned to Ben Harper. "Where is your shelter?"

Ray gasped suddenly and clutched at Egon's shoulder. "Egon, the packs! Our equipment!" He was up like a shot and, before Egon could stop him, through the kitchen door.

"Ray!" Peter yelled, his voice barely strong enough to carry across the kitchen. "Damn it! Egon, go after him!"

Egon was already up and heading to the door.

"Wait a minute!" Ben Harper sputtered. "Hey!" But the physicist was gone. Ben turned his gun on Winston. "You, get your buddy here up on his feet. We're going after them."

Peter knew Winston was about to argue. He pushed himself up off the chair and stood, wobbily. "Winston," he said, and put a hand on Winston's shoulder, as much to stay on his feet as to keep his buddy from getting into it with Ben Harper.

Winston, still scowling at Harper, moved to Peter's side and, without comment, slid Peter's arm around his shoulders. As Egon had before, he took most of Peter's weight, helping the psychologist to the door.

An eerie light filled the yard outside and the wind blew fiercely. From the porch, Peter could see Ray at the car, fumbling with the keys to get the trunk open. Egon reached the occultist's side and latched onto Ray's arm, trying to pull him back toward the house.

Peter eased out of Winston's grasp. "Go," he urged. "Drag them back up here. Carry them if you have to."

Winston nodded grimly and took off down the steps. Ben Harper stepped up close behind Peter and nudged him with the barrel of the gun. "Come on. We're going to shelter. Charity'll meet us there and we'll finish this."

Peter hardly heard him. His eyes were on Winston who, having reached Egon and Ray, was now in the process of bringing them back to the house. Arms linked, the men had their heads bent against the ever-increasing force of wind. Peter glanced around but from his vantage point, he could not see the tornado.

As his friends reached the porch, Peter started toward them. A gun barrel jammed threatening against his back stopped him.

"Wait a minute." Harper looked down at the three men, who had just started up the steps. "Shelter's around the south side of the house. You boys go on ahead of us. I ain't taking no chances on the three of you jumping me while I'm trying to stay on my feet in this wind."

Egon, holding onto Winston with one hand, his glasses with the other, looked up at Ben Harper. In spite of the wind that swept his blond hair across his face and into his eyes, the anger gleaming in the blue depths was all too apparent. "I'm not leaving Peter."

Ben aimed the rifle at Peter's head. "You get going, or Peter will be leaving you."

"Don't argue with him, Egon," Peter said, lifting his voice with an effort to be heard over the rising wind. "Go on. We'll be right behind you."

Winston pulled at Egon's arm. Peter, watching as Egon reluctantly allowed Winston to pull him back down the steps, knew how hard it was for the three of them to leave him standing on the porch in Ben Harper's hands. But they understood as well as he that every minute now was a matter of life or death.

Ben Harper hooked his fingers around Peter's arm. "Come on." He headed down the steps, forcing Peter to move far more swiftly than his body would agree to. He stumbled and Ben yanked him to his feet. Peter glanced around the yard, wondering if Charity and her dad were already in the storm cellar. The wind was picking up everything not nailed down, and battering at the rental car. Peter shuddered at the thought of the car, with packs inside, hurling through the air to land God-knew-where and possibly exploding on impact. But there was nothing he could do about that now.

As he staggered along the path at Ben's side, wind threatening to flatten him at any moment, he could see a flickering light ahead. The shelter doors were open and the light came from within. Three familiar silhouettes waited at the open door for him.

As he neared the shelter, the wind knocked him down and Ben stumbled against him, falling, too. He heard Ben swear. The man did not help him back onto his feet, but instead got up and ran for the shelter. Peter, lifting his head, realized no one was going to get him to safety. He tried to push himself up and managed to get onto his knees. The shelter looked miles away from that vantage point.

Somehow, he got on his feet and started forward again, nearly blinded by the force of the wind. Ahead, he could see that Ben had reached the shelter and was forcing Egon, Ray, and Winston back inside at gunpoint. Faint voices raised in anger floated to him. He knew that Egon, Winston, and Ray were arguing with Harper because they wanted to leave the shelter and come into the storm to rescue Peter.

Guys, don't piss him off. Don't make him shoot you. Peter tried to move faster, but it was impossible. Standing was becoming impossible. He stumbled a few feet and the wind sent him sprawling again, flat on his face in the dirt. It did sound like a freight train--only now, it sounded like a freight train about to run him over any minute.

He tried to get up again. The wind whipped around him relentlessly, forcing him down. Peter muttered a string of swear words under his breath, most of them directed at the howling wind, the rest at the Harpers, farmers, and the midwest in general; and began to crawl toward the shelter.

As he got closer, he could see Winston leaning out of the opening, arms extended to latch onto him as soon as he was near enough. Ray and Egon held the doors open, though the wind fought violently to close them. Dirt flew into his face, but Peter kept crawling, eyes shut, only the sound of the doors rattling and the faint call of his friends' voices heading him in the right direction.

Sure that he had already crawled far enough to have crossed the border into Kansas, Peter jerked back, startled, when a hand closed around his extended wrist. He blinked desperately against the dirt blowing into his face and peered through the haze, to see Winston's face. "Peter!" Winston yelled, and pulled on the arm in his grasp.

Peter winced as his body slid forward a few inches toward the doorway. He flung his right arm forward and Winston reached out to grab his other wrist. The wind tore up behind him and lifted his body off the ground. Peter yelled in shock and panic, grasping around wildly for Winston's hand without finding it. He felt the grip on his wrist weaken. "Don't let go!"

The wind pulled on its prize. Peter tried to twist his left hand around to grab onto Winston even as Winston's free hand grabbed onto his left arm in an effort to drag him into the shelter.

"All of you back!" Ben Harper yelled, his voice almost lost in the wind. "Close them doors!"

Winston, both hands around Peter's left wrist, hung on determinedly. "Egon! Let go of the door and help me!"

Egon released the rattling door and lunged to Winston's side, reaching out for Peter. The wind tossed and twisted Peter as if he weighed no more than sheets on a clothes line. The door Egon had left surged upward and swung down hard, landing on Egon's shoulder and knocking him into Winston. Winston tried to hang on to Peter, but the wind had the stronger grip.

Peter closed his eyes and let out a yell of pure fright as he felt his body twist upward into the air. He jerked legs and arms involuntarily outward and came into contact with nothing.

Panic overrode every thought except one. He was about to die. He opened his eyes wide and could see nothing except darkness and flying debris. Paralyzing horror struck him as he realized he wasn't falling. He was riding upward on air currents. He could do nothing except struggle in the grasp of the wind until it decided to let him go and let him fall to his death.

He flailed both arms wildly, as if he might somehow fly himself back down safely to earth. But he knew there was no way. This was it for little Petey Venkman.

But Peter wasn't ready to die. He yelled loud and long, a protest no one was around to hear but one he was determined to make any way. If he had to go, he wasn't going quietly.

Then he yelled again, this time in shock as the sudden sensation of bitter cold encircled him and a voice hollered in his ear, "Good thing you called out, honey. I was having trouble finding you."

"Charity?" Peter tried to glimpse over his shoulder. He was not rising as quickly now, but his hair swept into his eyes and he couldn't see her.

"Hold on tight." Her cheerful voice was the most beautiful sound in the world at that moment. "We're going down!"

And then they dropped. Peter deliberately closed his eyes, concentrating on the icy arms that held him in a firm embrace, the only thing that kept him from yelling in terror as the ground got closer and closer. If she let go. . .

But she didn't. She slowed down and Peter realized in amazement that his feet were on solid ground again. Unfortunately, his body hadn't caught on yet, and he collapsed.

Charity held him up and he realized vaguely that she was yelling in excitement. As the wind whipped around them, she carried him forward and then abruptly let him go. But there were other hands to catch him and lower him onto a relatively comfortable surface.

The wind had died down. No, he could still hear it, distantly. But he was out of its reach and he breathed in relief.

"Peter?"

Peter could have cried aloud at the sound of the warm, deep voice. He wasn't alone either. "Egon?" he tried, without opening his eyes.

He heard a chorus of exhaled breaths that echoed his own relief. A blanket covered him and more than one pair of hands tucked it around him. He opened his eyes and saw once again a bevy of worried faces hovering over him. They all needed some reassurance that he was still in one piece.

He was too worn out to give it to them. Almost. "Spengs?"

"Yes, Peter?" If the voice was a little shaky, Peter pretended not to notice.

"Next time I wanna go riding on a twister, remind me that I didn't really like it the first time."

He heard the soft, unsteady chuckles and he sighed to himself. That would have to do for now. He was quite ready for another little nap.

He woke some time later to find himself in far too much quiet. Worriedly, he turned his head, trying to gain some idea of where he was. The room was small and cramped, shelves stocked with food and water taking up most of the space. Cots ran along the walls, and Peter could see, across from his own, Egon sprawled on one of them, sound asleep. His right arm was in a makeshift sling, Peter noted with alarm. Then he vaguely recalled the shelter door knocking Egon sideways and realized that was when the physicist had gotten hurt.

Peter sat up, trying to ignore the new aches and bruises that had joined the terminal dull pain in his leg, and gazed around the room. Ray was on another cot, sound asleep as well, and Winston sat in a chair nearby, dozing. Ben, rifle cradled in his arms, had dozed off too.

Peter climbed out of bed and limped to Egon's cot. He knelt down and checked out the sling that held Egon's arm secure. Winston's work, as tidy and careful as always. Peter noted that Egon had removed his glasses. The absence of the glasses, in combination with the wind-swept hair lying in limp strands over his brow, made him look very young and very un-Egon-like. Peter couldn't help smiling at the sight. "Figures it would take a tornado to knock the curl out of your hair." He put a hand on Egon's uninjured shoulder and shook him gently. "Spengs?"

Unfocused eyes opened and quickly gained clarity, fixing almost immediately on Peter's face. Egon started to sit up and then winced in pain. Peter firmly pressed him back onto the cot. "Your turn to lie still, big guy. What did you do to yourself?

It's not broken, is it?"

Egon blinked and fumbled with his left hand for his glasses. Peter retrieved them for him and with utmost care settled them on Egon's nose.

"Peter." Egon's voice, deep and sleep-fogged, was a welcome sound and Peter relaxed a little just to hear it. "Peter, are you all right?"

"Hey, I asked you first."

Peter, expecting his flip response to elicit at least a reproving look if not a reluctant smile, was dismayed to see the sudden emotional brightness that filled the blue eyes. Egon's lips quivered and then tightened as if the physicist were struggling to control overpowering grief.

Then Peter remembered why. He immediately grabbed onto Egon's left hand, holding it firmly between his own. "Spengs, I'm sorry. I didn't even think of. . . " He stopped, heartsick at the look in Egon's face. "You don't need to say it. I scared the hell out of you again, didn't I?"

Egon closed his eyes but tears glistened on his pale lashes. The fingers in Peter's hand clung hard. "One minute, we had you, and the next minute, you were. . . gone. I thought. . . " He stopped abruptly, his breathing audible and erratic as he made another effort to gain control over his emotions.

"Yeah," Peter murmured. "I thought, too. But I'm here, Spengs, and still in working order."

Egon exhaled and opened his eyes, gazing up at Peter,

smiling, though tears still rimmed his lashes. "I know. But for

a minute or two--"

"A minute or two?" Peter grinned. "Felt like a year or two."

"Indeed." Egon had managed to regain his usual dry tone, an odd contrast, Peter thought, to the gleam of inexpressible thankfulness in the blue eyes. "If you're going to continue to indulge in these near-misses, Peter, I wish you'd at least do it a little less dramatically. The sight of you vanishing up into the dark sky like that. . . " He shuddered, and his gaze searched Peter's face. "It must have terrified you, as well."

For a moment, Peter remembered the sensation of being torn from the earth and hurled upward so fast he thought he might go into orbit; not liking that memory at all, he retreated from it and gave Egon a rather fragile grin. "For a minute or two."

Egon knew better than to let it go at that. "Talk to me," he said quietly.

Peter blew out a long breath and gave Egon an apologetic look. "Can I take a rain check? Right now, I'm still pretty much dealing with the fact that I'm alive at all."

The fingers around his hand tightened. "I am as well," Egon said.

Before Egon could get emotional again, Peter broke into a soft laugh. "You should see your hair, Spengs. You've got a flower-child look going there that would tickle Janine to no end."

Egon snorted. "Never mind my hair. You should see yours, Peter."

"Hey, I was up in a tornado, Spengler. There's no way I can keep a look going under those conditions."

Egon chuckled, and the hand in Peter's relaxed, Peter noted with satisfaction. He turned to look over at Ray and Winston. "Hey, Egon, the kids are asleep. Let's sneak out and go to the movies."

"The guard dog is still on duty," Egon reminded him.

Peter looked around at Ben Harper, who was snoring softly, mouth hanging open. "Asleep at his post. Wonder where the rest of the clan's gotten off to?"

"Right after Charity handed you over to us, she and her father vanished," Egon said. "They may be gone for good. If I had a meter. . . " He trailed off with a sigh.

Peter, feeling both sympathetic and exasperated, made a face

at him. "Guess I could sneak out to the car and get you one--

assuming there's still a car to sneak out to. But I'm not sure

that's gonna convince our pal Harper that Dad and Sis have moved

on." Peter leaned his head in his hands. "I oughta march over

there and rip that rifle out of his hands--"

"You won't do any such thing," Egon murmured. "Not with Ray and Winston asleep and in the line of fire at the moment. Besides, the most you could manage is a noisy hobble that would wake him before you got within a foot of the gun."

"You take all the fun out of heroic gestures," Peter complained. He sighed. "Guess we'll have to wake him so we can go out and survey the damage."

"Wake him gently, then. We don't want any more 'accidents'," Egon said with a wry twist of his mouth.

"I always wake weary sleepers gently," Peter stated, rising.

"Unlike some people." He gave Egon a meaningful look.

Egon sat up and smiled at Peter, unruffled by the veiled accusation. "If it were possible to wake you gently for early morning calls, Peter, I would do so. Unfortunately, rousing the near-dead requires rather more rigorous effort."

Peter smiled to himself at the tone in the physicist's voice, glad to hear Egon sounding like himself again. Deciding to let Egon win that one, Peter did not respond but went close enough to Harper to wake him with a carefully neutral, low-key call. Harper woke with a jerk, hands clenching around the rifle.

"Calm down," Peter said instantly, as Harper struggled blearily to his feet. "You've still got your gun, Ben. And your prisoners. You just dozed off. No need to panic."

Harper backed up from the sound of his voice, blinking rapidly to wake himself fully. "All of you just stay right where you are," he demanded, sounding as exhausted as he looked. "Stay there." He lifted the gun, aiming at no one in particular, and Peter sensed the man could barely focus and was merely responding instinctively out of self-preservation.

Peter waited until Ben had gained enough wakefulness to take in his surroundings. Then, as Harper focused on him, he spoke.

"Ben, the tornado's gone. And it looks like your dad and your sister are gone, too. It's morning, I think, and it's time to let us go. What do you say?"

Ben gazed around the shelter for a moment, then up at the doors apprehensively. "Yeah. Gotta check on the damage," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He gestured with the rifle. "Open up the doors."

Ray and Winston, awake now, rose and moved to the doors, eager to get out of the dark, close space. Sunlight flooded down upon them and they could see a clear blue sky beyond the doorway. Harper waved them back into the corner and then he climbed out, awkwardly, gun in hand.

"Peter." Ray's voice was soft, almost a whisper, and he tugged at Peter's sleeve. As Peter turned to him, he gazed back, face so full of emotion that Peter had no doubt what was on his mind. "I'm glad you're okay, Peter."

Winston, at Ray's side, reached out and touched Peter's cheek lightly. "Looks like you were in a fight, Pete," he said, his own voice tight with emotion, though he was smiling.

"You think I look bad, you oughta see--"

"The tornado," Winston finished for him, and chuckled. "You gotta think up some new lines, m'man."

"Give me a break, Zeddemore. I had a late night and no one's fed me since yesterday." Peter felt Ray still hanging onto his arm. "Tex, I'm okay."

Ray just nodded, too choked up to speak. Peter sighed. Words alone just didn't cut it for Ray. "Come here, Stantz," he said, and pulled Ray into a hug, patting him on the back. "See? Uncle Peter's all in one piece. Bullets, weddings, winds that won't quit--nothing stops the Mighty Venkman."

Peter winced as Ray's arms tightened around him. He looked at Winston and Egon wryly over Ray's head. "Just think, guys. I survived all that, only to be suffocated by my best friend."

"Sorry, Peter," came the muffled, emotional reply from Peter's shoulder. Ray's grip loosened a fraction.

Peter tousled the wind-blown auburn hair. "S'okay, kiddo. You can squeeze the stuffing outta me if it'll make you feel better."

Ray laughed a shaky laugh and let him go. Winston took a turn at him, managing not to squeeze him quite as thoroughly as Ray had. "Pete, sure you're okay?"

At the quick whisper in his ear, Peter drew back and met the dark eyes, giving Winston a grin. That was enough for Winston. He clapped Peter on the shoulder. "Good to have you back, buddy."

No sooner had he finished speaking than first the left door, then the right door of the shelter slammed shut above them, plunging the storm cellar back into semi-darkness. The Ghostbusters turned as one, none of them speaking, and listened in horror as the scraping sound of a board being thrust through the door handles made itself heard.

"The son-of-a-bitch is locking us in here," Peter whispered, and started toward the doors. "Harper!" He reached up with both hands and shoved at one door. It rattled but did not give. "Harper, let us out of here!"

"Get back, Peter," Winston said grimly, coming up behind him with a large board in hand. Peter realized he'd taken down one of the empty shelves. Winston shoved the end of the board hard against the doors. The doors rattled again. Winston tried a second and third time, then dropped the useless board on the ground with a disgusted, angry look.

"He's got it jammed good," Winston said. "Any ideas, guys?"

"Knew I should've grabbed the gun while I had the chance," Peter muttered.

"One bullet in you at a time is more than enough, Peter," Egon said. "Speaking of which, you shouldn't be standing on that leg."

Peter sighed. "Focus, Egon. We want to get out of here.

Then we'll worry about all our scrapes and bruises."

Egon flashed him a stern look, but said nothing else. Ray moved to Egon's side and looked up at the doors. "What's he doing, anyway?" Ray asked worriedly. "Does he think he can just leave us here and starve us?"

"There's a little food in here," Winston commented, glancing around. "Maybe enough to keep us a week or so."

"I don't like canned peaches, Zed," Peter told him.

"We're getting out of here."

"I'm all for it," Winston said. "So how?"

"Think big." Peter grabbed onto the metal frame of Ray's cot and dragged the cot toward the doors. The others immediately joined him, each taking a corner of the frame, Egon forced to do it one-handed.

Peter, flipping the mattress onto the floor, gave a count of three and they lifted the frame up and aimed it at the doors. On the first try, they were rewarded with the sound of splintering wood.

"Again," Peter encouraged, and they rammed the frame forward again. The doors gave a little more. "Third time's a charm," Peter panted, and that time the doors gave, flying wide, as the board Harper had shoved in place broke apart and went in two directions.

"Teamwork," Winston said, sounding triumphant.

"Let's get out of here," Peter added, and popped his head through the doorway to make sure Harper wasn't waiting outside, poised with his rifle.

But there was no sign of him. The four men crawled out of the shelter and into the light of day. They stood for several moments, staring around in awe at the mess left by the twister.

Debris was scattered everywhere. Tree limbs, boards, tools, roof tiles, all over the yard. Peter turned in the direction of the house and saw the rental car still parked out front, apparently in one piece, but damaged by an oak branch which had put a hole through the back window.

"Looks like we won't be hitchhiking back to Tulsa after all," Peter said in relief as they headed toward the vehicle.

"Um, Peter?" Ray's voice stayed them all.

Winston groaned aloud. "Damn it! I forgot."

As Egon and Peter looked at them both questioningly, Ray nodded. "Harper took the car keys from me, right before he locked me and Winston in the bedroom."

Peter swore softly. He turned toward the car and yanked open the driver's door. "Ray, you can get this car started without a key, can't you?"

"I think so." Ray slid into the driver's seat. "You guys better get in."

"We got one other problem, guys," Winston said from the other side of the car. He kicked at the tire. "A flat. Looks like the tornado took a whack at it. And the spare's locked in the trunk." He looked up at the weary faces of Peter and Egon and smiled grimly. "I'll run into the barn and look for something to pry open the trunk."

"You're not going by yourself," Peter said. "We don't know

where Harper went. He's probably still around here somewhere--"

"Well, you can't run," Winston cut in, and turned to Egon, who nodded. The two of them took off toward the barn.

Peter leaned through the car doorway. "Ray, don't start it yet. I don't want Harper to hear it while we're separated. Wait til we're ready to go."

Ray nodded, letting go of the wires he'd pulled loose. Peter saw him bite his lip worriedly. "We're going to get out of here, Ray," Peter told him.

As if the fates had heard and decided to make things a little more difficult, the front door swung open and Ben Harper stepped out onto the porch.

"Shit," Peter whispered, and latched onto Ray's shoulder, dragging him out of the car and onto the ground beside it.

Ray stared at him in alarm. "Peter, he'll see Egon and Winston! What'll we do?"

Peter groaned and dropped his head back against the car door. "They'll be out in the open," he muttered. "I'll be damned if I'm going to let Farmer Brown take any more potshots at us." He started to rise and Ray grabbed his arm.

"Peter--"

"It's okay," Peter said, setting a hand firmly over Ray's clinging fingers. "I'm not going to scare the guy into shooting at me. And even if he does, I can duck down behind the car. Winston and Egon won't have anything to duck behind."

"I'm coming with you," Ray said, and rose into a crouch beside Peter.

"All right, but let me do the talking."

Ray suddenly grinned. "When have I ever stopped you?"

"Once or twice at least. Not nearly as often as you should have, probably," Peter said, returning the grin. "Me first, okay? One will scare him less."

Ray nodded. Peter rose slowly from behind the car until he could see Harper--and Harper, if he turned just a little, could see him.

"Harper," Peter called, tensing to drop if the rifle was pointed at him.

Harper instantly raised the rifle and Peter, about to duck, felt Ray's arms wrap tight around him and yank him down.

"Thanks, Ray," Peter gasped.

"You come out of there," Harper shouted. The rifle went off, a bullet buzzing over their heads. "Come out!"

"I'm going up, Ray," Peter said. "You stay put for the moment. You're my wild card."

"Peter!"

Peter clapped him on the shoulder and grinned at him.

"Don't worry. This is a full-fledged surrender." He winked.

"Remember the Alamo."

"That's Texas," Ray whispered, brown eyes round with anxiety. "Not Oklahoma."

Peter shrugged. "I was close." He got up and lifted both arms in the air. "Okay, Harper, here I am. Don't shoot. I'd like to keep what blood I have left right where it is."

"You got a smart mouth," Harper said in annoyance. "Come out from behind there."

Peter gave Ray a stay-there look and stepped out from behind the car. As he did, he stole a quick look toward the barn. Winston and Egon were nowhere in sight.

Harper came down off the porch, rifle fixed steadily on Peter. As he neared, Peter could see the anger and grief in the man's face. "Where's my Pa?" he demanded suddenly, and the rifle barrel wavered. "And Charity? What'd you do? I can't find them."

"I didn't do anything," Peter answered, keeping his voice calm and low-key. "Have you considered that they've finally moved on to where they were supposed to go forty-five years ago?"

"She wasn't married," Ben protested, his jaw working back and forth, eyes blinking rapidly. The guy had been crying, Peter realized. "She had to get married."

"She couldn't get legally married," Peter said, hands still lifted as he faced the gun in Ben's grasp. "She didn't even have a marriage license, Ben. Maybe there was some other reason they were trapped here. Maybe. . . " He trailed off, thinking desperately.

"Hey, Peter," Ray called.

Peter groaned and glanced over his shoulder. He knew he should have locked Ray in the car.

The occultist had risen and was coming around the back of

the car, an eager look on his face. "Peter, maybe it had

something to do with the storm. You know, the destabilization of

electromagnetic forces in the--"

"Ray, you're going to confuse Mr. Harper here with that kind of talk, and it's going to make him cranky enough to put another bullet into Uncle Peter. Let's save the complex theories, and go for the simple ones. That okay with you?" Peter flashed him a warning look and, grabbing onto him, drew him close as Harper moved nearer.

"Oh." Ray looked disappointed, but he glanced sidelong at Harper and realized Peter was right. "Okay. Well, there could be lots of other reasons Mr. Harper and Charity haven't materialized since the storm."

"Yeah?" Ben glanced warily at Peter, then turned back to Ray, a faint hope appearing in his eyes. "So tell me."

"Keep it real simple, Tex," Peter murmured, so that Harper couldn't hear. "Pretend you're translating Egon-ese for those of us who speak real-world english. You're good at that."

Ray turned to Harper. "They could actually still be around,

Mr. Harper. I was just thinking that the unusual atmospheric

activity. . . um. . . rather, the weather system that spawned the

tornado. . . was capable of altering their molecular. . . um. . .

changing the way in which they were able to appear to us, so that

even if they're still present, they aren't visible to us like

they were before--"

"Wait just a minute," Harper rasped, eyes darting back and forth between Peter and Ray with dark suspicion. "You saying my Pa and my sister are still stuck here and I can't see them anymore? Is that what you're saying?"

"Well, that's just one theory," Ray began hesitantly,

glancing at Peter. "We could also conjecture that--"

"Ray, think you could pull a more optimistic theory out of your hat this time?" Peter murmured, pushing Ray slowly backward in the direction of the car. "I don't think Mr. Harper's taking this at all well."

Mr. Harper proved him right by raising the rifle again and

advancing on Peter purposefully. Peter deliberately stepped away

from Ray, backing rapidly to draw Mr. Harper's bead away from the

occultist, all the while raising his hands in an automatic effort

to calm the farmer. "Harper, wait a minute--"

"You shut up," Ben Harper demanded, sounding distraught now as he followed Peter steadily, rifle aimed. "This is all your fault! Charity was willing to marry this fellow over here, until you started in with your nonsense, telling her she didn't have to marry nobody. You got all her confused, and then you got her thinking she loved you. Faith and Hope told me about that man who was courting Charity the year 'fore she died. She's got a weakness for your type. I should've known better. I should've gotten rid of you before she ever started choosing!"

"Mr. Harper," Ray began urgently, "please, don't do this.

Peter was only trying to help her. Put the gun down--"

"Ray, get back behind the car," Peter interrupted. He pulled his gaze away from Harper for a moment to give Ray an apprehensive glance. Ray looked back, quietly stubborn, clearly refusing to leave Peter standing alone in front of Harper's gun.

Peter had no time to try and get past Ray's stubborn streak; from the corner of his eye he saw two figures in the distance, and realized Egon and Winston had left the barn, sized up the situation in the yard, and were now moving in the direction of the house, slowly, to position themselves behind Ben Harper.

Peter groaned inwardly. Someone else was going to end up taking a bullet, and he didn't like that idea at all.

Ben Harper was near enough now that Peter could see his face, red and streaked with tears. The man was not capable of thinking straight at the moment.

"Ben, if you'll put the rifle down for a minute, we can talk about this. Ray and Egon are scientists. If anyone can figure out where Charity and your dad went, they can. But you have to calm down and listen to us, Ben. You have to give us a chance to help you."

"No more clever words outta you," Harper said angrily, waving the gun. "You're trespassing. All of you. I want you to get in your damned car and get out of here."

"You--you're letting us go?" Ray asked.

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?" Harper demanded, sniffling against his sleeve. "I could kill all four of you, but that won't do me any good. You're already gonna be siccing the cops on me for shooting your buddy. I wish to God you'd never come here."

"We thought you needed some help," Ray began apologetically.

"Wait a second, Tex," Peter murmured. He took a step toward Ben Harper. "Ben, how long have you been trying to find help for your father and your sister?"

Ben shrugged, gun lowering slightly in the process. "Ten years maybe. Twelve. Something like that. What's it to you?"

"How did you even know they were here to begin with?" Peter asked.

"Why you wanna know that?" Ben demanded. The gun shook.

"Why don't you just leave?"

"Peter," Ray whispered worriedly.

Peter lowered his hands, gaze on Ben. "You remembered, didn't you? Dreamed, maybe?"

Ben stared at him, blinking, and the gun hung down a little further, no longer directly aimed at Peter. "How'd you know that?"

"Charity said you were a baby when she died."

"I was two. So?"

Peter nodded. "So you remember it. It's stayed inside you all these years, until it surfaced in your dreams and you had to come back to this farm and look for them. You saw them after they'd died and you knew they were still here. Was it a tornado?"

"Charity told you?" Ben said, tear-streaked face etched with

disbelief. "She don't talk about that--"

"She didn't. I just guessed. May of '42. That's when they both died, isn't it?" Peter's sympathy was palpable. Ray, listening, noticed that Ben had lowered the gun to his side and was staring at Peter now with a look of open grief on his face, the anger and defensiveness faded from the man's tired eyes.

"I remembered," he conceded. "And Ma told me a little 'fore she died how Charity used to run and hide when tornadoes come. She'd hide down under her bed and Pa'd know to find her there, so he could carry her to the shelter. When she got a little older, she quit hiding, but she was still scared. Then that college fellow, Addison, started coming around all the time, eyeing her, and Ma thought he wasn't serious about her, just having fun." Ben's face was grim as he stared at Peter. "Just like your type. You want to have a bit of fun with a girl, then leave her with her heart all broke."

"That isn't Peter," Ray protested, but fell silent when

Peter glanced at him and, with a slight smile, shook his head. Harper was in no frame of mind for a debate on the subject; he'd already made up his mind.

"How'd your Pa feel about it?" Peter asked, turning back to Ben.

"He liked Addison," Ben said. "Thought he was a smart fellow. Ma said Addison sweet-talked Pa too. Talked about farming. Pa loves to talk about farming."

"What happened when the tornado came?" Peter asked gently.

Ben's gaze strayed to the barn and his eyes grew faraway as he dug into memories. "Ma said she saw it first. She was hanging the wash and she come inside the house to get me. I don't remember that, but I remember her arms shaking while she was carrying me down into the shelter. It was in my dreams for a long time. We were alone there, waiting, while Pa went to look for Charity. She and Addison used to go walking, and Pa drove up the road looking for them. I don't know what happened after that. Ma says she thinks Charity was in a panic and Pa couldn't get her into the car. He got out to calm her down and Addison jumped in the car and took off."

"Gosh," Ray whispered, sounding horrified.

"He just left them there, in the path of the tornado?" Peter asked, shocked.

"No!"

The anguished wail startled them all. Ben Harper gasped aloud and jerked around, dropping his gun. Charity, ghostly, but far more substantial than the night before, stood a few feet away. She stared at her brother angrily, tears in her eyes.

"That weren't so, Ben Harper! You weren't there, you don't know. Ma didn't like Addison and she wanted to blame somebody. But it was my fault!" Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands. "My fault!"

"Charity, you ain't gone," Ben whispered.

"'Course I ain't gone," Charity exploded, dropping her hands to fix a furious gaze on him. "I only had to go away for a bit.

You know Pa and I can't stay long without getting tuckered." She

folded her arms, her face a grimace of misery. "We're stuck here

for good. I'm being punished 'cause I killed Pa--"

"No, you're not," Peter said firmly. "Charity, tell us what happened after your Pa found you and Addison."

Charity turned to Peter and her anger faded, her expression forlorn. "I got scared, really scared, the way I used to get. We was out in the middle of the road and we could see the twister heading right toward us. Addison, he was pulling me toward the car, but I was scared to get in it. I just knew the twister would pick us right up and smash us to bits in all that metal. Pa got out and tried to help him, but I broke loose and just started running. I couldn't think. I didn't know, but I had to run. There was an old barn down the road, and I run there. Pa and Addison were both right after me, and we huddled down in there, though it wouldn't have took more than a good wind to knock the place down."

Charity stopped for a moment, her eyes back on her brother, and when she continued, her voice was almost too soft to be heard. "The tornado hit and after that I wasn't sure what happened to me. I was up in the air but, funny thing was, I could see my body down on the ground. Pa was with me, but Addison wasn't. He was lying in a ditch alongside the road, just lying there like he was sleeping. The tornado picked up the car and it was gone. Me and Pa, we stayed there for a while, until Addison woke up, and we tried to talk to him but he didn't hear anything we said. He was bleeding some, but he got up and walked off down the road." Her voice shook. "I didn't see him again after that."

"He dropped out of school and enlisted," another voice put in as Charity fell silent.

"Pa!" Ben exclaimed, sounding immensely relieved.

The old farmer nodded to his son, then turned to Charity.

"Honey, he must have loved you something fierce. He wouldn't leave us, though I told him to go on, take the car, and I'd stay in the barn with you. It wasn't your fault, Charity. I don't blame you for what happened. You was just scared."

"But you went right up into the tornado to rescue Peter!"

Ray blurted out.

"Raymond has a point," Egon commented.

Peter glanced around at him. Egon and Winston had crept up to listen to the conversation moments after Charity had reappeared. Ben Harper hardly seemed aware of either of them.

Peter nodded. "She saved my life. And she wasn't scared at all."

"Well, it wasn't like anything else could happen to me," Charity said in exasperation, but her cheeks were pink.

"You didn't know that for sure," Peter responded. "Like Ray said, the electromagnetic whatsits could have played pinball with your molecules until you were worse off, still stuck here but without any way to talk to your brother or anyone else."

"Well, that's not exactly what I said," Ray added, giving Peter a faint grin.

"Don't, Raymond," Egon chided dryly, his eyes twinkling.

"You'll only confuse him."

"No picking on Dr. Venkman when he's in the middle of a session," Peter retorted promptly and, giving them a stern look, turned back to Charity. "Sweetheart, remember what I said to you in the barn? I had a feeling even then that you weren't hanging around here because you needed to find a man. You already had a good one, sounds like," he added, voice gentle with sympathy. "But you couldn't face the way you died. You've been blaming yourself all this time for something no one else blames you for. We're all scared of something, kiddo. It's okay to be scared. Hell, I was terrified last night when that twister yanked me off the ground. And you saved my life, Charity."

As he trailed off, Peter sensed Ray, Egon, and Winston all three moving nearer, lending him their silent support as he suppressed his own bad memories of the night before. He gave them a quick grateful look before returning his attention to the young woman. "You got past that fear, Charity. Now you just gotta understand that your family loves you and they're not blaming you for this. Everything your Pa did, he did out of love for you. Right down to going along with your assertion that the only reason you were still earthbound was because you had to get married before moving on."

Charity turned to her father. "You knew I didn't need to get married?"

"I wasn't really sure what you needed, honey," Pa Harper said. "All I knew was I loved you. And I had to stick around with you just in case you needed me."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Pa. I'm so sorry!

If I hadn't been so scared, you and me, we would have--"

"Don't, honey," Pa Harper said gently, putting his arms around her. "It's okay. It was just our time, that's all. The Lord was calling us home."

"If that's the case, you kids are way late for supper,"

Peter commented. "But maybe now you can move on. What do you think?"

Pa Harper gazed at Peter. "Even young Addison didn't have as smart a mouth as you, boy. But I guess I can overlook it since you helped my little girl. And Ben, too," he added, turning to look at his son.

Ben Harper looked at Charity, then at his father, a helpless, stricken expression on his round face. "You're going?"

Peter realized that it hadn't really occurred to Ben what might happen once his classified ad produced successful results. He'd gotten to know his family in the past twelve years, and now he had to say good-bye to them both at once. Pa Harper seemed aware of Ben's grief.

"You're gonna be all alone now, aren't you, son?" The old farmer looked troubled.

Ben made a visible effort to get himself together. "I'm okay, Pa. I might keep the farm after all, though. Unless I'm gonna be going to jail." He glanced regretfully at Peter.

Charity interceded. She swept up to Peter and clasped her cold hands over his shoulders. "Peter, darling, I know you and I are not meant to be," she began earnestly, "and I'm going to miss you awfully after we go. . . but there'll be other loves for you, too."

"One can only hope," Peter said, managing to ignore the grins on the faces of his three colleagues.

"But, Peter, my brother didn't mean to hurt you," she continued, drawing closer to him as he tried to retreat from her touch. "He was just protecting his family. You understand that, don't you? You got a family too. And Ben, he didn't have no proper upbringing like me and Fay and Hope. He didn't have his Pa. A boy can't quite grow up knowing what's best, can he, without his Pa around to teach him them things."

Egon, listening, shivered. If ever a statement could affect Peter's state of mind, that one could.

But Peter showed no outward sign that Charity's words had affected him. He merely smiled. "Don't worry, Charity. I think we can work this out. I just want to make sure you and your Pa get where you need to go."

Charity seemed to accept that. She smiled at him and drew back. "I'm sure hoping we can. But I don't know how we go about it. Do you, Pa?" She turned to him.

Pa Harper looked stumped. "Maybe if you fellas prayed for us?"

Egon, Peter, and Ray exchanged an alarmed glance. Winston,

noting it, chuckled. He turned to Pa Harper. "We could, sir, if

you think that'll help--"

"Pa!" Charity squealed, bouncing toward him, braid flying.

"Pa, look there!" She pointed out toward the open field.

"Addison! Addison, darling!"

Pa Harper looked, and scratched his head in amazement.

"Well, blamed if it ain't."

Charity squealed again and took off down the field at a run.

Pa Harper turned to Ben and smiled. "Guess we're going now, son. The farm's yours and I ain't telling you what's best, 'cause I know farming ain't your strong suit. I'm gonna be proud of you either way. Just know I love you."

Ben swallowed visibly and rubbed a sleeve roughly across his eyes. "Pa," he said.

But his father was gone. Ben jerked around to see Charity, in the distance, a fading golden light that seemed to mingle into the bright morning sunlight. "Charity!" he yelled.

She turned briefly and waved at him. Then she, too, was gone.

Peter gazed out into the field. He hadn't seen anything. "Addison?" he repeated, and glanced over at Ray. "You see anything, Ray?"

Ray shook his head. "Nope. You guys see anything?" Ray asked Winston and Egon.

Egon shook his head and Winston grinned. "Not a thing, m'man. But Charity evidently did."

"If I'd had a meter," Egon began, then stopped at Peter's warning look.

"Let it go, Egon. Our job's all but done here." Peter exhaled a huge sigh of relief and weariness. "Just one little thing to clear up. Ray, you still got that classified ad?"

"I think so," Ray said, sounding puzzled. He opened the car door and picked the newspaper up off the seat. "Here it is."

Peter took it and limped over to Ben Harper. He thrust the paper into Ben's hands. "Ten thousand, Harper. I believe that's what your ad says is the reward for the removal of your ghosts. Ten thousand oughta just above cover everything we went through, and take care of my medical bill."

Ben stared out into the field for another moment, as if searching for some sign of his vanished family; then, sniffling, he looked up at Peter. "Yeah, okay." All the fight seemed to have gone out of him. "Wasn't quite the way I imagined it," he said, more to himself than to Peter.

Peter clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing ever is, buddy. I'm sorry. I know what it feels like, losing family. If I were you, I'd take a few weeks before making any decisions about the farm. Better if you're able to give it some thought first."

"Maybe." Ben rubbed a sleeve across his face again, roughly enough to leave his cheeks reddened. "You boys calling the cops now?" He didn't seem afraid; just resigned, too beaten by grief to do anything but accept whatever came now.

Peter gazed at him for a long moment. He was actually feeling sorry for the guy. I'm just turning into an old softie. He sighed. "We could do that. Then you could accuse us of trespassing. And we could argue that your ghosts attacked us and you held us at gunpoint. And things could get ugly from there." Peter broke into a grin. "You know what? I got a better idea. What say you take care of this little matter of the reward and we can go home and just forget about the rest of it. Sound good?"

Ben exhaled through his nose, an unpleasant sound, and quickly nodded. "Yeah," he said, and Peter detected a faint note of gratitude in the gruff depth of the man's voice.

"Good." Peter let him keep the newspaper and hobbled over

to Egon, dropping an arm around his shoulders. "Egon--"

"Yes, Peter," Egon said, a quiet smile lighting his face. He glanced at Ray and Winston, who were smiling, too, then looked back at Peter. "We can go home now."

* * *

"How's he doing, Doc?" Winston said, sitting up straight as Dr. Parks introduced himself and sat down in the waiting room of Saint Francis Hospital to talk to the three Ghostbusters.

Dr. Parks looked at the three weary, dust-covered faces in front of him and smiled. "You boys look almost as beat as your friend in there. He's okay. We cleaned the wound, removed the bullet. Not deep, and no damage to the bone. You did a good job of dressing it. There's no evidence of infection."

"Can we see him?" Ray asked eagerly, starting to rise. Dr. Parks nodded. "Sure. But he's sleeping and he could use the rest. Keep it brief."

"We're taking a flight home tomorrow morning," Egon began, rising with the others. "Will he be ready for that?"

"We can discharge him this afternoon," Dr. Parks said. "He seemed ready to be out of here within five minutes of getting here." The doctor broke into a smile and shook his head. "Guys like that, they make my job both easier and harder. And he wouldn't give the nurses five minutes of peace until the medication kicked in."

Winston laughed. "Sounds like Peter's doing just fine."

"He's still a little woozy, but he'll be awake later this afternoon, and then he's all yours."

They found Peter, as the doctor predicted, sound asleep, curled up on his side, blankets twisted about enough to reveal the bandage on his leg. The nurses had taken care of the small cuts Peter had gotten during his moments airborne in the tornado.

Egon tugged the rumpled blanket loose and gently covered Peter with it, smoothing it down over the sleeping form. Ray scooted one of the chairs close to the bed and dropped into it. He leaned on the bed, and rested his head on his arms, his gaze fixed on Peter's quiet face. Like taking up guard duty, Winston thought to himself, as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at Peter. Well, in a way, it was. They guarded each other, awake or asleep. It was second nature to them now.

Egon took the other chair, slumping into it with the first display of real weariness Winston had seen in him. Winston knew Egon was allowing himself that now only because he knew Peter was all right.

Winston broke into a grin. "The only reason he's sleeping so peacefully is because he made us go pick up that cheque before we came here."

Ray grinned and Egon relaxed into a smile. "There is every reason to believe you are correct, Winston," the physicist said. "But whatever the reason, I am glad he is sleeping. How he managed to go as long as he did in that condition is a mystery to me."

Egon's gaze returned to Peter, noting the shadows lingering under his eyes. He remembered how Peter had slept all the way to Tulsa, his head pillowed against Egon's shoulder. He had awakened only once, evidently from a nightmare, gasping softly. Egon had immediately reassured him that he was safe.

Peter, curled up tight against him, had muttered something about falling, and Egon could just imagine the sort of dream that must have had hold of him. Egon remembered Ray leaning over the seat to rub Peter's shoulder comfortingly while Egon held onto him, offering every soothing comment he could think of until Peter relaxed against him, once again asleep. Even Winston, occupied with driving, had turned every minute or so to take a worried look at Peter and say something both cheerful and comforting to him to let Peter know they were all nearby.

It was going to take a little time to get past this, for all of them. Egon yawned again and stretched his long legs out, propping them on the foot of the bed. His shoulder was still a little sore but the doctor had examined it and found no evidence of a fracture or any damage beyond a nasty bruise.

Egon had removed the makeshift sling but still kept the arm cradled gingerly, trying to avoid the twinges of pain too much movement caused. As he sank lower into the chair, he felt Winston's leg nudge his foot and he blinked, realizing he was falling asleep. He looked up at Winston, who immediately turned and nodded in Ray's direction. Ray was still in the same position, but his eyes were closed and he was snoring softly. In subconscious recompense for falling asleep while on duty, he had clasped his right hand around Peter's wrist, so that if Peter woke, he would, too.

Egon chuckled and looked back up at Winston. "Perhaps we do require a hotel room after all. A shame there aren't four beds in here."

"I don't want to leave him alone, either," Winston replied, knowing what was going through Egon's mind. He didn't always understand the physicist's thought processes; but when it came to Egon's protectiveness of all three of them, Winston always knew where the man was coming from. "Maybe I should get us a hotel room and we can take this in shifts, so we all get some rest before our flight tomorrow."

"Good idea. Thanks, Winston."

Winston didn't even bother to ask who would take the first shift. He woke Ray and guided the sleepy-eyed, softly protesting man out of the room, leaving Egon to watch over Peter.

Egon took Ray's vacant seat and propped his feet in the chair he himself had vacated. He looked into Peter's face and a feeling of pride warmed him at the thought of how Peter had handled the difficult events of the past day. Egon reached out and curled his fingers around Peter's limp hand. "You did an excellent job, Dr. Venkman," he murmured.

Peter sighed and the faintest smile showed at the edges of his mouth. "Mmmm, yeah, did," he breathed, "didn't I?" His eyes were still closed and he seemed more asleep than awake.

Egon chuckled and shook his head fondly. "The ego that never rests."

Peter's nose wrinkled and he blinked and opened his eyes. Slowly the green gaze focused on Egon. If he'd heard Egon's comment, Egon couldn't guess it from the sleepy, contented smile on the psychologist's lips. Egon leaned toward him. "How are you feeling?"

"Drugged," Peter mumbled after a moment. "Am I?"

"They gave you something for the pain," Egon said. "The bullet's out, and the doctor said you should heal without any problem."

Peter nodded slightly. "Had another dream, Spengs," he said, moving his fingers in Egon's grip.

"A nightmare?" Egon scooted his chair closer and rested his free hand gently atop Peter's head, smoothing down the thatch of hair in a comforting gesture. "About the tornado?"

Peter sighed again, sleepily. Keeping his eyes open was taking obvious effort. "No, not the twister," he murmured. "But it was a nightmare. . . "

"You're safe now," Egon said firmly. "Tell me what happened."

"Was awful," Peter muttered, eyelids fluttering. "I dreamed I was married, Spengs." His eyes drifted shut, face crumpled in an uneasy grimace. "Married. Me."

Egon, having expected a description of the horrific visions that a subconscious replaying of Peter's darkest fears might evoke, was startled by this unexpected response. He gazed at Peter for an instant, relief, exhaustion, and amusement all mingling until the only thing he could do was to yield to the emotions wanting release.

Peter opened his eyes and stared at Egon. The physicist was leaning against the mattress, blond head in his arms, his shoulders shaking as his deep voice warmed the room with full-throated laughter. Peter blinked at him in astonishment. "Are you. . . " he sputtered. "You're laughing at my nightmare, Spengler!"

Egon made an effort to contain himself, reaching out a hand to touch Peter's shoulder in apology; but the moment his sparkling blue eyes fell on Peter's indignant expression, he was gone again, face down on the bed as gale after gale shook his slim frame.

Peter, watching him, felt a smile pull at his own lips. It was a rare treat to see Egon lose it so completely, and Peter was proud of the fact he'd been the one to bring it about. He knew that Egon was finally relaxing after the terrible strain of the evening before, and the morning they had gone through; this was all just a reaction to their experience, a reaction to nearly losing Peter.

Peter knew Egon needed an outlet at the moment, so he waited patiently until Egon slowly calmed down and managed to meet Peter's gaze, with only a wobbly smile and tear-brightened eyes to show now for the emotional release.

"Feel better, Spengs?"

Egon sat up straight and reached for a tissue to wipe his

eyes. "Yes, Peter, thank you. I'm sorry--"

"Don't be. Laughter's as good as tears when you need to let go. Better, sometimes. So I don't want you feeling guilty over it now."

"You had a nightmare, Peter," Egon said, sounding a little guilty in spite of Peter's admonition.

"That was nothing compared to the one I had in the car," Peter said. "And you got me past that, just like you always do."

"You dreamed about the tornado, didn't you?"

Peter rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Yeah. I was falling. Falling." He stopped, a faint grimace returning to his face. Then he felt Egon's hand rest on his shoulder. He turned his head to meet the sympathetic gaze. "Never did hit the ground, though," he added, smiling wryly.

"Not a pleasant dream, especially for someone who isn't fond of heights to begin with," Egon murmured, giving Peter's shoulder a squeeze.

"Not really. But next time, before I go to sleep, I'm gonna remind myself over and over that if I fall again, there's gonna be at least three pairs of arms out there, waiting to catch me." He grinned at the thought.

Egon nodded with all seriousness. "There are, indeed. Keep that in mind, Peter, if it will give you some control over those nightmares."

"As long as you guys are here when I wake up. That's all I need to know." Peter, more awake, turned to Egon and tugged on his arm. "Come on, Spengs, break me out of here and let's go grab a big, juicy steak somewhere. I'm starved. What do you say?"

"Winston and Ray have gone to the hotel to get some sleep," Egon told him. "We planned to take turns making sure you got some rest. Our flight is tomorrow morning."

"Our flight to Vegas?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Our flight home," Egon said with a stern look. "You're to stay off your feet for a while. Doctor's orders."

"Would that be you or the doctor who dug the bullet out of my leg?"

"Peter--"

"Okay, okay." Peter raised both hands in surrender. "I guess it's a lot easier for you guys to take care of me at home, anyway." He slumped comfortably against the pillow, delighted with the thought.

"I imagine you will take full advantage of the situation, no matter where you are during your recovery," Egon responded, the dry tone returning now that he had composed himself after his bout of helpless laughter.

"It'll be good for you to take care of me," Peter said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "You need a little more experience in that area, now that you're engaged to be married."

Egon looked startled. Then his gaze narrowed and he leaned

toward Peter. "If you breathe a word of any of that to Janine,

Peter, I'll--"

"Egon!" Peter exclaimed indignantly. "You mean when you told poor Charity you were spoken for, you were lying?"

Egon's lips pursed, his eyes growing ever darker, until they resembled storm clouds. "Peter, I would like you to seriously consider the wisdom of continuing in this line. I currently have access to all types of medical equipment. And you are lying there, helpless, in bed."

Peter made a face at him. "That isn't very nurturing, Egon. Janine's going to have her work cut out for her."

Egon dragged one of the pillows out from under Peter's head and raised it menacingly. His shoulder instantly protested the action, twinging sharply. Egon winced aloud. Peter looked up at him in concern. "Shoulder bad?"

"No, just aches a bit," Egon said, lowering the pillow.

"Sorry to hear that, big guy," Peter said, then snatched the pillow out of Egon's hands and bopped him on the head, making a further mess of his already flattened hair.

Egon calmly snatched up another pillow and returned the favor. He did so just as Dr. Parks and a nurse entered the room.

Peter took in the sight of the two medics standing in startled surprise in the doorway, then the even more delightful sight of Egon's scarlet face as the physicist returned the pillow furtively to Peter.

Peter burst out laughing. Egon glared at him as the doctor came toward the bed. Dr. Parks smiled at Egon, then looked down at Peter and began an examination. "Looks like you two have been entertaining each other," he commented, as he took a look at Peter's leg.

Peter, still a-grin, stole a sly look at Egon. Egon's lips twitched and his fingers closed around Peter's wrist warningly.

"I realize you wanted him to rest, Doctor," Egon began.

Dr. Parks gazed at Peter and shrugged. "He looks much better than he did when you first brought him in. Whatever you're doing is good for him. Keep it up." He broke into a smile as he looked at Egon. "Only not too loud, boys. We don't want to disturb the other patients."

He left, and the nurse, chuckling herself, followed him out.

When they were gone, Egon turned an all-too-calm, purposeful gaze upon Peter.

Peter saw the lethal glint in the blue eyes. "Egon, old

buddy--"

"You heard the doctor's instructions," Egon said gravely, forcibly extracting both pillows from Peter's hands. "I'm sorry, Peter."

"Spengs, you wouldn't! I'm wounded."

"Not as much as you're going to be," Egon stated, meticulously fluffing the pillows to their full size, one at a time.

Peter watched in growing alarm. "Don't do it, Egon. I'm your best friend. Your buddy. You can't! Look, I won't tell Janine a thing. I won't!"

As Egon raised one of the pillows, Peter gave a small yelp and covered his head with both arms. "Spengs, I promise!"

Egon, pillow poised above Peter's head, hesitated. "You promise?"

Peter peeked up at him and nodded vigorously. "Cross my heart. Not a word."

Egon hesitated a moment longer, weighing the long-term relief of not having to face the guys' endless jokes and Janine's overt and utterly feminine triumph against the short-term satisfaction of crowning Venkman with the pillows in retribution for that moment of embarrassment in front of the hospital staff.

Torn between the two, Egon decided to go for immediate gratification. Both pillows came down, one after the other, hitting their target dead-on with a most satisfactory thump.

Peter's yell could be heard all the way across the hospital.

The End