Chapter 1 - Preparations

The first time he woke, Peter was vaguely surprised at how comfortable he was...considering he’d been kidnapped. In his time as a Ghostbuster, Peter Venkman had been through a great deal, including being captured by some rather unsavory characters, living and not, but this was not at all what he expected when a cross-rip opened on the sidewalk and sucked him through. The surface he was lying on was well padded, the temperature was mild, no foul stenches or horrific screams drifted past him on the air.

Well, this is a first, he thought blearily as he surfaced from the transition shock which had incapacitated him. Snatched by a kinder, gentler ghost. George Bush would be proud.

Long experience had taught Peter never to give anything away to an adversary, so he played dead for a few moments while he listened with every fiber of his being. Nothing. No sounds of someone (or something) moving in the background, not even the faint whisper of someone breathing. Just a very faint tinkling that might have been a distant wind chime.

So far, so good. Let’s see if we’re not in Kansas anymore.

He opened one eyelid a bare slit to survey his surroundings. Still no one. He slowly opened both eyes to make certain. The “room” he was in had walls that appeared to be made of slowly drifting mist with faint, pastel blues and lavenders swirling through it. Peter slowly turned his head. He was lying on something like a featherbed covering a slab which probably would come to about hip height on him when standing. As far as he could see, nothing was restraining him.

Okaaaay, definitely not Kansas. Well, the coast is clear. Time for Petey to blow this pop stand.

Peter started to sit up...and was stopped. Some invisible force pressed him back down into the padding.

“This is so not good,” he muttered as he began to struggle, testing his unseen bonds. Whatever it was, it was strangely gentle but overpowering. Peter found he could shift his position slightly on the slab and even slowly bring a hand to his face to scratch his nose, but any attempt to sit up or scoot over to the edge of the platform was met with resistance.

“You are awake.”

Peter’s head jerked around to see a dim outline of a form through the mist. He glared at it as it came closer.

“Hail, Master of the Obvious,” he snapped with his trademark sarcasm. “I’m awake and I’m mad as hell. If you don’t want to see me royally pissed off, let me off this oversized pillow. I am not now, nor have I ever been, into the bondage scene.”

The being that stepped into the “room” didn’t look very threatening compared to the goopers the Ghostbusters had faced in the past. He estimated it was a little taller than Egon and twice as slender. But it wasn’t human. The head topping the flowing, cream-colored robes resembled that of a lizard with jewel-toned scales weaving simple, elegant patterns across its skin. A ridge of white hair ran like a horse’s mane from the crown of its head and down its neck. Its teeth were pointed but small, and the long-fingered, scaled hands that peeked from the sleeves of the robe ended in well-trimmed, blunt claws. No, it didn’t look that bad, but Peter knew that looks were deceiving, especially when the spirit world was involved.

The entity slowly walked over to the platform and sat down on it next to Peter. It folded its hands in its lap and looked down at the floor. For a moment, Peter thought it looked ashamed.

“I am sorry,” it said almost in a whisper.

Peter’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Not half as sorry as you’re gonna be if you don’t let me up. You realize who you’re dealing with here, Barbizilla?”

“You are called Peter Venkman,” the creature replied. It took a deep breath and looked up into Peter’s face. Large, amber eyes met green. “You are what my people would call a teh’cherin. A hunter of fell spirits.”

“That’s Ghostbuster to you, bunky.”

“You are one of a team of teh’cherin,” the creature continued as if it didn’t notice the interruption. “Of the four, you are wisest in the ways of the mind, knowledgeable in the hidden workings of the soul...”

“Nice to see you’ve done your homework. Have you reached the chapter on the world of hurt you’re gonna be in when the other ‘teh’cherin’ find me?”

The entity’s mouth twitched, almost like it was suppressing a smile, but only for a fraction of a second. Its shoulders drooped and it shook its head as if it were readying itself for an unpleasant task it had been putting off.

“You are strong and stubborn. The bond you have with your fellow teh’cherin is strong. I hope it will be enough.”

A chill ran down Peter’s spine as the look in the creature’s eyes hardened. “Uhhh...enough for what?” he asked as he discretely tested the bonds holding him to the platform. As the creature stood and moved to stand behind his head, Peter increased his efforts, but the bonds tightened. They didn’t hurt, but now he was denied any movement at all. The entity gently brushed a strand of hair from Peter’s eyes and looked down at him. Through his fear, Peter almost thought he saw pain in the amber depths.

“I am sorry. Please believe me when I say that, but I do not ask forgiveness. What I am about to do to you is unforgivable.” 

“What?!” Peter yelped as cool, scaled fingers closed around his head. “What are you gonna do? Leggo of me!”

“I am sorry, but there is no choice.”

And white-hot pain exploded through him.

***

At a particularly loud yell from downstairs, Egon looked up from his latest mold experiment. It had been a quiet Sunday. No ‘busts had been scheduled, and the weather was quite balmy for mid-autumn. The four Ghostbusters figuratively scattered to the four winds to take advantage of it. Ensconced in his lab, Egon had absently noted the sounds of people coming and going all morning but nothing seemed pressing enough to take him away from this particular attempt at hybridization. He turned back to his work, but another shout of exasperation jarred his attention again. This time the physicist frowned. That was Ray shouting...over what, he could not imagine. In any case, high-decibel vocalizations of stress were more the style of Dr. Venkman than Dr. Stantz. His attention now firmly diverted from the mold, Egon also noticed his stomach was loudly protesting the fact that it had been entirely too long since breakfast. He checked the clock, half past three. Definitely time for a break and perhaps a breath of fresh air

He tidied up his workbench and made his way down the spiral staircase to the second level. After throwing together a quick sandwich, he peeked into the rec room from which Ray’s voice (at the moment, a frustrated murmur) was coming. Winston was lying on the couch, his latest mystery novel lying open on his chest apparently forgotten as he watched Ray clicking the mouse of the newly-designated game computer with fervor. It used to be the main lab computer until Egon and Ray finally convinced Peter that the processor was not powerful enough for their latest research programs. When Peter had finally caved in, this one had been relegated to the rec room for games, Net surfing and Ray’s attempts to “drag Peter, kicking and screaming if necessary, into the twentieth century”. The latter project had only been minimally successful, but the old processor was doing quite well in its second life.

“What the...” Ray suddenly snapped at the screen. “No, you’re supposed to rescue him, not eat him!”

Egon’s eyebrows lifted toward his hairline. He couldn’t see the screen from his angle and that non sequitur made absolutely no sense. Winston noticed him standing in the doorway and shot him an amused grin.

“Hey, m’man.” He pointed with his chin toward the sandwich the scientist held. “Finally come down for lunch? I was about to organize a search team to go after you.”

“What, pray tell, is Ray up to?”

“He’s playing ‘Black & White’.”

“And that is?”

Winston laced his fingers together behind his head and grinned. “It’s a new computer game where you get to play a god. Ray’s having a little trouble controlling his ‘divine servant’.”

Just then, Ray pounded on the desk in frustration. “No, no, no! Bad monkey! No pooping on the villagers!”

Winston slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh while Egon’s eyebrows rose even higher.

“So Ray has a divine servant that defecates on the Faithful,” he murmured to Winston after a long pause. He took a deep breath and chuckled quietly. “Only Ray. Sometimes I worry about him. Has Peter returned yet?”

“Nope. He said he was going to run out to check on Mrs. Faversham today. May be a while before he gets back if she has some chores that need doing.”

“Stupid monkey,” Ray muttered as he saved his game and quit the program. Only then did he notice the other two Ghostbusters in the room. “Oh. Hi, guys. Have you been waiting for the computer or something?”

Egon smiled quietly. “Not at all, Raymond. Have you successfully housebroken your Holy Primate of Doom?”

Ray blushed slightly. “Well, he’s not really a monkey. Just kinda looks like one. If I could only figure out how to keep him from eating all my worshipers.”

“Yes, that would be a distressing problem for a deity,” Egon said with a twinkle in his eye. “Have you considered having him neutered?”

 Winston burst out laughing at that. “I can just see it now! Ray Almighty leafing through the Heavenly Yellow Pages trying to find a place to ‘fix’ a holy monkey.”

“Guys!” Ray groaned, but couldn’t help but join in the laughter. It would have likely escalated from there if the phone had not rung. Winston made a long arm to snag the receiver.

“Ghostbusters Central,” he said cheerfully into the mouthpiece.

“Winston! Thank God you’re still there. Are the others all right?”

Winston blinked as he recognized the voice and his adrenals went into overdrive. “Mrs. Faversham? What’s wrong, ma’am?”

“Oh, it’s so terrible!” Mrs. Faversham said, her voice trembling with fear. “Something took Peter!”

***

The second time he woke, Peter was in considerable pain. His entire head throbbed in time with his pulse, the muscles at the back of his neck felt like they were caught in a vice and two sharp pains had settled behind his eyes as if someone had stuck a pair of icepicks through his skull. Peter had experienced a fair share of headaches from migraines, concussions and even as an aftereffect of possession, but this was leaps and bounds beyond any of them.

Ray had better not have scheduled another 8 a.m. bust. This has got to be the Mother of All Migraines, he groaned to himself. God, my hair hurts! I wonder if I can try for the Tylenol on my own without my head falling off my neck. Better not risk it.

“Hey, Spengs,” he called softly, firmly telling his skull that it would not pop off like the lid of a pressure cooker at the sound. “Mind fetching some Tylenol for your buddy? My head’s reaching critical mass here.”

No answer. Just the faint sound of chimes in the distance which, to his sensitized ears, sounded like Quasimodo having a field day in the belltower. Memory started to trickle back.

“Egon?” Peter called a little louder. When there was still no answer, he braced himself and cracked open an eye. The dim light refracting through the surrounding mists impacted his retina and sent his pain levels soaring into the stratosphere. After a heartfelt (though muted) “Damn!” he squeezed his eyelids shut again.

Just my luck, it wasn’t a dream.

His bonds had loosened, but Peter had absolutely no desire to shift position. Any motion sent waves of pain and nausea through him. However, he did manage to lift his hand up enough to check his watch through slitted eyes.

Okay, it’s been about two hours. Mrs. Faversham probably saw me get nabbed, and she would have called the guys right away. Shouldn’t be much longer. As soon as they run down the right frequency, they’ll fire up the ole’ dimensional portal and have me out of here in time for supper. Not that I’ll be eating much with my stomach twisting like this, but what the hell.

“You are awake.”

Venkman’s eyes flew open, ignoring the pain in his fury. “No shit, Sherlock!” he snarled at the entity who had just returned. “Is this the best you can do? I’ve had worse hangovers.”

The creature drifted over to the platform and placed a cool, pebbly-skinned hand on his forehead. Peter batted it off and tried to glare and squint at the same time. The creature’s lips twitched in a sad half-smile.

“You are well named. Peter. Stone. And strong and stubborn as stone you are.”

“Yeah, Yoda. And annoying, sadistic bastard are you!”

The entity winced and looked away. “The pain is an unavoidable consequence of what I must do. Believe me when I say I find no pleasure in it.”

Peter snorted and rolled his eyes. “Well, what an amazing coincidence. And I don’t get off on being in pain. Major misunderstanding, pal. It’s okay, could happen to anyone. Can I go home now?”

The creature shook its head, and Peter felt the restraints tighten once again. “I am sorry.”

“I’m warning you, Mr. Sorry,” Peter said trying to cover his fear with bravado. “My buddies will be storming in here any minute. If you want any chance of not spending the next few eons in the containment grid, you’d better let me go like yesterday.”

The entity looked down with a mix of resignation, dread and determination. “I saw you looking at your time keeping device just now. You must know that time does not march at the same pace in my realm as it does in your world. I will have finished my task with you long before the teh’cherin find a way to pierce the veil.”

Peter looked up in horror as the creature gently grasped his head again.

“I am sorry,” the entity whispered.

And white-hot agony exploded through him.

***

Winston had pushed the speed of sound in their mad dash to the elderly widow’s house in the suburbs. While he concentrated on getting them there post haste and in one piece, Egon poured over their field copy of Tobin’s and Ray kept trying to reach Janine on Ecto’s mobile phone. Each time her answering machine picked up their hearts sank a little lower. What if Peter hadn’t been the only one taken? Just as they’d pulled up to the old Victorian house and piled out the mobile rang. Three hands reached for the receiver, but Winston reached it first.

“Ghostbusters mobile,” he said hopefully. “I hope that’s you, Janine.” Then his eyes lit up and he gave Egon and Ray an “okay” sign. “Glad to hear your voice, girlfriend. We were starting to think whatever nabbed Pete got you, too. Here’s the situation...”

Confident that Janine was safe for the moment, Egon and Ray jogged up to the house, cutting across the lawn to avoid the sidewalk where Peter had vanished and hopefully any ectoplasmic traps left behind. Mrs. Faversham met them on the porch.

“Oh, Ray! Egon! It was so horrible!” Mrs. Faversham cried, holding her hands to her face in distress. Ray forced a reassuring smile and put his arm around her.

“It’ll be okay, Mrs. Faversham,” he said soothingly. “We’ll get Peter back in no time. Won’t we, Egon.”

“Of that there is no doubt,” Egon replied with a determined edge to his voice. Half his attention was already directed at the P.K.E. meter which he slowly panned across the front yard. “Just tell us what happened, ma’am.”

Mrs. Faversham relaxed slightly and looked down into the yard. “Well...Peter had come over earlier. Actually, he was already here when I got home from church.” Even through her distress, she managed a faint smile. “He had come over to rake the leaves for me, but you know how he is. He would never just admit it.”

Ray grinned, sneaking a look at the leaf-free lawn. “No, he never would. What was his story this time?”

“Something about losing a bet. Oh, Peter’s been such a dear friend to me. And if helping me has gotten him hurt...”

“Now don’t think that way, Mrs. Faversham,” Ray chided gently. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But what if it was...something my father called up?”

“You can rest easy on that, Mrs. Faversham,” Egon said. “The entity your father summoned is still safe in the containment unit, and I detect nothing coming from the house itself.” The meter beeped softly but steadily as he targeted it at the sidewalk. “In fact, the only signal is coming from over there.”

Mrs. Faversham’s eyes widened as she looked where the physicist indicated. “Yes, that’s where it happened. After Peter had finished, we had some tea and he would have to hurry to catch the bus if he wanted to get home before supper. Just as he was leaving...” She paused, trying to put the memory into words. “Something opened up right where my walkway met the sidewalk. It was as if someone had taken a pool of water and stood it on its edge. It wrapped itself around Peter like a blanket. Then it folded in on itself and vanished!” She raised one hand to her mouth. “It all happened so fast. Peter didn’t have a chance to escape. He was just...gone.”

Ray and Egon exchanged a look. “Did you see anything through the portal?” Ray asked. “Was there anything on the other side?”

Mrs. Faversham shook her head. “I’m not sure. It seemed so distorted. Maybe.”

Egon nodded grimly. “Stay with Ray and see if you can remember anything else, ma’am. I’ll go take some readings at the site.” He strode down the walkway, his meter held out in front, and made his way toward the area where Peter had disappeared. Halfway there, Winston met him.

“Got something, Egon?” he asked.

“Perhaps. How’s Janine?”

“Mad as hell and ready to kick the ass of every demon in the Netherworld,” Winston grinned. “She wanted to come straight here, but I managed to convince her that we needed her at headquarters. I asked her to postpone tomorrow’s busts and get the trans-dimensional portal ready to go. But she told me in no uncertain terms that we were not leaving her behind on this one.”

“Indeed.”

“Yeah. Her exact words were, `Just try to leave me out, and I’ll put all three of you in traction.’”

Egon allowed himself a small smile as he slowly inched his way forward, taking readings all the while. “You did warn her she might be the next target? If whatever took Peter is only waiting to catch us alone...”

“Way ahead of you, m’man,” Winston interrupted smoothly. “I told Janine to throw on a pack the moment she gets to the firehouse, and she said she’d snag an extra meter and keep it hot just in case something opens up at headquarters.”

“Excellent idea. In fact, an attack of that kind may be the best way for us to find the right frequency.” Egon frowned down at the PKE meter. “Whatever did this is very good at covering its tracks. These residuals are indicative of a powerful but very localized cross-rip. However, these readings are so jumbled I’m having difficulty getting a clear pattern.” Suddenly, he froze and knelt down on the concrete. “Hmmm...”

Winston looked over his shoulder with a grin. “I know that `hmmm’. What’d you find?”

“A very faint residual. Right here.” Egon’s finger traced a line across the walkway just short of the cross-rip site. “It seems to be a separate entity from the rest of the residuals...but it’s connected.”

“Like a tripwire on a booby trap,” Winston said grimly.

“Precisely. What puzzles me is how something so complex as this trap could be created so quickly. There could not have been more than three hours between the time Mrs. Faversham arrived and the time Peter left.”

Winston looked around the yard, then at the surrounding neighborhood...something clicked. “Hey, did Pete come to do some yardwork for Mrs. Faversham?”

Egon looked up, surprised. “Why yes. How did you know?”

Winston indicated the pristine yard and the leaf-littered neighbors with a smug smile. “Elementary, my dear Egon. What I’m saying is, if Pete was gonna do raking, he probably didn’t use the sidewalk at all. The tool shed is over there.” He pointed at a low building at the edge of the property. “He would have cut directly over there and probably didn’t walk through this place till he left.”

“And if this `tripwire’ was set to Peter’s electrometabolic frequency,” Egon said with growing dread, “it could have been set up days ahead of time.”

“Which means whoever’s behind this knew he’d be here and we probably wouldn’t be.” Winston finished, looking around like he expected an attack to come at any time. “I don’t know about you, Egon, but I just got a baaaad feeling about this. Someone knows us way too well. Gonna be much longer with those readings?”

“Not much longer. But I will also need to do a round of the perimeter and the neighboring houses. We need to make sure it is safe for Mrs. Faversham to stay here. If I find anything else, we’ll bring her with us.”

Winston nodded fiercely. “Got ya’, Egon. I’ll tell Ray to help her get some things together just in case. Don’t wander off till I get back. If the bastard’s done its homework this well, it may be waiting for you.”

***

The third time he woke, Peter was filled with dread. Not because awakening would mean more pain. No, by this time the pain had become so constant and consistent that he could almost ignore it. His thoughts were scattered, drifting, disjointed, but as they started to piece themselves together he started to sense a little of what was really going on. The white-hot energy being poured through his mind and body was doing something to him. Like floodwaters pressing against a levee, they were wearing away at...at what? The psychologist didn’t know, but as he floated further into painful consciousness, terror filled him at the thought of whatever it was giving way.

A cool hand lightly touched his face. “You are awake.”

Peter whimpered and tried to pull away. The hand withdrew but not the presence. “This will be the last time. However, I know that is cold comfort to you.”

The last time. The “levee” would break. He would break. And there was nothing he could do about it. Where were the guys? How long had it been here...and there? Did they even know what happened to him? Peter cracked open exquisitely sensitive eyes to look at his tormentor.

“Why?” he croaked.

The entity groaned. “I am prevented from giving you even that comfort. You will know the reason eventually. But for now...necessity drives me.”

Peter made one last desperate effort to pull away from the gentle but merciless hands. “No...please...”

“I am sorry. You can never know how sorry.”

White-hot pain exploded through him...and something broke.

***

“Yeah...I know it’s inconvenient but we’ve had something come up,” Janine rolled her eyes at the ceiling as the third client she’d called (and the most irate one so far) railed at the injustice of having to live with a Class Two fixed repeater in her pantry for one more day. “Look, lady!” she finally snapped. “Even Ghostbusters have emergencies. We’ll get your moan-and-groaner as soon as possible.” Janine jerked the phone away from her ear as the client slammed down the phone on her end. “Hmph! And Dr. V. says my phone etiquette needs work.”

The thought brought full-fledged worry back to the forefront of her mind. Peter Venkman, her nemesis and surrogate big brother was who-knew-where having who-knew-what done to him. She brushed a bit of lint from the sleeve of the jumpsuit she’d thrown on the moment she reached headquarters and shrugged her shoulders to settle the proton pack she wore a little more comfortably. Everything in Egon’s lab was ready to roll. Janine had even pulled the destabilizer out of storage in case they wound up going against a demon. Fortunately, Slimer was off on his daily round of the neighborhood’s garbage cans so she hadn’t needed to deal with his panicking at the news. Now all she had to do was wait.

Waiting, she thought sourly. Half of my job is waiting for these clowns. But not this time. I want a piece of the creep who did this.

She sat down on the edge of her desk (the chair was out of the question with a proton pack on), pulled her thrower and absently checked the settings. They didn’t need it any more than the last five times she’d checked, but it was just something to keep her hands busy and work off nerves.

And once we get Dr. V. back, I’m going to kick his ass for worrying us like this. I swear, Peter must have a psychic “Kick Me” sign on his back or something. He’s almost as bad as Egon.

Janine holstered her thrower and picked up the appointment book from her desk. She’d managed to reach all tomorrow’s clients but one, and the last had not been home the first time she’d called. However, just as she was starting to dial the number, the activated P.K.E. meter she’d left on the desk went off like a three alarm fire.

“Awww, crap!”

Janine jumped off the desk and pulled her thrower in one smooth motion. Slowly, she turned in place, panning her thrower around the ground floor of the converted firehouse, determined not to be caught off guard.

“You guys had better be on your way back,” she muttered. “I think all hell just broke loose.”

About eight feet in front of her desk, the air started to waver like a heat-mirage on a summer day. Only a nanosecond after she noticed the distortion, it took on a golden tinge and seemed to solidify slightly. Ripples chased each other across the surface like water. It reminded Janine of the wormhole entrance in Stargate only it was white and yellow instead of blue. She leveled her thrower and nudged the control knob up to maximum power.

“That’s it, you slime-sucking creep.” A feral grin crept over her face. “Come and take your medicine.”

But before she could fire, the portal’s surface went transparent to reveal...

“PETER!”

Beyond the rippling surface of the cross-rip, the psychologist was cradled in the arms of a tall, reptilian creature. Janine’s eyes quickly scanned the motionless form. No obvious wounds, but Venkman was unconscious and that was never a good thing to be after being kidnapped. The secretary angled her thrower up to aim at the entity’s face.

“Drop him, buddy. Or face the Wrath of Melnitz,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing.

The creature sighed. “I will do that if you wish, but I fear that a fall onto a hard surface would not much improve his condition.”

“Ha, ha. Then lay him down gently, Mr. Literal. And no sudden moves or you’ll be eating protons.”

“My purpose here is to return him to you. However, I may not pass into your world.”

“Oh, so you want me to jaunt over there to the other side and take him from you?” Janine answered, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Think again, buddy. First, he’s too heavy for me to carry. Second, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.” But I’ll do it if I have to, she thought to herself. At least Egon will have the readings to find the damn place and bring in the cavalry.

“There is no need of that,” the entity said soothingly. It slowly lowered Peter’s feet to the floor and shifted its grip so that it was now holding him under his arms. “Come closer. I will hand him to you. You have my word I will not attempt to pull you through.”

“And I’m supposed to trust you just like that.”

“I have done nothing worthy of your trust,” the creature replied, shaking its head. “However, I cannot maintain this portal forever. Unless you wish to add a concussion to Peter’s difficulties...”

Janine didn’t like it. Whoooo boy, did she ever not like it. But she realized there was no choice. If she fired, she would most likely hit Peter who now was shielding most of the entity’s body. If she did manage to hit it directly on the head and it was in direct control of the cross-rip, the portal might collapse trapping Peter in whatever dimension he’d been pulled into. She nodded reluctantly.

“Okay, but no funny stuff.”

Janine inched forward, her thrower still aimed at the creature’s head. When she reached the cross-rip, she let go with her left hand to reach for Peter. At that moment, the entity shoved the unconscious Ghostbuster through the portal. Janine dropped the thrower in a desperate attempt to control his descent. As they tumbled to the floor the cross-rip folded in on itself and flashed out of existence. Janine let loose a string of profanity as she struggled out from under Peter’s limp form.

At least I managed to keep him from hitting his head. Peter’s gonna owe me big time for those bruises on my backside.

She rolled Peter over and felt for his pulse. It was rapid but strong. Gently, she tapped his cheek. “Come on, Dr. V. It’s not nice to worry me like this. Hello? Anyone home?”

Peter let out a faint groan and moved his head slightly, but that was all the response she could get from him. “Hang on, Dr. V. I’m gonna get some help.”

Janine lunged for her desk and dialed 911 for an ambulance. After she confirmed the paramedics were on their way, she hung up and started dialing Ecto-1's mobile number.

“...uuuurrrrhhhh...”

Janine jumped and dropped the phone. She spun around to see Peter moving feebly. “Peter!”

Peter managed to roll on his side and turned his head toward the sound. “J-janine?” He opened his eyes, then quickly squeezed them shut with a strangled cry of pain. Janine darted back to his side.

“Don’t try to move, Dr. V. Don’t you worry. Help’s on the way.”

Peter fumbled about till he found her hand and squeezed it tight, as if reassuring himself she was real. “I’m...home?”

“Yeah, you’re home. A good thing too,” she said, keeping her tone light. “It’s your night to cook supper.”

“No rest...for the wicked,” he riposted with a ghost of a smile. Then his face froze as if he realized something. “The guys! Where are the guys? Are they...” his eyes flashed open which brought a fresh wave of pain. He buried his face in his hands with a moan.

“Shhhh...” Janine soothed. She sat down on the floor and gently pulled his head into her lap. “The guys are fine. They’re at Mrs. Faversham’s house. I was just about to call them. What about you? You look like something Slimer dragged in.”

It took everything she had to keep her distress out of her tone and manage even an approximation of their usual banter. But it worked. Peter relaxed just a bit.

“That bad, huh? Light’s too bright...headache.”

Janine finger-combed his sweat matted hair out of his face. “Just relax till the ambulance gets here, Dr. V.”

“Don’ like hospitals.”

“What makes you think you’ve got a choice? I want a doctor to back me up when I say there’s nothing wrong with you that keeps you from doing your share of the chores.”

Peter smiled slightly. “Slave...driver...” With that, he relaxed into a light doze.

Janine smiled down at him with a mix of worry and fondness that she would never let Peter see himself. “Don’t you ever forget it,” she murmured as she stroked the tangled, brown hair. “And if you tell anyone about this, I’ll strangle you.” She cautiously leaned back to snag the phone dangling from her desk and call the others.

Chapter 2 - Aftershocks

Ecto-1 careened wildly through the Manhattan streets as the Ghostbusters rushed to the hospital. Janine had reached them with the news of Peter’s return when they were about halfway back to the firehouse. As Winston changed course, Ray called Mrs. Faversham to give her an update.

“...We don’t know yet, Mrs. Faversham,” he said. “Yes, we’ll call you as soon as we know something.... Don’t you worry. Peter’s tough. He’ll be fine.” Ray smiled at her response. “I’ll tell him you said so. Bye.”

“How’s she doing, Ray?” Winston asked with a quick glance at the red-headed engineer in the passenger’s seat.

“Better,” Ray answered. “Much better now that she knows Peter’s back. Though she did say she was going to spend the night with a friend.” He glanced back at Egon. “She knows there’s no danger at her house, Egon, but she doesn’t want to be alone just yet.”

“Quite understandable,” Egon replied absently, still skimming through Tobin’s for some indication of what they were up against. Janine had given them a description over the phone just before the ambulance arrived, and he was trying to narrow down the possibilities. “I very much doubt that I would relish solitude after the events of today.”

Ray slumped against the window and stared at the buildings as they flashed by. “Peter will be okay, won’t he?” he asked quietly. “Janine said he was really hurting.”

Egon reached over the seat to pat him on the shoulder. “It’s futile for us to speculate until we have more information, Raymond. But remember what you said to Mrs. Faversham. Peter is strong, and the fact that he regained consciousness on his own is reassuring.”

“In other words, don’t go borrowing trouble until you have to,” Winston concluded as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find an empty space. Ray and Egon sprinted for the entrance to the E.R. but paused...

“Winston!” shouted Ray. “Hurry up!”

“Hold your horses, Ray!” Winston trotted up to them, shrugging on a proton pack. Egon frowned.

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Winston,” he said. “And it will certainly unsettle the hospital staff.”

Winston snorted. “The hospital staff can just deal. This creep might make a go at snatching one of us next. I’m not taking any chances.”

Egon looked at Ray, who shrugged helplessly, then decided to let it go. The trio burst through the doors to the waiting area and made for the admissions desk. A short, pinched-faced woman looked up at them with distaste as they approached.

“Ahhh, the Ghostbusters. You must be here for Dr. Venkman and his Guardian Valkyrie.”

One side of Winston’s face quirked in a half-smile. “Yes, ma’am. Could you please tell us where they are?”

The clerk’s mouth twisted, but she punched the button to unlock the door to the rest of the Emergency Department. “Acute Care ten.” She gave the pack Winston wore a very pointed look. “And please don’t cause any more fuss.”

“What was that all about?” Ray asked as they hurried through the doors and down the hall.

“Sounds like Janine is in full mother-bear mode to me,” Winston shrugged. “They should have known better than to mess with her when she’s like that.”

“Considering how often we frequent this facility,” Egon said, a little annoyance slipping into his tightly controlled voice, “one might expect a sharper learning curve.”

“Well, some of us do catch on after a while, Dr. Spengler,” drawled an amused voice as they came around the corner into the acute care unit. All three of them skidded to a halt.

“Bethany!” Ray cried as he engulfed their favorite nurse in a bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re on today.”

The stout, coffee-skinned woman returned the embrace with equal enthusiasm. In the course of their depressingly frequent visits to the hospital, the Ghostbusters had gotten on a first name basis with many of the staff. But Bethany Carlson had sort of adopted the team as her pet patients and called dibs on their care whenever she could. She had also become a bit of an intermediary between them and the more straight-laced of the hospital staff. “A good thing I was, Ray honey,” she said with a fond smile. “Janine nearly got security called on her. What with her insisting on keeping that pack on and following Dr. Venkman to every test.”

As Ray released the nurse, Winston claimed a hug as well. “Frankly, ma’am, I don’t blame her. Something that could snatch Pete right off the street could probably do it in the middle of an E.R.”

“That’s what I told the radiology techs,” she said, releasing Winston and giving Egon a quick embrace. “Now, before you go panicking over an empty room and driving Dr. Presterson nuts by running all over his E.R. trying to track them down...”

“She knows us way too well, fellas,” Winston remarked in an undertone.

Bethany lightly slapped his shoulder with a mock glower. “As I was saying, they have Peter in CT right now. You all can wait in his room ‘til they get back, but the administration’s getting antsy about having lots of visitors in the unit. After you see him, you’ll have to limit it to two people at a time.”

“I suppose we can live with that, Mrs. Carlson,” Egon answered. “Could you please tell us how Peter’s doing?”

“He has one mother of a headache, but the doctor said he could have some Demerol if the CT was okay. Oh! I nearly forgot.”

Bethany walked behind the nurse’s station and picked up something. “Janine asked me to give this to you if you got here before she got back.” Her hand came up with a PKE meter Janine had used to record the events in the firehall. She handed it to Egon with an impish twinkle in her eye. “Maybe she thought playing with this would keep you out of trouble.”

Egon eagerly accepted the meter and checked its memory. “Thank you, ma’am. I believe this will keep us safely occupied for some time.”

“It’d better. If I catch you wandering the unit, I’ll toss you in the decontamination showers.” She shooed them away with a motherly smile. “Go on. Get out of sight before Dr. Presterson gets back from break and sees you all here.”

The trio obediently withdrew to the empty treatment room. The unit was a series of glass-walled cubicles surrounding the central nurses’ station. Curtains were hung in the rooms for privacy, but they were pulled back in AC 10 giving the Ghostbusters a good view of the area. Egon immediately sat down in one of the two hard plastic chairs and started going over the readings recorded on the meter. Ray dragged the other chair over to him and plonked into it, looking over Egon’s shoulder at the screen. Winston simply leaned against one of the countertops.

“Wow, this is great!” Ray breathed. “Even accounting for the distortion coming from the cross-rip, that’s got to be at least a Class Eight corporeal manifestation!”

Winston rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Just great, Ray,” he said exchanging a quick commiserating look with Egon. “Got enough to lock down where its home is? I’ll feel a lot safer when we’ve got it trapped and locked away.”

“Hmmmm...unfortunately, that may be more difficult than anticipated,” Egon absently shoved his sliding glasses back into place. “We have the same scrambled readings I got back at Mrs. Faversham’s house. Exactly the same.” He frowned, causing his glasses to resume their slide down his nose. “The first time may have been disruption of the residuals due to variations in the dimensional fabric or environmental factors. However, readings taken when the cross-rip was open should not be showing the same pattern. I fear that someone has found a way to scramble the signals. This will make tracking the entity quite difficult.”

“Gosh,” Ray said with an equal mix of excitement and uneasiness. “It’s like whatever it is knows our standard operating procedure and is trying to anticipate our moves.”

“An unsettling but highly probable possibility. We will need to be extremely cautious.”

“Now aren’t you glad I insisted on bringing at least one pack in with us?” Winston said wryly.

“Egon! Ray! Winston!”

The three men looked up to see Janine striding quickly across the unit with an orderly pushing a gurney beside her. She had her thrower drawn but it was leaning casually against her shoulder. Even across the unit, they could see relief clearly on her face.

“Peter!” Ray shouted as he dashed out of the treatment room to meet them. He grabbed the psychologist’s hand and walked alongside the bed. “How are you feeling, Peter? Are you okay?”

Peter was slightly propped up in the bed. An I.V. was running into his left hand, and a damp cloth had been placed across his eyes. He made no move to remove it, but turned his head slightly toward Ray’s voice and squeezed the hand reassuringly. “Just peachy, Ray,” he croaked. “Got a shot of somethin’ in x-ray. Instead of being certain I’m gonna to die, I just wish I would.”

“Complaining already,” Janine said with a smile. “He’s on the mend. We’re just back from the scanner, and, wonder of wonders, there is actually something resembling a brain in that thick skull. I had to see it to believe it.”

“Heard that. Hope you weren’t counting on that raise.”

“Are you sure you want to give me less incentive to keep you alive, Dr. V?”

The orderly maneuvered the gurney into the treatment room and the other two Ghostbusters converged on it.

“Good to have you back, homeboy,” Winston said gently clasping the psychologist’s shoulder. “We were starting to get worried.”

“Of course you were,” Peter murmured with only a trace of his usual bravado. “Team would have fallen apart without me.”

“I see your ego survived intact, Dr. Venkman,” Egon said dryly, and paused for Peter’s response. When there wasn’t one, he reached down to clasp his hand. “Peter?”

The brown-haired man twitched, then turned his face toward the sound. “Egon? Sorry, Spengs. Kinda sleepy.”

“The shot they gave him must be kicking in,” Janine said quietly.

“All right, children. Are you satisfied that he won’t dry up and blow away in the next ten minutes?” Heads swivelled to see Nurse Carlson standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her ample chest, an amused smile on her dark face and a determined gleam in her eye. “If so, two of you need to vacate the premises. Now, will you go quietly, or do I have to fetch my tranquilizer gun?”

Winston chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. “Orders received, ma’am. We’ll withdraw immediately.” He unbuckled his proton pack. “You guys hang on to this. Janine and I will take the first turn in the lobby. I’m sure you’re about to start taking readings on Pete six ways from Sunday.”

“Oh, joy,” Peter muttered just loud enough for them to hear. Janine grinned and patted his shoulder.

“Hang in there, Dr. V. Come on, Winston. I need a break from sentry duty.” And the two of them headed for the waiting room. Bethany smiled with satisfaction.

“Dr. Presterson should be back in a few minutes. He’s probably gone to get the official read from the radiologist, but the preliminary didn’t show any bleeds.” Concern crept into her eyes even though her smile remained steady. However, she simply nodded, pulled the curtains around to give them some privacy and went back to her station.

Ray and Egon looked down at their friend. In that short amount of time Peter had apparently drifted off once more. Egon released Peter’s hand with a gentle pat, then picked up his meter. After a moment adjusting the settings he pointed it at the dozing man. The volume had been muted out of consideration for Peter’s headache, and a good thing, too. From the violently blinking lights and the numbers flashing across the screen, the alarm would have probably brought security down on them. Egon’s eyes widened and he started murmuring softly and fervently in Sumerian. Ray looked over his shoulder at the readings and gasped.

“Oh, Egon! We’ve never seen readings that high in a person outside of a possession!” Ray looked down at Peter, aghast. “Could he be...” He gulped, not wanting to finish the thought, as if that would make it come true.

Egon made a minute adjustment on the meter and relaxed only slightly. “No, Ray. It’s not a possession. There’s no coherent pattern to the PK energy that would indicate the presence an entity. In fact...” He frowned, causing his glasses to slide to the tip of his nose. He violently pushed them back up again. “If it wasn’t for their sheer strength, I would think these were residuals.”

Ray nodded. “That’s right. It’s like he’s been completely saturated with psychokinetic energy. But why?”

“For that matter, how?” Egon’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “In order to achieve this level of saturation in under two hours, the levels of PKE would have to be phenomenal. Much higher than any human could survive.”

“...was longer...” Peter murmured from below them. Ray leaned forward eagerly.

“You heard us, Peter?”

“The last bit. Time went slower...wherever I was. I remember it saying that.”

“How much time passed for you, Peter?” Egon asked. “Can you estimate?”

“More than three hours. Where’s my watch? They took it off to stick me.”

Ray spotted the bundle of Peter’s belongings in a rack under the bed. He dragged them out and rummaged through them until he found the watch. “Gosh, Egon! He must have been in a dimension on an alternate time-stream. If the watch hasn’t been tampered with, Peter was gone for nearly nine hours. Would that be enough?”

“Perhaps. If whoever did this had extremely precise control over energy flows.” He pulled the chair over to the bed, sat down and took Peter’s hand. “Peter, I know it’s difficult for you to stay awake...Correction, even more difficult than usual for you to stay awake right now, but we need to know what happened to you.”

“You just love ruining my sleep, don’t ya, Spengs?” Peter sighed and lifted one hand to slide the washcloth up to his forehead. He opened his eyes a sliver to look at the physicist, then winced and covered them again. “I was charbroiled by the sorriest talking lizard you ever saw. That’s what it kept saying anyway. ‘I’m sorry.’ But it wasn’t sorry enough to stop!” The last sentence was laced with bitterness. Egon squeezed Peter’s hand reassuringly.

“A reptilian humanoid? That matches Janine’s description of the creature that returned you. We entertained the theory that this entity may have actually rescued you from your abductor.”

“No such luck,” Peter said with a snort. “Did it to me three times. Felt like it was shooting napalm through me with a high pressure hose. The last time...” Peter turned suddenly on his side and his grip on Egon’s hand tightened to the point of pain. Ray took Peter’s other hand and crouched down by the bed.

“What happened the last time, Peter?” he asked gently. “Tell us.”

Peter took a shuddering breath and held it for a moment. “The last time...something broke.”

Ray and Egon looked at each other in alarm. “What broke?” Ray asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know,” Peter whispered, his voice showing the tight control it assumed only when he was well and truly terrified. “It hurt. It hurt like hell, but I don’t know what it did to me.”

A brittle silence filled the room as the implications sank in. Ray turned to Egon, his brown eyes wide with anxiety. The question in them screamed at the physicist. What now? Egon suppressed a sigh and managed to force a smile.

“Whatever happened, Peter, we’ll deal with it,” he said, determination lending a hard edge to his voice. “First of all, we should attempt to remove some of that PKE contamination. It may even be exacerbating your pain.”

Peter grimaced. “After all this, you’re gonna neutronize me too?”

“Come on, Peter. You know better than that,” Ray chided. “We can pull it off with a trap.”

“Oh, great. More bright light,” the psychologist groaned as he rolled onto his back. “Well, let’s get it over with.”

Ray pulled the trap off the pack and held it over Peter’s chest as Egon replaced the washcloth and added his hand to shield Peter’s eyes from the glare. Brilliant white light poured out of the trap as it was triggered, and Peter gasped as he felt something pull away. Ray shut off the trap and dropped it to the floor. “Peter! I’m sorry, did it hurt you?”

“S’okay, Ray,” Peter managed to gasp out. “Felt kinda like when you rip a scab off.” His breathing evened out and some of the tension left his face. “Hey, I think you’re on the right track, ‘gon. After the initial kick, my head’s feeling a little better. Maybe if we do it again, it won’t fall off when I try to sit up.”

“Just what do you boys think you’re doing in here?”

Two heads whipped around to look sheepishly at Bethany as the formidable nurse pushed through the curtains. She folded her arms and shook her head sorrowfully. “And here I thought you were actually going to behave yourselves for once, but nooooooo. You just have to set off a light show.”

Peter, his pain now at a level where he could tolerate it, chuckled. “Come on, Nurse Bethie. It’s working better than that happy juice you gave me. Come on, Spengs. How about another hit?”

Egon glanced at the meter. “Hmmmm...I don’t believe repeating the process would help you further. We appear to have gotten the majority of the contamination on the first try.” He turned to the nurse with a contrite look. “I’m very sorry if we disturbed any of the other patients, Mrs. Carlson. However, we do have reason to believe that Peter’s injuries may not be wholly physical in nature. Perhaps we could have waited until we got home before trying to draw off the contamination, but I did not feel comfortable with that delay.”

Bethany’s expression softened as she looked down at the figure on the bed. “I can understand that. You boys are the experts when it comes to ghosts and whatnot. I...” Her voice trailed off, and her mouth hardened into a thin line. She gave each of the men a penetrating look then abruptly reached behind her to pull the curtains closed once more. “I might as well come out and say it,” she said as she walked over to the bed and laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I know Dr. Presterson isn’t going to find something to treat. I knew from the moment you got here, Peter, that you’d taken a soul hurt.”

“How did you...” Ray started to ask, then his face lit up with delight. “Bethany! You’re psi-sensitive? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Bethany smiled and shrugged. “No, love. I’m afraid I don’t have the Sight. At least, if I do, I’ve not got enough to do much with. But it does run in my family, so I learned a lot about it from my gramma. Now, I can’t tell much of what’s going on here, but Peter’s been hurt and hurt bad.”

Peter’s mouth twisted into a wry half-smile and gave the impression that his eyes were rolling under the closed lids. “Thanks ever so much for clearing that up, Bethie.”

The nurse gently slapped the psychologist’s shoulder. “None of your sass, boy. As I was saying, you’ve been hurt pretty bad and I have a feeling that you may need some help to get healed up properly.”

Egon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You’re referring to a psionic healer, I believe. A person with the ability to detect and influence psionic based injuries.”

“Well, my gramma just called them `Sight healers’ or `soul doctors’, but I think we’re talking the same thing. You boys heard of them?”

Ray nodded. “A little bit. But they’re really hard to find. They don’t set up openly. I guess because they don’t want to be confused with all the quacks.”

“Partly that, and partly because they don’t want to be badgered to do things they can’t do,” Bethany added ruefully. “They’ve got no power over physical injuries, and, if they set up as a healer publicly, that’s exactly what people would come to them for.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about this,” Peter said, tiredly. “Shall I make a dizzying leap of logic and assume that you’re about to make a referral?”

“As a matter of fact, Dr. Venkman, I am,” Bethany countered. “Sara’s an old friend of my gramma’s and I think she’s just the one to help you.” A sly smile slipped across her face. “In fact, you could be getting two healing approaches from this. Sara’s new apprentice is a doctor in this hospital. Dr. Basco in pediatrics.”

“That would be highly appropriate given Peter’s apparent level of maturity,” Egon remarked dryly.

“Hey!” Peter protested weakly, but any further verbal sparring was cut off as Dr. Presterson finally arrived.

***

“But, Peter...”

“No arguments, Ray. I’d do it myself, but between this headache and my luck with machines, I’d probably blow containment sky-high.”

“Hey, I don’t like it either, m’man, but Pete’s got a point.”

“It is a reasonable precaution.”

“Come on, Egon. You don’t seriously believe Peter would hurt us, do you?”

Night had fallen by the time Peter had been sprung from the E.R., and Winston was driving Ecto with smooth efficiency through the lively streets of the City That Never Sleeps. Janine rolled her eyes in the back seat where she was jammed in together with Egon and Peter. This particular argument had been going on in several different variations for the last five blocks. After all the readings and her fruitless search through Tobin’s for the creature that attacked Peter, they still had no clue what had happened to him except for a psionic scorching, and, since they didn’t know, Peter had insisted on taking maximum precautions.

“I know that Peter would never intentionally harm us,” Egon replied, taking off his glasses to clean them. “However, there are methods of circumventing a person’s standard code of behavior. Especially when we are dealing with the paranormal.”

 “Translation: This whole thing could have been done to turn me into a sleeper agent,” Peter said firmly. “Bottom line. As soon as we get home, Ray cancels my access to the containment unit and I don’t touch a thrower.”

“How very convenient, Dr. V.,” Janine drawled. “Gets you out of early morning busts and emptying the traps. Sleeper agent is right...as in sleeping in. And do you realize you look like a refugee from The Matrix in those shades?”

Peter leaned his head back against the seat and adjusted the extremely dark, wrap-around sunglasses Winston had considerately purchased at the hospital gift shop.

“Come on, Janine,” he moaned pathetically. “Surely you can muster a little more sympathy for your battered boss.” The moan was only half contrived. The E.R. physician had confirmed that there was no intercranial bleed or any other serious problem behind his headache, so he’d decided to treat it as a severe migraine. In addition to the Demerol given in the E.R., Peter had been a prescription for Vicodin to take when it wore off, but, while the pain was no longer incapacitating, the medication seemed to be only blunting it. Even through the sunglasses, he winced at the passing headlights of other cars.

“In your dreams. And don’t call me Shirley.”

“Oh, I can just feel the love,” Peter said with a melodramatic sigh. “Now, Tex...”

“Okay, okay,” the engineer interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. “I still think you’re overreacting, but I’ll void your code on the containment grid as soon as we get home. Then I’ll hit my other books to try to find out what nabbed you.” Ray turned in his seat to look at their secretary. “Do you mind staying late tonight, Janine? I’ll need your help.”

“Heck, you guys had better haul out the cot for me, ‘cause I’m staying over. I’m not about to give that bastard a nice juicy target by going home alone.”

“Okay, that gives us four to divide up the night-watch,” Winston said with satisfaction. “Pete’s not gonna be up to it, but we probably need to have someone awake and on guard all night. After all, that thing did open a cross-rip right in the middle of the firehouse.”

“After I recalibrate the firehouse alarms, we should have ample warning of another portal,” Egon said reassuringly. Winston’s mouth hardened.

“That’s all well and good, Egon,” he retorted as he turned on to Mott. “But I want someone with a proton pack ready to blast at a moment’s notice.”

Egon thought this over for a moment, then acquiesced. “Very well. We will probably be up for most of the night anyway, researching the entity. And I have several tests to run on you, Peter. If you can manage it, I’d prefer to do them before you take any more painkillers.”

Peter sighed as they pulled into the garage. “Okay, bring on the electrodes, Spengs. But I want a shower first.”

Winston shut off the motor. He and Ray climbed out of the converted hearse while Egon and Janine helped Peter out of the back seat. Just as Peter turned toward the stairs...

“PEEEEETEEEERRRRR!!!”

“Awwwww, crap!”

The Ghostbusters’ mascot ghost exploded through the ceiling from the upper levels of the firehouse with a wet SPLAT of ectoplasm and dove straight for the parapsychologist. Peter tried to dodge but his equilibrium was so thrown off by the headache that he started to fall. Egon lunged in to support his friend. As a result, both Ghostbusters were throughly slimed as Slimer tackled Peter.

“Yuck! Forget me staying away from the packs!” Peter snarled with disgust. “This ghost is toast!”

Ray ran over and tried to pull the Class Five off of Peter. “Slimer! Let go. Peter’s been hurt.”

“Peter hurt?!” Slimer pulled away with an alarmed expression and looked the angry man up and down. His yellow eyes widened and bugged out. “Peter different!”

Egon looked up through ectoplasm spattered glasses at the ghost. “Different? What do you mean?”

“He probably sees the scorch marks Barbizilla left on me,” Peter said sourly as he scraped slime off his face and threw it on the ground.

“Is that it, Slimer?” Winston asked. “Can you see what happened to Peter? Do you see where he’s been hurt?”

Slimer shook his head violently, causing everyone to duck flying globs of green. “See Peter better. Brighter!”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Janine asked as she snagged a Kleenex from her desk for Egon to clean his glasses.

“At this point, I don’t really give a damn,” Peter said as he staggered toward the stairs. “You guys can play Twenty Questions with the spud. All I want is a shower so I’ll be relatively comfortable while Egon plays mad scientist with me.” As he started up the steps, he staggered again, this time with fatigue and Winston hurried to support him.

“Careful there, Pete,” he cautioned as he put his hand on the psychiatrist’s shoulder ready to grab him if his legs gave way. “You probably need a good meal too with all you’ve been through.”

Peter stopped and made a face. “With this headache? I’m feeling a little better Zed, but not so good that I can guarantee I won’t be doing the technicolor yawn all over the kitchen.”

The former soldier was adamant. “Then we’ll start with soup. Why don’t you two see what you can do with your books,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll get Pete cleaned up and fed before I turn him over to your tender mercies.”

“A good idea,” Egon said agreed as he started to shed his slimed jumpsuit. He pointed with his chin toward the green ghost whose gaze was locked on Peter as he went upstairs. “Why don’t you see if you can determine what Slimer means by seeing Peter better, Ray?” he asked. “Perhaps that will give us some insight as to what happened.”

Ray nodded as he guided Slimer toward the basement steps. “Okay. I’ll talk to him as I modify containment security. Come on, Slimer.”

“Wanna be with Peter!”

“Later, Slimer. Maybe when he feels better. Right now I need your help.”

Slimer gave one more longing look toward the upper levels, then sighed and allowed Ray to pull him downstairs.

***

Egon put down the printouts and slipped one hand under his glasses to rub his eyes. His shoulders ached from hunching over the pages, and a knot was beginning to develop in the small of his back. To say it had been a rough day was an understatement of mammoth proportions. Now that the immediate danger seemed to have passed, fatigue was beginning to spread through him. However, logically he knew that their peril had not lessened in the slightest. He sincerely wished that the visual image tracker had not been damaged in his last lab accident. It would have been the most accurate tool to evaluate the effects of the psi-attack on Peter, but here had not been time to repair it. The physicist was now limited to a standard EEG and PKE meters.

Damn it, he swore silently as he picked up the notes he’d made from his discussion with Peter about his abduction. This makes no logical sense whatsoever. There are many powerful entities who would desire to capture one or all of us. There are just as many who would want to torture us-- either to extract information or revenge. The more crafty would leap at the opportunity to subvert one of us to get access to the containment unit. But to put Peter through agony one minute, then show concern over his discomfort, and then to return him openly to us... He shook his head. There has to be something we’re missing.

“Hey, Egon? You hungry?”

The physicist looked up to see Ray framed in the doorway to the third floor lab. He was laden down with a tray of sandwiches and a six-pack of soda. Egon blinked, then turned back to his printouts.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite right now, Raymond. Perhaps after I finish with the EEG’s...”

Ray shook his head as he kicked the door shut behind him and crossed the floor to the workbench. “Nothing doing, Egon. Janine dragged me out of the basement by my collar when I said the same thing about my books. She told me that the two of us were going to take care of ourselves even if she had to strap us down and forcefeed us. Now, if you want to try to cross her...”

Egon shuddered theatrically and reached for a sandwich. “When you put it that way...”

Ray grinned and slipped one of the sodas out of its plastic ring. “Good call. You have any luck?”

Egon thoughtfully chewed the bite he took from his turkey-on-rye and handed Ray several printouts. “I ran Peter through the full gamut,” he said after he swallowed. “There is a very slight change in both his EEG and his baseline biorhythms. Nothing drastic. In fact, if it had not been for recent events, I would have put it off to natural fluctuations due to the high residual PKE he was still showing. However, after a second attempt to draw off the energy with a trap, there was no change in the pattern.” The physicist leaned over to point out a particular pattern. “The EEG shows some new spiking here and here.”

Ray poured over the graph, his eyebrows coming together in a frown. “It doesn’t look like a pattern that would indicate a seizure waiting to happen. Gosh, that would be awful if it happened.”

“Quite,” Egon quietly agreed as the image of his friend in the throws of an epileptic fit flashed through his mind. Such a result would mean an end to Peter’s Ghostbusting days. Ray flipped through the pages of squiggly lines and reached up to rub his chin.

“Something about that spiking pattern seems familiar,” he finally said as he looked up and snagged a sandwich of his own. “I know I’ve seen it somewhere...”

“You have.” Egon opened a file and pulled out another EEG graph. “Remember Thomas Markam? The dowser we tested at Columbia?”

Ray’s face brightened. “Of course! The one who let us hook him up to an EEG while he was water witching!” The dowser had been somewhat of a coup for the parapsychologists in their academic days. In their attempts to investigate paranormal phenomena, it had been a challenge to find a subject who not only had a reliable, consistent ability, but was also willing to “go under the microscope” as it were. Thomas Markam, an accomplished water witch from the Catskills, was both. Ray snagged the printout and laid it next to Peter’s. “This is great! That spiking pattern is almost identical. Only....” His voice trailed off as he traced the patterns with one finger. “They’re not in the same place.”

Egon nodded, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “That’s correct. Thomas had spiking mainly over the sensory strip of his brain. Peter has it occurring in the lower section of the sensory cortex, part of the temporal lobe and deep within the midbrain.”

“Wow...” Ray breathed. “So maybe the experience has enhanced Peter’s psi-sensitivity.?”

“That is a possibility. We’ve all developed some minor psi-ability from our constant exposure to psychokinetic energy. Our ability to anticipate phone calls, for example.”

Ray snapped his fingers and his eyes lit up with excitement. “And Peter’s been the one to do that the most! I even think he was the first of us to do it. Egon, this might tie in with what Slimer told me. It took a while to make sense of what he was saying, but you know how ghosts have abilities to sense forms of energy? From what I can tell, they rely on this to sense the world almost more than they rely on what we would consider conventional eyesight. When Slimer said he could see Peter better, that he was somehow `brighter’; well, that’s exactly what he meant. Peter’s life energy, essence or whatever you want to call it has either intensified or switched to a wavelength ghosts can more easily `see’.”

Egon pondered this for a moment, then glanced down at the biorhythm readings. “Hmmm...I believe the switched wavelength theory may be more plausible. If Peter’s overall energy levels were intensified, I would expect a greater change in intensity with his biorhythms. That is simply not present here.”

“That makes sense,” Ray agreed. “After I got that straightened out I tried to get him to do comparisons. According to Slimer, if Peter’s `light’ was a flashlight yesterday, then today it’s that high-intensity lamp we use downstairs when we’re doing inspection on the containment unit.” Ray leaned forward, fairly bouncing with excitement. “But this is the wild part. I got an idea to have him compare Peter’s `light’ to other people Slimer knows. You know what? If Peter was a flashlight yesterday and a floodlamp today, then the average person is a Christmas tree light. And I’m a penlight. That goes for you, Winston and Janine, too.”

Egon’s eyes widened behind his glasses as realization sank in. “So if Peter was easier for ghosts to `see’ from the beginning...”

“That’s why he gets slimed so much,” Ray finished with his trademark enthusiasm. “He stands out from the rest of us. Isn’t it great?”

“Or else they are somehow attracted to the `light’ like moths.” Egon mused, his lips twitching into a wry smile. “This is fascinating. However, I doubt Peter will consider the revelation that he has always been a `ghost magnet’ and is now even more of one to be `great’.”

Ray shrugged. “I guess he wouldn’t.” Abruptly, the auburn-haired man’s face fell. “But I guess that doesn’t do us much good with the big picture. Janine and I still haven’t been able to find anything resembling the entity responsible in my books.”

“Don’t be impatient with yourself, Raymond,” Egon said, reaching across the table to clasp his arm. “I know for a fact that you haven’t gone through even half of your reference material.”

“Well, no I haven’t,” Ray confirmed. “The trouble is that this creature is so contradictory. If I could even conclusively nail down whether it’s a malevolent or benign entity, it would help.” He waved a hand at the notes of Peter’s encounter. “From what Peter says, it didn’t want to hurt him. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a benevolent entity who’s being forced into this by another entity.”

“Somehow, I find that theory even less reassuring,” Egon murmured. “Dealing with a malevolent entity powerful enough to coerce a Class Eight would be most unpleasant.”

Ray winced and doggedly finished off the remains of his sandwich. “Well, I’m going back to my books,” he said as he headed for the door. “I figure I can get another couple of hours before either Janine or Winston drags me to bed.”

“And I’ll see how Peter’s doing.” Egon quickly straightened up the papers on the workbench and headed across the hall to the bunkroom.

 By the time they had finished the testing and debriefing, the Demerol had worn off completely. Peter had been quite miserable, so much so that he’d only put up a token protest when Egon insisted on him taking the prescribed painkillers before attempting to get some rest. As the blond physicist silently crept through the darkened room, it seemed that the medicine had done its work and Peter was sprawled under the covers, his face peaceful in sleep. Egon sat down on the chair next to the bed and absently checked the alarm they’d set to warn them of any further incursions into their headquarters. Reassured that the device was working properly, he turned his attention back to the younger man.

Egon sighed quietly as he allowed himself the luxury of briefly relaxing his hold on his emotions and letting himself acknowledge the fact that he was worried sick about his friend. They now had an idea what had been done to him, but they were ignorant as to the purpose. What possible goal could the entity have? Increasing psi-sensitivity could facilitate a spirit’s ability to work through a living host, but there were far more efficient ways to accomplish this than blasting the victim with psychokinetic energy. Furthermore, by doing so in an open fashion, it had put the Ghostbusters on their guard to that very possibility. On top of all this, was the concern over permanent injury to Peter. They simply did not know enough about psionic wounds to predict what effect it would have on a person in the short or long term. Egon desperately hoped Bethany’s healer would have reassuring news on that issue when she arrived the next day.

“You do manage to get yourself into the worst messes,” he whispered so softly that he could barely hear his own voice.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Egon blinked, startled. “I’m sorry, Peter. Did I wake you?”

Green eyes slitted open and a faint smile curved on the psychologist’s lips. “Why’re you sorry now, ‘gon. You never had any problem waking me from my beauty sleep before.” Peter lifted one hand to push Egon’s sliding glasses back up into place. The physicist frowned with half-hearted annoyance but said nothing.

“Don’ worry, Spengs,” Peter mumbled sleepily. “I’ve been kinda drifting in and out.”

Egon smiled and gently pulled the covers higher over Peter’s chest. “Well, enjoy it while you can. I believe I can allow you one morning to sleep in.”

“Only one?” Peter whined with mock-disappointment. “I should get at least a week with you guys waiting on me hand and foot.”

Egon raised an eloquent eyebrow. “Don’t push your luck, Dr. Venkman.”

Peter grinned, his eyelids drooping. “You’re a hard man, Dr. Spengler.” He yawned and snuggled back down into his pillow. “Next time we remodel, remind me to get some better soundproofing on the walls. What was Ray so excited about, anyway?”

“You heard us?” Egon asked, surprised. Although Ray had been displaying his usual exuberance, he’d been doing so in quiet tones out of consideration for Peter. Furthermore, the door of the lab was shut the entire time. The sound which would have filtered into the bunkroom should not have significantly disturbed Peter whom Egon would have sworn was capable of sleeping through a takeoff of the Space Shuttle.

“Yeah,” Peter said, yawning again. “Though, maybe you should tell me in the morning. Between the headache and the Vicodin, I probably wouldn’t remember if you told me now.”

Egon smiled worriedly at the younger man. “It can wait till then, Peter. I think you’ll find it most...interesting.”

“Why doesn’t that reassure me,” Peter quipped, starting to drift back off to sleep, his brown hair falling into his eyes. Egon reached down and brushed the hair back.

Those spikes over the sensory cortex, he mused to himself. Perhaps the experience enhanced his senses.

“Like the guy on that program Ray likes to watch?” Peter muttered sleepily. “The Sentinel?”

Egon started and pulled his hand away, startled. What had just happened? “Peter, did you hear that?”

“Yeah, Egon. Stop mumbling to yourself and let me sleep already.”

Egon’s eyes widened as the implications sank in. Deliberately, he cleared his mind. He needed to make sure. Taking a deep breath, Egon focused on one single thought.

Peter?

Peter stirred slightly but didn’t respond. Then Egon remembered they’d been in physical contact when Peter had apparently responded to his thoughts. Very gently, he reached out to brush Peter’s hair back from his face again. Peter sighed and leaned into the comforting touch.

Peter?

The psychologist stirred. “What now, ‘gon?”

The physicist took his hand away. “It’s nothing. Go to sleep.”

Egon was grateful for the fog of the painkillers which kept his friend from picking up on his mental state as he very carefully walked from the bunkroom and headed back to the lab.

The psychokinetic energy did enhance his psi-sensitivity. Well, enhance is an understatement. Peter’s right. I do seem to have a tendency for that. He abruptly shook himself and forced his thoughts into line before they could start going in purposeless circles. Oh, God! Peter’s a telepath.

***

Chapter 3 - Gates

He was dreaming. He didn’t know how he knew, but that’s the funny way dreams work. Sometimes the knowledge is just there, and it all makes perfect sense, at least while the dream lasts. Peter looked around at the parallel line of doors stretching into the distance. All night, he wandered through endless hallways, each turning showing still more corridors reaching out into infinity. And the doors, countless doors, in all shapes and sizes. Behind them were treasures, pleasures and secrets in endless variety. The only thing the doors had in common were their locks...they were all broken. Peter was completely free to go wherever he wanted, to take whatever he wished.

And, for some reason, it scared the crap out of him.

***

Winston looked up from breakfast preparations and peeked out the kitchen door as Ray came clattering from the third level and continued down the staircase to the first. No two ways about it. Ray was amazing if only for his energy levels which were matched only by young children and maybe the Energizer bunny. Winston and Janine had joined forces to wrangle the Ghostbusters’ dynamic duo to bed a little after 1 a.m. Now it was 7 o’clock, and Ray was already tearing around the firehouse, determined to find some lead, any lead.

If only we could hook the packs up to him for recharging, he thought wryly as he deftly flipped pancakes on the skillet. Save us a fortune on power. Pete would be overjoyed.

He looked up again as footsteps at a much more sedate pace sounded on the spiral staircase to the third level. A moment later, a rather frowsy looking Janine entered and collapsed into a chair by the table. Winston smiled sympathetically and poured the secretary a cup of coffee.

“So the Wonder Twins are back at it already,” he observed as he turned back to the stove and started transferring pancakes to a plate. He patiently waited for a response while Janine took her first few sips of coffee.

“I tell you, Winston. We’ve gotta invest in one of those tranq guns like Bethany was talking about last night,” she said as her caffeine levels rose out of the red zone.

“It’s tempting,” he agreed, grinning. “Maybe too tempting. You’d probably have Pete stuck all over like a porcupine before the day was out.”

Janine pasted an innocent look on her face and managed to hold it a full five seconds before she let a smirk through. “As if I’d want to give him any reason for extra naptime. Anyway, Egon’s back in the lab working on that imager of his, and I’m sure you heard Ray charging around.”

“Has Egon said anything else?”

“Nope,” Janine said, said shaking her head. “The computer’s crunching away, but no luck narrowing down the frequency of the bastard’s dimension yet. And he still won’t say what he wants all those journals for.”

The dark-skinned man nodded grimly and handed Janine a plate piled with pancakes. “Well, eat up, girlfriend. We’ve gotta be at our best to ride herd on these lunatics.”

“And I don’t really recall that being in my job description.”

“Sure it was. The fine print just after the `Act of Slime’ clause.”

Janine glared up at him. “You’ve been hanging around Dr. V too much, Winston. He’s contaminating you.” She paused to take a bite of breakfast. “But you can cook, so I’ll forgive you.”

Winston grinned and sat down to his own stack of hot cakes. As he ate, his ever-active mind, sharpened by countless mystery novels, ran through the evidence. Last night, Ray had given them the news that the attack on Peter had probably increased his psi-sensitivity. Then Egon came down from the lab and raided the psychologist’s journals for everything he had on human psychic phenomena. When Winston had asked him what was up, the physicist had been evasive. Later, when Winston and Janine went to the lab with the intention of dragging the man to bed by physical force if necessary, they’d found him working feverishly on the broken visual image tracker with the journals strewn open across the workbench. Again, he’d refused to say exactly what he thought was going on; only that he had a theory and wanted to wait until Peter woke to discuss it.

And when Egon gets cagey, I get nervous, Winston concluded as he finished his breakfast.

“I’ve got it!”

Winston and Janine jumped at the sound. Ray came pounding up the stairs and dashed into the kitchen, his broad face lit up like a Christmas tree. He carried one of his old, dusty grimoires with him. “I think I’ve got it, Janine,” he crowed quietly in triumph as he set the book on the kitchen table and opened it to an illustration. “Is this what you saw in the portal?”

Janine hurried around the table and peered down at the book. The old woodcut showed three figures, all reptilian. One was blocky with heavy limbs and a small, bony ridge rising from its head like a squat crown. The second was serpentine with small arms and no lower limbs at all. The third...

“That’s it!” Janine said as she pointed to the willowy figure with the mane-like crest of hair. “That’s what had Peter. Now what the hell is it?”

“It’s a Gaurnim,” Ray said, his voice lowering as he skimmed the entry. “They’re corporeal entities of considerable power. It says here that...” his eyes widened as he read. “Oh, wow!”

Winston and Janine exchanged an exasperated glance. “What is it, Ray?” Winston asked, taking up the gauntlet. “And if you say it’s `great’...”

“Well, not great, but it is kinda neat,” Ray interrupted. “It says here that all three entities in the picture are Gaurnim. Those are gender differences in their forms. The one Janine saw was the female analog. The others are the male-alpha and male-beta. Wonder if it takes all three for reproduction...” He bent over the book engrossed.

Janine made a disgusted face. “What? You’re saying it takes three to tango with those guys?”

“Oh man!” Winston groaned. “That is way more than I ever wanted to know about the sex life of demons!”

“They’re not exactly demons, Winston,” Ray corrected, blushing furiously. “It says here they don’t live in the Netherworld at all.”

“Whatever, Ray,” Janine said as she steered the engineer to a chair and deftly replaced the book with a plate of pancakes. “Get some breakfast inside you, and then you can read all about the Secret Lives of Talking Lizards. And I’m gonna drag Egon down here before he passes out in the middle of the lab from low blood sugar.”

“But...” Ray started to protest, but was quelled by a glare from Janine and quickly turned his attention to emptying his plate. The secretary nodded with satisfaction and headed for the stairs.

***

It was the murmuring that first invaded his sleep. Phantom voices...familiar but too low and indistinct to be recognized. They filtered down the dream-corridors adding an extra layer of uneasiness to already disturbing visions. It wasn’t clear if it was the uneasiness or the intrusion of reality that pushed him toward waking. Perhaps it was a combination of both. Either way, Peter moved out of dreams into a shallow doze...shallow enough for the pain of his headache to wake him.

“Shit!”

Peter fumbled on the bedside table for the sunglasses he’d placed there the night before and didn’t open his eyes until they were shielded. Then he carefully levered himself up into a sitting position and glared at the firepole’s opening in the floor. The murmurs were now louder and recognizable; Janine and the guys with Slimer burbling in the background.

“You think there’d be some consideration for the walking wounded here,” he groused as he staggered out of bed. “But noooooo! Let’s get up at the crack of dawn and throw a party under the sickroom.” He pondered taking another Vicodin for a moment, but the fading memory of last night’s dreams sent a shudder through him.

“Now I remember why I don’t like narcotics,” he muttered to himself as he headed for the bathroom for a quick clean-up and some Tylenol. “I like to sleep, but I like nice dreams when I sleep.”

The voices of his friends faded as he closed the bathroom door behind him. With a sigh of relief, he rummaged through the medicine cabinet and quickly downed two Extra-Strength Tylenol. Wishing fervently for a dimmer switch on the bathroom lights, he pulled off the sunglasses and looked himself over. Company was coming in the form of Bethany’s healer friends, and, if memory served him, they were female. Damned if he was going to let even a scale-10 migraine keep him from impressing the fairer sex.

“The sacrifices I make for my public,” he said with a half-hearted smirk as he fished his razor out of the drawer. But before he could make a start on shaving a sudden loud voice broke the relative silence of the bathroom. His head throbbed at the sound, causing him to drop his razor with a muttered obscenity. Pain mixed with suppressed anxiety and bubbled up as anger. Peter flung open the door and stalked out into the hall.

“Last I checked, this wasn’t the Stock Exchange!” he snarled at the firehouse at large. “My head would really appreciate it if you guys could keep it down to a dull roar here. Is that too much to ask?”

Janine, who was just topping the stairs with a glass of orange juice, stopped in her tracks. “What the hell are you talking about, Dr. V?”

Peter rounded on the redhead. “What am I talking about? I’m talking about a little consideration here, Melnitz. You’d think that I’d be due a little after being kidnapped and tortured. You’d think people could try to keep their voices down ‘til I get rid of this damn headache.”

Janine’s eyes flashed with indignation as she walked over and glared up at her boss. “Now see here, Dr. V! Everyone’s been walking on tiptoe and speaking in whispers this morning. What do you want us to do? Wrap our feet in cottonballs and use sign language?”

“If this is your idea of whispering...”

“Not another word,” Janine overrode him, “or you’ll be wearing this orange juice! The guys are worried sick about you and I’m not going to let you...”

Her diatribe continued, but Peter found himself losing track of what she was saying. It was almost as if she was speaking through a poorly balanced sound system with each word being faintly echoed. He shook his head as if to clear it, but it didn’t help. The murmuring that had awakened him was back with a vengeance. Faint voices, too faint to be understood, but pervasive. And as they increased, so did his headache. Peter involuntarily grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. Janine broke off as she caught the motion and concern quickly replaced ire when she took in the expression on his face. “Peter?” she asked. “What is it?”

The psychologist shook himself. “It’s...nothing.” He forced a weak smile. “Sorry about the blow-up, Melnitz. You know how I am before I’ve had my coffee.”

Janine looked at him, trying to conceal her worry behind an expression of irritation. “Tell me about it. Here.” She held out the glass. “Maybe this will help wake you up enough to be human. Now get your butt downstairs. Egon’s got some theory he won’t spill ‘til you’re up.”

“Just let me get presentable,” he said, quickly ducking into the bathroom before the fragile mask over his anxiety crumbled.

“Hey!” Janine yelped in protest and started to thump on the door, catching herself as she remembered his headache. She heard the water running in the sink and grimaced down at the orange juice she was still holding. “You’d better be quick, Dr. Venkman, or I’ll be back up here with Slimer.” There was no response but a faint sound of splashing. Janine frowned then turned and headed back down the hall to the stairs.

Inside the bathroom, Peter let the water run until he could no longer hear her footsteps. Then he sat down on the edge of the tub. The voices had slowly faded, but this time Peter was not reassured. He knew it couldn’t be his friends. They were all in the kitchen. Janine was right. They would never talk loud enough to be heard all the way in here when they knew how much pain he was in. But if it wasn’t the guys’ voices...

I’m going crazy. The great Peter Venkman headed for the rubber room. I guess I should have been expecting it sooner or later. I always thought it would be Egon driving me ‘round the bend, not some refugee from “The Crocodile Hunter”, but that’s life for you.

He sat there shivering for a while before he started cleaning himself up.

***

The early morning light slanted its way through cracks in the New York skyline as one of the Big Apple’s legion of yellow cabs pulled up to the corner of Mott and Pell. The driver, whose blood levels of caffeine and nicotine would have probably sent the average person into cardiac arrest, sullenly reported the fee due. His passenger handed over the required currency with a calmness that seemed to deflect the cabbie’s rudeness as oiled silk would shed water. She climbed out of the taxi and stood a moment, contemplating the converted firehouse while the taxi screeched off in search of another fare.

Sara Blackwater tucked a strand of iron-gray hair which had escaped her braids behind one ear and sighed. Four decades as a Lakota shaman and healer had given her exquisite sensitivity to power of many kinds, whether one called it “spectral energy”, “auras” or “medicine”. This place screamed to the Inner Senses. It was to be expected given that not only did the Ghostbusters confine powerful spirits on the premises, but also the fact that four Warriors (and she had no doubt the Ghostbusters were true Spirit Warriors) would imbue their dwelling with a powerful medicine of their own. All in all, she would prefer to do this elsewhere; say in a sweat lodge with a full ceremony. However, she doubted these men-of-science, open as they were to the spirit world, would be comfortable with that. And it was her patient’s comfort, not her own that mattered. She used her traditional rites as a focus for her gift, but they were not the source of it. She could (and did) perform healings using symbols which better suited the patient and sometimes used her gift alone without any ceremony whatsoever.

All the same, she groused inwardly. It’s going to be a challenge to work in the midst of all this.

She caught herself toying nervously at the necklace of beads and carved fetishes around her neck and set her mind firmly on the task ahead as she walked up to the door and knocked. After a few moments, she heard approaching footsteps and the door opened to reveal a young, stocky man with a round, good-natured face and reddish hair. He seemed to be brimming with bouncy energy, but Sara’s experienced eye could see the underlying fatigue and stress.

“Good morning,” he greeted her. “Are you...” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

“Bethany’s healer friend?” Sara finished for him with a smile. “That I am.” She held out a hand. “Sara Blackwater at your service.”

“Ray Stantz,” the young man responded as he accepted her handshake. Some measure of relief seeped into his expression as he ushered her into the garage. “We’re so glad you could come. We’ve been so worried about Peter, and, well...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re kinda at a loss.”

The healer nodded understanding. “I’ll do everything I can, which will hopefully be a great deal.” The wrinkles seaming her brown face deepened as her smile spread to a grin. “For someone who claims to have no Sight, Bethany is adept at finding people who can use my help.”

The young engineer returned her grin. “You said it. She took us all by surprise last night. Come on upstairs, and we’ll get Peter for you. Say, do you mind if we take readings while you work? We’ve never actually seen a psionic healer in action before.”

“As long as Dr. Venkman has no objections, neither do I.”

“Oh, Peter won’t mind,” he blithely assured her. “We do this stuff all the time.”

Sara followed the Ghostbuster to the second level, steadying herself against the melange of Warrior medicine and the taint of spirits, and walked right into...well, it wasn’t quite an argument. Yet.

“Egon, I’m a patient woman. God knows I’d have to be given what I have to put up with in this nuthouse. But enough is enough. You’re going to tell us what you think is wrong with Peter and you’re gonna do it right now, or Winston and I will beat it out of you.”

“Uh-oh,” Ray murmured as they reached the top of the stairs. “I warned Egon that Janine wouldn’t wait much longer.”

The two of them emerged into the living room to find a tall, blond man fetched up against the stereo cabinet, pinned there by a shorter, fiery-eyed woman. A handsome African-American stood a little off to one side, his manner showing he supported the woman’s position one hundred percent. The trapped man turned his spectacled eyes toward the stairway and caught a glimpse of Sara and Ray. Relief spread across his face; no doubt from the chance to escape his current predicament as well as the prospect of finally helping his friend.

“Ahhh, you must be Mrs. Blackwater,” he called out, quickly taking advantage of the healer’s arrival to escape the corner. Introductions were quickly dispensed with. Sara had been given a quick run-down of the Ghostbusters when Bethany had called her the night before. Comparing that report to what she now observed, it was reassuring to confirm the nurse’s assessment of the tight bonds of friendship, love and loyalty. They could make things much easier. Time to get down to business.

“Peter’s upstairs getting freshened up,” Winston said after the preliminaries were done. “I’ll go make sure he hasn’t fallen in or something.” He paused as a new thought occurred to him. “Or should we wait a bit? I remember Bethany saying there were two of you. A doctor in the hospital?”

The healer sighed and nodded. “My apprentice, and, as you can probably guess, one with obligations in the mundane world. She had some hospital chores she couldn’t get out of but...”

“Hello? Anybody home?”

Everyone jumped at the voice filtering up from the garage. Sara chuckled and continued. “...but apparently she’s right behind me. We’re upstairs, child,” she answered in a slightly raised voice. A few moments later, another woman came bounding up the stairs, and you would have been hard pressed to come up with an odder couple. Where Sara was short, plump, bronze-skinned and elderly, dressing in full, colorful skirts and blouses, the newcomer was in her early-to-mid thirties, fairly tall and pale skinned with short, spiky black hair. Over surgical scrubs she wore a battered leather jacket.

“The door was unlocked,” the woman said in explanation. “Hope I didn’t miss all the excitement.”

“Not at all,” Egon said smoothly, reaching out a hand in greeting. “We’re very glad you could make it, Dr....” As he glanced down at the hospital I.D. hanging around her neck, he froze. Then, with an infinite amount of control in his voice, he asked, “Are those truly your initials?”

The others quickly looked at the offending name tag. Ray put a hand to his mouth, attempting to hold a giggle in by physical force. Janine and Winston were both biting their lips. Dr. Basco, recognizing their need for a tension breaker after all they’d been through, shook her head with mock resignation (and a concealed wink toward Sara). “Yes, for better or for worse, I’m Tabitha Adrienne Basco. And, for God’s sake, go ahead and laugh before you hurt something. I don’t mind.”

All four of them took advantage of her permission and let loose although they managed to keep it down to subdued snickering out of consideration for Peter’s headache. “Oh, you must have had it rough in grade school,” Janine finally said, sympathy creeping through her amusement.

“You’d better believe I’ve heard every possible joke in the book,” Tabitha said with a rueful chuckle of her own. “But I don’t mind so much now. The kids get a kick out of going to see `Dr. Tabasco’.” The gamin grin she flashed made her look remarkably like a Brian Froud rendition of Puck. “And I can always tell my parents it’s their own fault I turned into a saucy wench.”

“Ugh! Forget healing me. That joke’s worse than the migraine.”

Egon glanced up the spiral staircase. Sara followed his gaze to see Peter leaning against the banister on the top step, his eyes shielded by dark glasses. “Pleased you could join us, Mr. Anderson,” Egon quipped.

“Okay, next Matrix crack gets a punch in the teeth. Morning, ladies,” he said with an attempt at his usual lady-killer smile. “So you’re the ones who are gonna put Humpty-Dumpty back together again. Should I try to make it downstairs without killing myself, or are you coming up?”

Years of experience were all that kept the shock out of Sara’s face. She’d felt the young man’s pain dimly when she reached the second level, but now that she “saw” him directly she was aghast. The damage she “saw” pulsed at her with a sullen heat. Normally, she only experienced that sensation when in direct contact with her patients. Indeed, her work was cut out for her.

“We’ll join you upstairs,” she said, suiting action to words. “We’ll need a comfortable place for you to lie down and I don’t see one down here.”

“Hey, don’t knock our couch,” the dark-haired man protested. “I’ve gotten some good nap time on it.”

“And then you wake up moaning about the wreck it makes of your back,” Winston said knowingly. “Get your ass into the lab. We’ll set up the cot.”

***

Peter stared up at the lab ceiling and forced his muscles to relax. This was it. The cavalry was here. Healer and Co. had been given a brief overview of what happened to him, and they were about ready to begin. They’d fix whatever Barbizilla had done to him. He kept holding to that thought with an iron grip. The voices he’d heard earlier had to have been a side-effect of the psionic injury. Once it was gone, they’d be gone. Over at the workbench, Ray and Egon were setting up equipment to monitor the healing. He smiled at the familiar sight. Even with all their anxiety, the excitement of discovery was leaking through.

If it wasn’t for the fact that my brain got barbequed, they’d probably be bouncing off the walls, he mused. Well, Ray would be bouncing. Egon would go ‘hmmmm...’ a lot and probably let his glasses fall off his nose from the excitement.

And while the Ghostbusters’ science team was busy, Janine and Winston had been drafted into helping with “apprentice work”. At the moment, they were walking around the room waving smoldering bundles of herbs. Dr. Basco was by his cot, cursing under her breath at the lighter which had gone out just before she could light her own bundle.

“You okay, m’man?”

Peter looked up at Winston who had paused in his circuit to clap his friend’s shoulder. “Doin’ great, Zed. Got a doc who’s as hot as her name fussing over me. What more can I ask for?”

The physician in question rolled her eyes as she struggled with a recalcitrant lighter. “He like this all the time?” she asked.

“Naaaaah,” Winston said with laugh. “You caught him on a bad day. He’s usually much worse.”

“Hey!”

“Pipe down and be a nice, well-behaved sick person, Dr. Venkman,” Tabitha said with a stern look on her face that was ruined by the twinkle in her grey eyes. The stubborn lighter finally lit and the apprentice healer carefully ignited a small bundle of sage and sweetgrass. Blowing out the flame, she wafted the smoke around the cot.

“Just what are we doing here anyway?” Janine asked from across the room. “Aside from making the lab smell like a smokehouse?”

 “It’s called `smudging’, Janine,” Winston answered. “It’s supposed to purify places and people.”

Tabitha looked up, pleasantly surprised. “Got it in one, Mr. Zeddemore. I think of it as surgical prep for the spirit. Have you been involved in Native American rituals before?”

The former soldier shrugged. “No, but there was a guy in my unit back in ‘Nam who did this to our barracks. He told me some about it. And call me Winston. We’re not much for titles around here.”

The doctor smiled. “That’s nice. I like to check my title at the door when I leave the hospital. Call me Tabitha or even Tab.”

“How about Tabasco?” Peter suggested.

“Only my close friends can call me that,” Tabitha retorted, obviously enjoying the by-play. “And right now, you’re my patient.”

“But I’ll get better. I bet...” Peter’s comeback was cut off as a spike of pain shot through his head. Tabitha startled at the grimace that twisted his face, then turned to her mentor who was sitting in a chair at the head of the cot, eyes closed.

“Sara?”

“Almost ready, child. I want you to observe. I’ll let you know if I need your help.”

Tabitha nodded and looked back down at Peter. “You were saying?” she asked.

But Peter had already forgotten what he was going to say. The murmuring was back, very faint, but there. He swallowed his fear and forced a smile. “Nothing important. So what’s gonna happen. Laying on of hands?”

“Sort of. It’s an abbreviated version of a Lakota-style healing. If you like, we can do a full ceremony, but we’ll need a sweat lodge and a troop of dancers and drummers.”

“Drumming with this headache? No thanks. I think I’ll pass.”

“Maybe later then,” Tabitha suggested. “Anyway, Sara’s gonna try to `touch’ your injury to see what the extent of it is. Then she’ll stop any further damage and nudge the healing process up a notch or two. Just relax, close your eyes and focus on her singing.”

“Singing, huh? Does she take requests?”

“We will begin now,” Sara interrupted smoothly. Tabitha smiled reassuringly at Peter and took his hands. As the others clustered about, Sara started rhythmically shaking a tortoise-shell rattle in one hand. After three beats, she started singing in Lakota. With her free hand she reached out to touch Peter’s forehead. Involuntarily, he jerked away, reminded of a similar touch the day before.

“Relax,” Tabitha soothed, holding his eyes with hers.

“We’re here, Peter,” Egon said softly. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Peter took a deep breath and nodded. Sara’s song went on steadily as she placed her hand on the psychologist’s forehead once again. As the haunting tune wove its way through his battered mind, it drowned out the growing murmur, and Peter found himself relaxing. Tabitha smiled encouragingly, then her let her eyes go unfocused. Peter felt his own eyelids grow heavy and let them slide shut as the song cradled him. After a few moments (or an eternity, Peter wasn’t sure), the tune shifted subtly. Instead of simply holding him, it was moving over him, exploring the edges of the scorched place in his mind. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. Peter focused on the song, willing himself not to tense up and resist. To his relief, it didn’t last long. Exploration complete, the song took on a purposeful tone and moved slowly through the damaged area. It felt like a good soaking rain on parched ground. The constant pain Peter had been enduring faded. Not covered up by drugs, but absorbed and smothered by Sara’s gift.

The song faded away into silence. Peter opened his eyes to look up at Sara, gratitude practically radiating off him.

“Thank you, beautiful.”

“Flatterer,” Sara said as she smiled back weakly. The elderly lady swayed suddenly and the rattle slipped from her fingers to clatter to the floor. Peter’s eyes widened and he sat bolt upright on the cot, throwing out an arm to steady the healer before she could fall off the chair.

“Aw, crap!” Tabitha lunged at her mentor. The other Ghostbusters dropped whatever equipment they held and hurried over.

“Is she all right?” Ray asked frantically as they converged on the cot. Sara waved them off.

“I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Just tired my ass,” Tabitha snapped as she worked one arm around Sara’s shoulders and felt her forehead with her free hand. “Try exhausted. Damn it, Sara. Why didn’t you ask for help? That’s what apprentices are supposed to do, isn’t it?”

“You’ve never worked with wounds of this nature before, child,” she said reprovingly. “I have. You profited more by observing this time.”

Tabitha shook her head in frustration. “Okay, teacher. Next time, don’t drive yourself into the ground before asking for help.” She looked up at Winston. “Mind if we borrow one of your beds for a little while? I’ll take her straight home, but I’d like to give her some recovery time first.”

“No problem,” Winston said as he took Sara’s other side and helped her up. “You two can stay as long as you like. We’ll even treat you to lunch. Least we can do for your help.”

They started for the door, but Sara paused. “Wait. We’ve got to tell them...”

“I’ll tell them,” Tabitha said firmly. “I saw everything, and I know exactly what it means.”

The others watched, puzzled, as Winston helped guide Sara out of the lab, then turned to look at each other.

“What was that all about?” Janine asked. “I thought she fixed you, Dr. V.”

Peter grinned. “She did. Of course, how could she improve on perfection?”

“Well, she could have added some humility to the mix while she was messin’ around with your head. Seriously, Egon. What do you think she was talking about?”

The scientist stared thoughtfully at the lab door. “I’m not sure. But we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Peter, it was so neat!” Ray crowed. “We recorded through the whole thing. Wait till you see the readings.”

“And I am looking forward to your account of the experience,” Egon said as he put out a hand to help the psychologist to his feet. “How are you feeling?”

Peter turned to look out the window at the bright autumn sunshine, reveling in the lack of pain. “Pretty good, Spengs. Amazing how not having a steel drum band playing in your skull improves your day.” He raised his arms and stretched lazily. “Not saying I’m completely recovered, though,” he said with a sly smile. “I’d say I need at least three days of pampering until I’m up to working again.” Peter grinned at the exasperated looks on his friends faces, knowing at the same time that they were reassured by his typically outrageous behavior. The pain was gone and all was right with the world.

Or was it?

Now that the pain was gone, Peter noticed something. Something felt...different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what. As if something was missing that he hadn’t even noticed was there before. It most reminded him of getting a tooth pulled. Normally, the curve of teeth around one’s tongue went unnoticed, but, when one was lost, a person really noticed that gap. The smile faded from Peter’s face as he became aware of something else. The murmuring was back, very low. So low that he could probably ignore it if he wanted to.

Oh, God, am I going crazy anyway?

“Peter? What’s wrong?”

Egon was looking at him, his eyes filling with growing concern. This voice, like Janine’s earlier, had a faint echo. Peter stubbornly swallowed his rising fear and pasted a smile on. “S’okay, Egon. I guess I’m still kinda tired. Hope Winston didn’t give Mrs. Blackwater my bed.”

Egon wasn’t fooled for a minute. “Peter...”

“Excuse me.”

Everyone turned to see Tabitha re-enter the lab, followed closely by Winston. Peter’s heart sank even further when he saw the look on her face. They must teach that look in med school, ‘cause he’d seen it on other doctors. It was a particular variety of compassionate look that said, “Your tests came back positive.”

“Peter,” she said. “I need to talk to you about what Sara found. Would you’d rather do this in private?”

He shook his head. “Spill it here, Dr. Tabasco. If that lizard did something to me, the guys need to know.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes at the nickname, but let it go. “Okay,” she said pulling up a stool. “Make yourselves comfortable, folks. We’ve got some ground to cover.”

Peter appropriated the lab’s worn couch. Egon noted the carefully concealed tension in his friend’s shoulders and took a position perched on one arm of the piece of furniture within easy reach. Janine slid into the other side. Ray and Winston dragged over chairs of their own to complete the circle. Tabitha glanced at each of them, then focused on Peter.

“First, let me tell you what Sara was able to do. The energy that was channeled through you behaved not unlike a thermal injury. Now the first step in burn treatment is to remove any source of burning. Much had been removed by your friends last night, but there was enough left to do further damage. That’s what was causing the majority of your pain.”

Peter nodded cautiously. “Makes sense. Felt kinda like burning when Barbizilla had me on the slab. So Sara dunked me in cold water then poured on the aloe vera?”

“Good analogy,” Tabitha confirmed. “You’re not all healed up yet, but she’s nudged the process up a few notches. You’ll make a full recovery from most of the damage.”

Peter felt rather than saw his friends stiffen at that little tidbit of information. Most of the damage. Just what was unfixable? He was already hallucinating. Was that it? A chill ran through him, and he managed just barely to suppress the shudder. A warm hand clasped his shoulder, and Peter looked up into Egon’s comforting blue eyes. From somewhere, reassurance crept in to displace some of his anxiety. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he turned back to Tabitha.

“Okay, Doc. What else did you see?”

She ran one hand through her short hair and rubbed the back of her neck, obviously stalling while she found the best way to explain. “You’ll have to bear with me a bit. It’s kinda hard to describe. There’s a place inside each person which doesn’t seem to correspond to any anatomical structure of the brain, but it is very real all the same. It’s the place where the mind-body conglomerate is most closely bonded to the soul. Sara calls it the `gate of gifts’. This place...well, it’s just like it sounds. If a person has any paranormal abilities, it comes from that site. The power of the soul is channeled through the mind-body which together influence how the gift manifests. In most people, the gate is `closed’ and they exhibit no paranormal abilities. It can open spontaneously or in response to various mental or spiritual disciplines. It can also be closed through active or subconscious rejection of the gift.” A rueful smile flashed for a second. “That’s what happens with most people. We’re all born with the gate cracked open just a bit. That’s why little kids are generally more sensitive to the spirit world. But, as we grow up, we’re told over and over that the world just doesn’t work that way and we believe it, so we close the gate.”

“Oh, wow!” Ray breathed. “So you’re saying that Peter’s become psychic? Egon, this confirms what we found last night!”

“Hold it! Time out, Tex.” Peter made a T with his hands as he shot an annoyed look at the scientist. “Just what did you find out last night?”

“Ooops! Sorry, Peter.” Ray quickly ran through the EEG anomalies and what he had learned from questioning Slimer. The psychologist absorbed the news with growing dismay.

“You mean I’ve turned into ghost catnip?” he wailed. “That I have a lifetime of sliming to look forward to? Some `gift’ I’ve got here.”

“Look on the bright side, Pete,” Winston offered. “If the ghosts are that attracted to you, it could save us loads of time on busts.”

“Yeah, stake Petey out like a goat and watch the nasties with long, pointy teeth descend. If I’m gonna be bait, I want to have some choice in the matter, Zed.” Peter turned back to the black-haired woman. “Okay, Tabby. Barbizilla opened the barn door and the horse is kicking up his heels on the north-forty. How do we catch him and lock him back up?”

“But Peter,” Ray said with dismay. “This is a great chance to study the development of psi-sensitivity.”

The psychologist sighed, leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. “I’m not interested in starting a sideshow act, Ray. I don’t want to know the future. Cassandra had to be the most miserable person in the entire city of Troy. And I’m really not interested in being a slime magnet.” He ran both hands through his hair and looked up. “Let me have it, Doc. How do we close this gate of yours?”

Tabitha closed her eyes for a moment as a pained look flashed across her face. “We can’t. That’s the damage I was talking about earlier.” She opened her eyes and continued doggedly. “When the entity flooded you, it didn’t push the gate open. It blasted it open. What you’ve got is wide open channel. There’s no way to close it because there’s nothing there to close anymore.”

Blood drained from Peter’s face as the full implications sank in. He fell back on the couch, in shock, staring blankly at a point on the floor just in front of him. Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled heavily. “So I’m Karnak The Perpetually Slimed now, and there’s nothing I can do about it?”

Tabitha blinked. “I wouldn’t say nothing. We can’t shut down your gift, but there’s no reason to believe you can’t learn to control it.” The wry smile came back as she slipped off the stool and walked over to the couch. “That’s the trick. Learning to control your talent so it doesn’t end up controlling you. I’ve got psi-healing with a good dose of empathy. I had a few dicey moments before I got a handle on it, and I still have my bad days.” She crouched down to Peter’s eye level. “You’ve got two advantages on me, though. One, you know what’s happening to you, and, two, I believe this is part of your line of work.”

Tabitha managed to intercept his gaze for a second, but he quickly looked away. She looked up at Egon and Janine with a small shrug. “Hard to accept, I know. But Sara and I will help all we can if you want us. I’ll leave you my beeper and office number. Sara doesn’t believe in pagers, but I can track her down pretty quickly if I have to.”

When Peter didn’t answer, Egon cleared his throat. “We really appreciate this, Dr. Basco.”

“It’s Tabitha.”

“Sorry. If there’s anything we can do for you, don’t hesitate to call us either.”

The hobgoblin grin was back again. “I’ll keep that in mind if the walls of my apartment start bleeding, or my pets start speaking Latin.” She stood up and stretched her back. “I’d better go check on Sara. And the woman says I’m stubborn.”

***