A Professionals/Real Ghostbusters crossover

by Sheila Paulson

Bodie was walking along Fifth Avenue in New York enjoying the unexpected bonus of a holiday in the Big Apple when he saw Krivas walking toward him.

The CI5 operative froze. It was impossible. He remembered Krivas' trial, the smoldering hatred in the eyes of his former comrade in arms and his enemy as the verdict was read out. Krivas had gone to prison, convicted by twelve good men and true and by Bodie's testimony. Krivas had gone to prison--and the last time Bodie had heard of him, Krivas was still there. Cowley would have warned him if Krivas was free, especially since Krivas had threatened Bodie at the end, warning him that if he ever escaped, Bodie was dead. The head of CI5 never slipped up on things like that.

Blinking in surprise, Bodie looked again. It must have been a chance resemblance, because the man he had seen was nowhere in sight. Krivas was gone.

He hadn't thought of the men from that mob in years. Franky, the Frenchman, Benny Marsh, Tub... Bodie frowned, facing memories that he'd successfully managed to avoid for years. Once he'd worked with them, back in his mercenary days, but those days were long gone, and even before their end, he and Krivas had parted ways. Certainly there had been nothing to recall him now, here in Manhattan, stranded by an airline strike after he and his partner, Ray Doyle, had been sent over to the States in a joint mission with the FBI to return terrorist Jackson Hernandez to New York for trial. Once the plane had landed at JFK, the FBI had taken their prisoner away and he and Doyle were free to enjoy the thirty-six hours break George Cowley, their boss, had so graciously offered them here.

Engaged enthusiastically in sightseeing, and trying to score with American birds, they had not heard of the airline strike until time to check out of the hotel when Cowley's message finally reached them. Unable to get them a flight on another airline for at least four days, Cowley had been reluctantly forced to grant them an extension of their holiday. Not even George Cowley had been able to prevent the strike or secure them tickets amid the mad scramble of folk attempting to get a seat on an alternate airline.

Doyle grinned when he heard the news. "The Cow must be in a royal snit," he observed gleefully. "Paying for another four nights in this place."

"Do him good," returned Bodie. "Find out he's not God, then. Besides, we deserve a bit of luxury, don't we?" They extended their stay in the hotel, chuckling at the exorbitant rates paid by CI5, and proceeded to order drinks from Room Service.

"Now I can go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art tomorrow," Doyle remarked as they changed for a night on the town.

Bodie groaned. The fledgling artist, Doyle had dragged him to two museums already and the thought of one more did not sit well. "I'll leave you to it. Want to buy a pressie for Cynthia. She'll like it if it comes from Saks Fifth Avenue." He enjoyed the thought of the young woman's reaction, even if it meant he had to spend more than he intended. The end result would be more than worth the price.

But now he stood outside Saks staring after the unlikely vision of Krivas. Seeing ghosts now, Bodie? the agent thought wryly.

The idea was not impossible.

But why here and why now? It was 1986 and Krivas had been safely behind bars for years. There was nothing to call him to Bodie's mind, not unless a chance resemblance in the crowd had played games with his subconscious.

He took another look, scanning the busy pavement intently. Nothing. No trace of the man. It had simply been another swarthy man, a trick of the light.

Shrugging it off, Bodie went into Saks and proceeded to buy a brooch for Cynthia for considerably more dollars than he liked to think about.

When he emerged, Krivas was nowhere to be seen.

Bodie shoved the incident into the back of his mind and went on with the day. He was to meet Doyle for tea, but it was scarcely past lunchtime. Wandering along, he came to Rockefeller Center and strolled past the Channel Gardens until he reached the great, gold statue of Prometheus. There was an ice skating rink below street level and though the crisp November air seemed too warm for skating, there were people down there now, swirling around, dancing and gliding on the ice. Leaning against the rail, Bodie watched them until, driven by a compulsion he could not understand, a compulsion fraught with hidden memories, he looked up at the golden statue.

Standing atop it holding an Uzi, Enrico Krivas raised one hand to Bodie in a salute before melting into invisibility.

"I tell you, Ray, I saw him."

"You couldn't have done," Ray Doyle protested. They were in their hotel room drinking dreadful tea and eating club sandwiches. Bodie had hesitated, unwilling to confess the incident until Doyle, who knew him too well, had dragged it out of him. Oddly embarrassed, Bodie had resisted as long as he could, but the curly haired agent could be a persistent little bugger. "Not sitting on top of a statue waving a gun. Not vanishing into thin air. Come on, you dumb crud. You bumped into somebody who looked like the stupid sod and couldn't get him off your mind. That's all it is."

"I'm going to ask Cowley about it," Bodie announced, full of determination. He leaned over to snatch the telephone and proceeded to put through a trans-Atlantic call to CI5 Headquarters in London. Though it was nearly 10 p.m. there, Cowley was still on duty. "Never sleeps, does the Cow," Bodie told Doyle, his hand over the mouthpiece.

"See you remember it, Bodie," came a familiar voice in his ear. "What's this in aid of?" He sounded brusque and impatient as if he were in the midst of some crisis. CI5 had more than their fair share of them.

"Krivas," Bodie said flatly. "He still in prison?"

There was a lengthy silence. Bodie felt something cold and hard clench in his stomach. Even Cowley's silences could be laden with hidden meaning.

"Why do you ask, lad?" Cowley wanted to know.

"Just tell me, sir." Bodie was in no mood for a fencing match.

"Krivas will trouble you no longer," Cowley replied solemnly. "This afternoon someone stuck a knife between his ribs. He's dead."

Bodie shivered, remembering the feeling he'd experienced on Fifth Avenue, that of being haunted. He also remembered the figure on the Prometheus statue, saluting him and disappearing into invisibility. Krivas was dead. Dead.

Did that mean forever?

That night in the jungle came back to him, rising from the shadows in which he'd buried it. He saw the beckoning hand, felt the compulsion all over again. Frightened and determined to deny his fright, he had almost ignored the strange warning--but at the last minute, he had answered the summons. Because of that, he lived today. If that could happen, there was something beyond the boundaries that separated life and death, something that had made it possible for a man who fell dead in a prison across the Atlantic to appear on Fifth Avenue, to fade into invisibility. Bodie shuddered involuntarily.

Doyle snatched the receiver from his hand and questioned Cowley. When he got his answers, he replaced the phone and turned to stare at Bodie. "A coincidence," he observed.

"Standing on the statue waving an Uzi?" echoed Bodie bleakly. "Come on, Ray."

"What is it then? A ghost? You come on, Bodie. No such thing as ghosts, is there?"

Bodie remained stubbornly silent. He had never told Ray about the jungle night, the apparition that had beckoned to him and pulled him out of the ruins just before the mortar hit. The words didn't exist to describe that incident to Ray, the queer, ominous feel in the air, almost an electricity, the sense of a powerful presence, the tang of something he had not smelled before or since--until today. As he'd stood at Rockefeller Center, a trace of that mood had struck him again. He knew what it was, though he had fought it for years, denying its existence. It was a door. A door to the other side.

Pulling open the drawer of the chest between the two beds, he drew out the Manhattan Yellow Pages.

"Who're you going to ring up?" Doyle asked as his mate ruffled through the pages.

"Remember that advert we saw last night on the telly?"

Doyle's jaw dropped. "You laughed like a drain. You said it was stupid, Bodie."

"Was wrong, then, wasn't I?"

"Were you?"

Bodie stiffened, looking past Ray at the darkened window. Something moved there, a familiar, dark haired form, khaki-clad, holding a weapon. It stood there in mid air outside a twenty second floor window and it beckoned.

"Stupid, Ray?" Bodie asked, pointing.

Doyle spun round, then his mouth opened wider than before. "Good Christ," he breathed in total disbelief. "It's Krivas."

"Told you." Bodie derived no satisfaction in being right. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

"Bodie, he can find you. He's found you three times."

"Want to face him here with nothing to back us? Or do you want to take him directly there?"

"There?"

"I noted the address." Bodie snatched up his jacket.

Outside the window, Krivas raised a hand in a mocking salute and popped out of existence again. "I don't want him hanging about the rest of my life," Bodie observed levelly. "Who's to say he won't get stronger."

"Stronger?" echoed Ray Doyle unhappily and retrieved his own coat. "You'd better be right about this, Bodie," he growled, reaching involuntarily into his jacket for the gun he wore only to pull his hand away. It might be a trick, though it seemed an unlikely one. But if it weren't, a gun was the last thing he needed.

"Get your own popcorn, Ray."

Ray Stantz grinned, stuck his hand into the bowl that Peter Venkman tried to jerk out of his range, and came up with a handful of popcorn. The moment the bowl was behind Peter's back, Slimer, the Ghostbusters' resident ghost, sneaked up behind the psychologist and made a dive directly into the bowl. He came up munching. It looked like things were normal at Ghostbuster Central.

"Good one, Ray," Slimer approved.

Peter howled with frustration. "Let me blast him, Ray. Just once. Just let me at him."

Munching his popcorn, Stantz moved prudently out of Peter's range and Slimer came gliding over to hide behind him. He knew he could count on Ray to protect him from Peter's periodic threats. Hiding a grin, Ray realized that Peter never made them unless one of the other three were around to stop him. He had a reputation to maintain, but Ray suspected that he liked Slimer a lot more than he was willing to admit.

"Raymond. Peter. Please. You're disturbing my concentration." Egon Spengler emerged from behind the pages of a weighty tome that he had been perusing intently all evening. His glasses had slid low on his nose, and he pushed them impatiently into place with his forefinger.

"First of all, you could concentrate in the middle of an earthquake," Peter observed. "Second, you're only complaining because no one gave you any popcorn."

"Hardly likely, Peter." Egon flipped a page. "This is fascinating. It involves the effects of personal grudges of the newly dead."

"Just the kind of light reading I enjoy most before bed." Peter looked at his bowl, now full of green slime, and grimaced. "Slimer, when I get my hands on you..."

Slimer peeked over Ray's shoulder, ducked again, then, before Venkman realized his intentions, he swooped forward, flung his arms around the psychologist's neck and said, "Sorry, Peter."

"He really can't help it, Peter," Winston Zeddemore, the fourth member of their team remarked. "There's a solution, you know. Make more popcorn."

Janine Melnitz, their secretary came in, her coat draped over her shoulders. It was past her quitting time. "There's someone here to see you," she announced with none of the annoyance she might customarily have shown at being forced to work a little overtime. "It sounds interesting. Something to do with that book of yours, Egon." She leaned close to him. "Spirit revenge," she concluded. "Besides, they're cute."

"That's our first consideration, Janine," Peter observed slyly. "We rate our clients on a cute scale, don't we, Ray?"

"If they're women, you do," Winston muttered under his breath.

"Spirit revenge," Egon asked, looking at Janine with so much interest that she was momentarily flustered. "Show them in."

Egon was still flipping through the pages of his book when Janine led two men into the room. One was taller with dark hair that he wore straight. He moved with the grace of a panther, and Ray regarded him warily, for the controlled strength about him was tangible--and a little ominous. The second man was slighter with a mop of coppery curls. He looked vaguely like an elf, his looks marred by a broken cheekbone and a chipped tooth. From the look Janine gave them both, nothing marred either of them from the female viewpoint. Persistent as always, Janine shot a sideways look at Egon to see if he had noticed her interest, but the tall physicist was still caught up in his book. Sighing faintly, Janine made the introductions.

"These are the Ghostbusters. Egon Spengler." Egon nodded at them.

"Ray Stantz." Ray found himself with a handful of uneaten popcorn so he couldn't shake hands.

"Winston Zeddemore." The black Ghostbuster grinned at them in a friendly way.

"And Peter Venkman."

"Saving the best for last, Janine?" Peter demanded with a cocky grin. "Hi, guys."

"If so, I haven't finished," Janine returned tartly. "And this is Slimer."

The little ghost zipped forward and waved at the two clients. "Hi, guys," he echoed Peter.

The two clients stared at Slimer as if they couldn't believe their eyes and the curly haired man slid a hand into his jacket as if going for a gun. The taller man elbowed him quickly in the ribs and he withdrew his hand.

"Is that a real ghost?" he asked. He sounded British.

"He was last time we checked," Egon replied seriously. "I assure you, he is no threat to you."

Curly looked from Egon to Slimer and back again as if to express doubts of Egon's sanity.

"This is Ray Doyle," Janine went on, pointing to Curly. "And this is Bodie."

"Just Bodie?" Ray asked.

Bodie nodded impatiently, as if he were tired of people asking that.

"What seems to be your problem, gentlemen?" Egon queried as Janine departed, anxious to examine the situation. "Janine said it was something to do with spirit revenge?"

"We're not sure," Doyle offered. "But he died today and Bodie's already seen him three times. The people at Rockefeller Center didn't notice him, but I saw him. Until then, I thought Bodie was going off his nut." Bodie glowered at him, but without taking real offense.

"Interesting. Selective manifestation. Since you say he died today, you obviously know his identity." Egon was fascinated. "Who is he?"

"Name's Krivas," Bodie volunteered. He was British, too, his accent a little different from Doyle's.

"Krivas?" Peter echoed. "So, who is he when he's at home? Or who was he when he was alive?"

Bodie didn't look particularly thrilled at being questioned. "An old...enemy of mine. Somebody stuck a knife between his ribs in the nick this afternoon."

"The nick?" asked Ray, finding the term unfamiliar.

"Prison, Ray," Winston explained helpfully. "Right?"

Bodie nodded. "Right. I didn't know he was dead when I first saw him. Thought he'd escaped, then I thought it was just a chance resemblance--until I saw him sitting on the Prometheus statue waving an Uzi around. Nobody else was paying attention."

"Well, it is New York," Peter volunteered.

"New Yorkers may be blase, but they're not suicidal," Egon objected. "Someone waving a semi-automatic weapon could not safely be ignored, even by New Yorkers."

"'S what he thought," Doyle agreed.

"This Krivas sounds antisocial," said Peter, dumping the remains of his popcorn in the wastebasket. Slimer made a muted protest and dove in after it. He came up munching contentedly. Doyle and Bodie stared at him then exchanged a stunned look. Peter grinned.

"So you think he's after you?" he asked.

"Seen him three times, haven't I?" Bodie countered. "Krivas was a right bastard in life. Doubt he'd change when he was dead. He swore he'd get me one day."

"If he made such an oath with enough insistence, his death would be as if he'd left something unfinished," Egon explained in his 'lecture' voice. "He would be unable to rest until he had completed it. It would draw him to you, wherever you were. He's haunting you, Mr. Bodie."

"No offense, but I'd got that far on my own."

"Can you stop him?" Doyle asked, shifting a little closer to his friend. Ray recognized that protective stance. He'd seen it in each of his own friends whenever they faced a serious threat. It made him feel a kind of comradeship to the two men and all the more anxious to help them.

"Depends on how strong Krivas is," Peter returned. "Has he done anything beyond manifesting so far?"

"He recognizes me," Bodie admitted. "Last time we saw him outside our hotel window."

"Our room's on the 22nd floor," Doyle added with a wry grin. "Gave us a bit of a start.

Egon held up his book. "It is entirely possible he can draw energy from each encounter, Mr. Bodie. His periods of visibility would grow longer, and there are times when a ghost can impact upon a human physically. In general they do no more than Slimer does."

The two Brits looked at Slimer involuntarily. "What does he do?" Doyle demanded, intrigued.

"Just what the name suggests, pal," Winston explained. "Slimer, give me five." He held up his hand and Slimer happily slapped it with his own.

"Give me four, you mean," muttered Peter under his breath.

"Whatever." Winston displayed his newly slimed hand. It was Doyle who touched the slime with one finger, then jerked back. "Yecch."

"Your first ghost besides this Krivas?" Winston asked, gesturing at Slimer.

Doyle nodded. Bodie shook his head.

Doyle stared at Bodie. "You saw a ghost before? You never said."

"Never came up," Bodie replied automatically. Ray Stantz got the idea that Bodie was a private man who didn't talk about his feelings or his past unless it became necessary. Now, it was necessary. But Doyle looked momentarily hurt.

"Besides," Bodie continued, "Would you have believed it, Sunshine?"

Doyle looked at Slimer. "I would now," he admitted. "Not so sure about then. Does the Cow know?"

"Cowley knows us inside and out," Bodie replied. "Never told him, though."

"Tell us about it?" Egon asked, fascinated. "It was evidently a benign manifestation."

"It was. Saved my life. I was in Angola, and I'd been separated from my mates. Came upon some kind of ruin--always thought it was some kind of temple. I hid out there, waiting till dark. Suddenly, I knew I wasn't alone--the kind of feeling you get when the hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you just know somebody's watching you."

Peter nodded. "With me, it's always women," he confirmed. "Gives me time to make sure I'm looking my best before..."

"Shut up, Peter," Ray interrupted.

Bodie didn't seem upset by the interruption. Instead he studied Peter through narrowed eyes a moment before continuing.

"When I looked around, I had my gun ready, but what I saw didn't fear a gun. It was transparent. I noticed that right off. It wasn't even complete. drifting above the ground, no feet to speak of."

"Classic torso manifestation," Egon muttered, cataloguing it in his mind. "We are familiar with the type."

"Glad you are," Bodie returned. "Anyway, the whole place was suddenly cold. Out in Africa, a day like a blast furnace, and I had goose bumps all up and down my arms. I couldn't tell if it was male or female and it didn't matter. The light went, and the sounds of the rest of the world, as if I'd shifted into some kind of alternate reality. There was a strange smell--I can't compare it to anything I'd ever smelled before. Not pleasant or unpleasant, just strange. Smelled it today, at Rockefeller Center."

"I never noticed any peculiar odors involving spirits, did you, Raymond?" Egon asked. Doyle looked at him automatically before he realized Egon was addressing Stantz.

The occultist shook his head. "Nothing consistent. I've heard tell of odors from time to time. What about now, Bodie? Can you sense it with Slimer?"

Bodie narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, a little, now I think of it. What's it mean?"

"Means you're probably sensitive to ghosts," Peter told him. "You wouldn't think of joining up, would you? It'd be like having a backup for our PKE meters. The pay's not that great, but the women..."

Bodie grimaced. "Ta. I'll pass."

Slimer oozed closer and looked at Bodie. His eyes fixed on the man with something that resembled hurt. "Slimer smell bad?" he demanded.

Even for the four of them, Slimer was not always easy to understand, but they were used to him, and Bodie wasn't. But Bodie got it, though Doyle looked blank.

"No, Slimer, you don't smell bad. It's just that I can tell you're here, even if I couldn't see you." He sounded quite serious, as if Slimer's concern were important and deserved an answer, and Ray found himself warming to Bodie who had put him off before.

Slimer did, too. He swooped, flung his arms around Bodie's neck, and hugged him enthusiastically.

Bodie didn't quite share Slimer's enthusiasm, but he didn't push the little ghost away, though Doyle howled with laughter. Instead, he began to brush at his clothes surreptitiously as soon as Slimer let go.

"Don't take it as a sign of good taste on Slimer's part," Winston told him. "We're not sure about the little spud. He even likes Peter."

"Slimer's got excellent taste," Peter said promptly, grinning. He and Bodie shared a look which Ray could read all too easily. Slimer's affection was something both of them could have done without, but they were not above acting smug at the display of favor.

"I notice he doesn't respond to you, Ray," Bodie said to his friend. Ray Stantz realized that having two Rays around the fire house could be confusing.

"Go on with your story," Egon urged with a touch of impatience. Always the scientist, Egon was fascinated with Bodie's story and his unusual method of detecting ghosts.

"I didn't know what to do," Bodie admitted. "I had a feeling bullets wouldn't be much good, and besides, it hadn't hurt me. So I just waited and after a minute, it beckoned to me." He copied the gesture, his hand moving slowly and ominously.

"It wanted you to go with it?" Doyle cried, alarmed.

"Yes. It was so unreal I thought I was losing it. But it was compelling, too. I looked a minute longer and it beckoned more urgently. For some reason, I went. I didn't know why, I just went."

"Were you threatened?" Ray asked.

"No. I went outside and a little ways down a path, and I'd just come to a stop to try to find out what was going on when a mortar shell made a direct hit on the ruined temple. If the ghost hadn't taken me out of there, I'd have been mincemeat."

"Intriguing," said Egon.

"Yeah, intriguing," Doyle mimicked. Bodie glared at him.

"See why I never told you, Doyle?"

The slighter man nodded. "Don't think I would've told either."

"Let's get back to the creep with the Uzi," Peter cut in. "This is all very interesting, but we've got one now that just might turn nasty. It's found you three times already. I think we should make sure it hasn't followed you here."

Egon fetched a PKE meter and activated it. "Nothing," he said. "Only Slimer is registering."

Slimer looked around nervously as if he had just realized an unfriendly ghost might pop in at any minute. He zoomed over to Peter and grabbed around the neck.

"Oof. Back off, spud, or I'm warning you, I'm gonna blast you."

Slimer loosened his grip but didn't go away, and Peter made a resigned gesture and muttered something that sounded like, "At least somebody appreciates me."

"Wait a minute," Winston muttered, holding up a second PKE meter. "I'm getting something now."

"Yes," concurred Egon, nodding, "and it's strong. Class 7--no, Class 9. Get your proton packs, everyone."

There was a scurry for the equipment, and everyone armed themselves except for Bodie and Doyle. Doyle drew a gun, but Egon gestured at him to put it away. "It won't help, and you might hit someone you shouldn't."

Doyle returned the gun to his shoulder holster reluctantly, looking around to see if he could spot Krivas.

It was Peter who saw him first. "There!" he cried, pointing, unslinging his proton rifle and leveling it at the slowly forming manifestation. Krivas was a swarthy type, powerfully built and unpleasant looking, clad in some form of camouflage fatigues. Ray theorized that it had not been what he'd worn in prison, but that the specter had controlled its appearance. That suggested a lot of power.

"Go for it," Winston urged, and the four ghostbusters took aim at the ghost and fired. Behind them, Ray heard Slimer give a cry of alarm.

Krivas popped out again an instant before the streams would have hit him.

"Did we get him?" Peter asked. "Instantaneous deresolution? This spud wasn't so tough."

"Tougher than you think," said an unfamiliar voice behind them, and they turned to find Krivas there, fully materialized. "Your puny weapons are useless against me," he said scornfully. "Put them away. I've faced worse than you'll ever be." His scorn was palpable.

"Oh yeah," Peter muttered huffily. "I've faced worse than you every day of the week. You'll meet 'em, once we get you in the containment, big talker."

Krivas shook his head scornfully. "I've come for Bodie," he announced. "That's why I'm here."

"You're not touching him," threatened Doyle.

"Again," urged Egon and they fired. This time Krivas chose to duck the streams and they spent a busy ten minutes creating chaos out of order in the fire station. The former mercenary was one of the more agile ghosts Ray and his friends had ever encountered, and when agility wasn't enough, he would simply pop out and reappear somewhere else.

"Forget it, Krivas," Bodie ordered, jumping forward. "You mad bastard, you did more to me than I ever did to you. Try to take your bloody revenge, but it won't do you any good."

Egon gestured for them to halt, evidently seeking more information. "Keep him talking," he muttered under his breath.

Doyle threw a scornful glance at Egon. "Keep him talking?" he echoed in disbelief. "Do your bloody job and Bodie won't be at risk."

But Bodie waved a conciliatory hand at his mate and took a step closer to Krivas. "What do you want from me?" he asked.

"From you? Oh, let's make a list. Pain, suffering, guilt, agony, fear, frustration. I don't want you, Bodie. I want you to live--and remember. I want Doyle. I want him dead--and subservient to me."

"You touch one hair on his head..." Bodie began hotly, placing himself squarely between Doyle and Krivas.

"He can't touch me," Doyle murmured. "He's not physically here. He can't shoot me in the face or..." He trailed off as if the words had an unpleasant significance, and Bodie flinched slightly.

"Can't I?" Krivas asked. "I was a mean bastard in life and I'm even meaner in death. There's a trick to it, Bodie. You have to go with it, give in to it. You have to want it. I wanted to get back at you so bad it just comes easy." He smirked at Bodie. "Just comes easy," he repeated. "You'll never know when I'm here, Bodie, not until it's too late." He vanished again and this time, he didn't come back.

"Well, I don't think I'll put him on my Christmas card list," Peter observed into the silence.

Slimer came oozing back through the wall. "Gone?"

"Yeah, spud," Winston assured him. "For now."

"For now?" echoed Slimer unhappily. He glided over to Bodie and patted him sympathetically. "Baad ghost," he remarked.

"You got it, Slimer," Ray agreed. "What could you determine about him, Egon?"

"Evidently he's motivated by hatred and revenge. Trapping him will be difficult, but I've been theorizing that it might be possible to rig a room, with a concealed trap. If he begins to pop in and out again, one of us can activate the trap, and perhaps its pull will hold him in place long enough for the streams to hit him. Then we can guide him in. I think the trap by itself won't be powerful enough to stop him, but it might slow him down."

"Won't he sense what you're doing?" Doyle asked. "What if he's here listening right now?"

"He isn't" Ray assured him, holding up a PKE meter. "We'd detect him if he were."

"So would I," Bodie agreed. "Though I didn't have much warning last time. But I could feel his presence." He grimaced. "That's one ghost that does smell bad."

Slimer nodded vigorously. "Uh huh, uh huh. Slimer smell gooood." He threw his arms around Bodie's neck. Doyle snickered.

"One of these days, Doyle, you're going to get yours," Bodie warned him.

"Yeah, taken down by a mad ghost," Doyle returned. "I don't like this, Bodie. Usually we know what we're up against, how to handle it. This is right outside our patch."

"I need information," Egon remarked and started for his lab. "Winston, you and Peter conceal several traps around this room."

"Need help, big fella?" Peter volunteered.

Egon shook his head. "This won't take long."

Ray felt a sudden premonition of danger. "Something's going wrong," he said uneasily. "I don't think any of us should be alone. Slimer, go with Egon."

Slimer dove into the trash for another mouthful of popcorn, then he nodded and swarmed up the fire pole.

"What can he do?" Doyle asked. "I can't even understand the little spud."

"Can't you?" Bodie asked, surprised. "I can."

"He can warn us if Egon is in danger," Winston explained as he shoved a trap under the edge of the sofa.

"I hope he's good at it," Bodie muttered. "Because I think Krivas is coming back."

Slimer oozed through the wall over Egon's head as the physicist took down several weighty tomes from a shelf and began to study them. Books didn't interest Slimer. They weren't good to eat and when the guys started reading they didn't pay proper attention to him, but he knew that Egon enjoyed them as much as Slimer enjoyed pizza. Pizza? Wasn't there some cold pizza in the refrigerator? Slimer started to dive through the floor then stopped. Ray had asked him to watch Egon. He was on duty! Slimer cast a formal salute in the direction of the absent Ray, and hovered over Egon's head, on guard.

He sensed the arrival of the nasty ghost immediately and dove for cover behind a table that held one of Egon's mysterious experiments, peering at Krivas through a tangle of tubes and wires. The physicist hadn't noticed Krivas yet, but Krivas had noticed him. Drifting forward ominously, he raised a hand and pointed it at Egon. "You are the smartest," he intoned solemnly. "The biggest threat. Once you're gone..."

Egon spun around, hand fumbling for his proton rifle, but before he could take aim at Krivas, blue fire shot out from the ghost's hand and struck Egon full in the chest. He collapsed at once, rolling over on his side and lying still. Krivas vanished again and Slimer slipped out of concealment and hovered over Egon.

He wasn't breathing.

Slimer panicked. Zipping through the floor, he grabbed Peter around the neck. "Dead!" he wailed, "Egon's dead!"

Bodie felt the color drain out of his face. Damn that bastard. He shouldn't have led Krivas here. This was his fault.

But his shock was nothing to that of the remaining three Ghostbusters. They frankly ran, charging up the stairs with Bodie in hot pursuit. Behind him, he could hear Doyle thudding after him.

They found Egon Spengler sprawled on the floor. He looked dead all right, a charred spot on the front of his shirt, his glasses askew. "Egon," breathed Ray Stantz in horror, dropping to his knees beside him. Peter Venkman, his irreverent comments stilled, went to the physicist's other side and felt for a pulse in his neck.

"It's some kind of electric shock," he said. "I can't get a pulse."

"Then CPR," Winston ordered. "Move, Ray." He slid into place, stripping off Egon's proton pack with Venkman's help and positioning Egon on his back. "Come on, Peter. We've trained on this."

Bodie started forward to offer help, for he and Doyle, and every CI5 operative, knew how to give CPR. But Winston took charge authoritatively, handling the external cardiac massage while Peter tilted Egon's head, pinched his nose shut and started to breathe into his mouth. It was clear that both men knew what they were doing, so Bodie left them to it, prepared to act as backup if necessary.

"Was it Krivas?" Bodie asked Slimer, who was hovering unhappily beside Ray Stantz.

"Uh huh." Slimer shivered. "He said Egon was biggest threat," Slimer explained laboriously. Then his control broke, and he wailed, "Egon! Don't die."

Stantz's face tightened up and he looked down at his friend's unresponsive body with a combination of dread and hope.

"If it was a kind of electrical shock, you got to him right away," Bodie offered by way of comfort. He could imagine how he'd feel if it were Doyle sprawled unresponsively on the floor. He'd fight all the way to the gates of hell and back to bring Doyle out of it, the way Winston and Peter were fighting now. He could see it in the lines of their bodies that neither of them was willing to accept defeat.

Time stretched out and distorted as they worked. Ray Stantz broke away and Bodie heard him dialing a number on the telephone, calling for an ambulance and paramedics. When he returned, he said, "I called 911. They're coming."

Winston nodded in response without losing his momentum.

"Listen to me, Egon," Peter mumbled breathlessly in between breathing for his friend. "You're not gonna die. If you die," breathe, "I'm gonna come after you," breathe, "and drag you back here," breathe, "by the hair."

Bodie noticed that tears were running unchecked down his face.

Stantz had gone silent, his face white and shaken. The other two had a task to perform, but he could only stand and wait. From long experience, Bodie knew that was the hardest job of all.

He shifted sideways, put a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, and Ray gave him a grateful look.

"Hey, hey," Peter exploded triumphantly. "He's breathing!" He touched the side of Egon's neck again, feeling for a pulse. "And I've got a pulse."

Winston let out a whoop of triumph. "Yahoo. Way to go, Pete."

"Way to go yourself." They slapped each other's hands in a high five.

"Now the hardest part," Winston muttered. "Getting him to go to the hospital."

Peter grimaced. "You got it." He rubbed an embarrassed hand across his face as if he'd just realized he'd been crying, then he looked up at Stantz. "Hey, Ray," he muttered. "He's gonna be okay."

Stantz grinned back and sat down beside Egon, picking up his abandoned glasses and sliding them into place on the man's nose.

"Hey," burst out Venkman. "Where's Doyle?"

"Find him, Slimer," Winston ordered as Bodie jerked his head around. He'd heard Doyle on the stairs behind him, hadn't he? Why would Doyle leave again?

"Krivas, you bastard," he muttered under his breath. "I swear if you touch him..."

"Stay with Egon, Ray," Peter ordered. "I think he'll be fine, but we can't leave him alone. Come on, Bodie. We'll..."

But Bodie had already started for the steps.

"Wait a minute, Bodie," Winston called, sudden authority in his voice. It sounded so military that Bodie found himself turning automatically.

"Damn it, Zeddemore," he began only to fall silent when he saw what the black man was holding out to him. Egon's proton pack.

"Put it on," Winston instructed. "You know about guns and fighting. This is just one more battle."

Bodie slid into the equipment, taking the proton rifle in his hand and balancing it to familiarize himself with its feel.

"You switch this on," Peter explained behind him, touching a button on the pack. "Then you just neutronize the sucker. One other thing. Whatever you do, don't cross the streams."

"Why not?" Bodie asked, casting a dubious glance at his weapon.

"You don't want to know. Just take it from me, that would be bad."

"More like the end of life as we know it on this space/time continuum," Winston added seriously. "Come on. I think we're running out of time."

"Hurrrry!" squealed Slimer, popping up through the floor. "Baad ghost back. Got Doyle."

That was enough. Bodie went through Winston and Peter and started down the stairs before either man could stop him. He felt them fall in behind him and was glad of their backing, since they knew the equipment and he didn't. But even if Doyle hadn't been threatened, this was his fight and so it had been from the beginning. No one could stop him now.

Doyle was down on the floor, but he wasn't dead, or even unconscious. There was a charred spot on the sleeve of his shirt, much like the one on Egon's chest, but Doyle had managed to duck a direct hit and thus saved himself, at least so far.

The cold, otherworldly feeling was back in the air. As Bodie advanced, the hairs rose on the back of his neck. He could feel the spirit presence of Krivas more strongly than he could see him, though he appeared as solid as a living man. An affinity for ghosts? Well, it wasn't something he had asked for, though he'd part with it in a minute, given the option. But right now it might be necessary.

"You okay, sunshine?" he asked anxiously, relieved when Doyle lifted his head and raised pain-filled green eyes to stare at him reassuringly.

Doyle nodded. "Burned my arm a little. Get him, Bodie. Don't worry about me."

"'Don't worry about me,'" mimicked Krivas scornfully. "Changed, haven't you, Bodie? Out in Africa, you would've gone for what you wanted, no matter if a mate got in trouble over his head. Now you've gone soft. Daft bastard. You've only made it easy for me."

"Leave him alone, you stupid sod," Doyle cried. "Bodie never did anything to you that you didn't deserve three times over. Think Bodie put you in prison all on his own? Had a trial, didn't you? If Bodie hadn't testified, I would've done, or George Cowley or half a dozen others. What the bloody hell do you expect?"

"I expect him to suffer," Krivas replied. Well, nobody said ghosts had to be reasonable, especially when they'd not been reasonable in life. "He's made it all the easier for me, too. Gone soft, Bodie. Let yourself care about people. More fool you, and all the easier for me."

He shot another bolt of energy at Doyle even as he spoke, and Bodie's urgent cry of, "Look out, Ray!" mingled with the hum of energy as he fired his proton rifle at the ghost. The weapon pitched and bucked in his hand as if it had a life of his own, and his shot went wild, but it made Krivas blink out again, cutting short the energy charge he had thrown at Doyle.

Bodie powered down and turned to Doyle anxiously. "He get you, sunshine?"

Doyle shook his head. "Missed," he announced, his voice rich with satisfaction.

"Missed, did I?" Krivas' voice came from behind him now, and Bodie spun round to confront him again. This time, Peter and Winston were between him and Krivas, and he realized that both of them had fired, too.

Could they lure Krivas into the vicinity of one of the traps? Bodie wished he could ask. How close would he need to be? He could remember where several of them were, but he hadn't watched them all. He quirked a questioning eyebrow at Peter and looked meaningfully around the room.

Venkman got it. He nodded, cautiously raising one hand. "I'll give you the high sign," he muttered.

"Code, is it?" Krivas asked. "You terrify me, Bodie." The scorn in his voice was palpable.

"Only a fool wouldn't be terrified," Doyle volunteered. "Don't know about you, but Bodie's the last person I'd want to cross."

"Right you are, Sunshine," Bodie agreed, glaring at Krivas.

"Looook out, Bodie," Slimer cried, swooping down on Bodie and crashing messily against his chest. The blue energy lashed out and struck, but somehow the slime left by the little ghost deflected or deadened the effects, and though Bodie reeled back, shaken, he was unhurt.

"Thanks, mate," he told Slimer.

"You have strange allies," Krivas scoffed and sent a bolt after Slimer. The spud's courage was of a limited variety and he squealed in panic and went through the wall.

Peter powered up. "Listen, buddy, I'm getting tired of you and your macho games," he announced. "Why not pick on somebody who can fight back." He fired, and Winston backed him. Krivas popped out again.

"There!" Slimer poked his face through the wall and stuck out one long thin arm to point. "Waaatch out!" He vanished again.

As one, the three of them turned and fired.

Krivas hesitated, nearly caught, and dissolved again.

"I'm getting a little sick of this son of a bitch," muttered Winston, slowly turning in a circle to look for Krivas. "I just hope he doesn't realize that Ray just has the one proton p--"

"Don't say it," snapped Peter. "I don't want to give this guy any bright ideas. He's got too many ideas already." He looked over his shoulder nervously. "I'm not too fond of anybody who throws high volt bouquets."

"Was he this bad in life, Bodie?" asked Winston.

Bodie's jaw set in a hard line and he nodded.

"Peeeter! Look out!" Slimer burst into the room just as Krivas materialized and took aim at him. Bodie and Winston, in position already, fired as Krivas did, and Peter started to turn. Bodie saw the threat at the same moment Winston did. The blue fire would impact on the other man's proton pack, and who knew what kind of damage that might unleash.

"Nooo. Not Peter!" Slimer flung himself between Venkman and the blue fire. It caught him full in the face, blasting him forward to splat against Peter's shoulder as the ghostbuster turned. Slimer went limp and hung quiescent in midair.

Peter's face darkened. "Yo, Slimer," he urged, but without response.

Bodie saw the resolution harden in Venkman's face. "Now I'm mad," he announced. "Nobody messes with the Ghostbusters like this. First Egon and now our little buddy. Let me at him." He fired.

Krivas laughed and blinked out again.

"Slimer?" Winston asked uneasily. The little ghost had managed to shield Bodie before. It didn't seem logical for it to react like this to the other ghost's attack.

Peter reached out and patted Slimer on the head. "Hey, come on, spud. He's gone."

"No, he's not. Bodie!" Doyle's warning shriek brought them all around, as the smaller CI5 agent staggered halfway to his feet. Krivas watched him attempt to rise only to collapse back to the floor and he laughed at Doyle's futile efforts.

Bodie felt fresh rage fill his soul, and while Krivas was laughing, he took aim, ready to fire. "Krivas, you son of a bitch," he cried, hoping to deflect the man from Doyle.

But Ray made a sudden lunging movement and Krivas jerked as if he'd been shot. He struggled fiercely, and Peter gave a triumphant shout and brought his proton rifle to bear. "He's triggered the trap," he cried as he fired smoothly.

Bodie and Winston joined their fire to Peter's and for the first time, Krivas was trapped.

His face dark with fury, he fought against the pressure of the streams and the pull of the ghost trap.

"This isn't over, Bodie," he threatened, raising one hand to fire at Doyle, who lay beside him, one hand holding the button down to trigger the trap. The agent's head was bent and he didn't see the nature of the threat that hovered just over him.

"Damn it, Venkman," Bodie began.

"No, it's all right," the psychologist assured him. "Watch."

Krivas shot out blue fire, but it hovered at his fingertips, unable to break free of the streams. Fury and fear mingled on the dark face, then with a wail of hatred, Krivas wavered, became transparent, suddenly stretched out long and thin, and was sucked into the trap. It closed behind him, sealing him in.

There was a moment of breathless relief. Ray rolled over onto his back and rubbed at his injured arm, Winston stowed his rifle and bent to pick up the trap, and Peter turned to Slimer, who still hung, unmoving, in the air before him. Bodie bent at Doyle's side and examined his injury, relieved to find it minor, a second degree burn at worst.

"The containment's too good for that bastard," muttered Venkman under his breath. "Come on, Slimer. He's gone now. You can stop pretending."

"I don't think he's pretending, Pete," Winston said quietly, dropping his free hand on Venkman's shoulder.

"Damn it, Slimer," Peter began, only to draw back as the little ghost opened one eye cautiously. "Baaad ghost gone?" he asked.

Peter heaved a vast sigh of relief, which he tried to pretend meant something entirely different. "One day, Slimer, I swear, I'm gonna blast you. See if I don't." But he knew Slimer had saved his life and when the little ghost flung his arms around his neck and wailed, "Peter," Venkman cracked a smile. "What can I say? When I've got it, I've got it."

Slimer freed him and swooped down on the unsuspecting Bodie next. "Baad ghost gone," he announced. "Bodie safe now." Hugging the CI5 agent, he managed to thoroughly slime him. Doyle had hysterics on the floor and Bodie longed for the day that his partner would experience the full force--and mess--of Slimer's exuberance.

"Somebody here call for 911?" asked an uneasy voice from the doorway.

Three proton rifles were trained on the new arrival in a second, and the woman in the paramedic uniform jumped back, raising her hands in surrender.

Bodie lowered his weapon. "Sorry, ma'am," Winston apologized as he stowed away his proton rifle. "I thought--we had a man go into cardiac arrest upstairs."

"And a ghost downstairs," the woman said tartly. Now that the crisis was nearly over, Bodie couldn't help noticing how attractive she was.

"When you get finished up there, my friend needs you down here," he told her, gesturing at Doyle with his thumb.

"Take care of Egon first," Doyle insisted. "I'm all right.

She looked at Doyle, then back to Peter and Bodie, as Winston bore the trap away. "You've got a hell of a way of treating women," she retorted. As she spoke, a man in a similar uniform arrived, carrying supplies.

"Where's the casualty?"

"Upstairs." He started up and she moved to follow him, turning back to favor Bodie and Peter with a cool glare. "You take care of the ghosts, and we'll handle our end of it." She eased past Bodie and Peter as if she feared contamination and hurried up the stairs.

Peter and Bodie looked after her and then at each other. "She's crazy about me," they said in chorus as smoothly as if they'd rehearsed it.

Doyle howled with laughter.

Ray sat on the floor beside Egon, worried for his friend and concerned for Peter and Winston who still had to deal with the ghost of Krivas. Bodie was there and Bodie was wearing a proton pack, but Bodie wasn't familiar with the equipment. How much backing could he give the guys?

Egon looked terrible, too pale and too quiet. What was keeping the paramedics? They should have been here before this, shouldn't they? He huddled closer to Egon, wishing he would wake up and solve everything with some brilliant solution. From the noise downstairs, they needed one. He cocked his head to listen.

"Ray?"

The hesitant voice held none of Egon's usual calm strength, but it was one of the most beautiful sounds Ray had ever heard. "Egon!" he burst out, grabbing his friend's hand and then pulling him into a full-fledged hug, taking comfort from the reality of his friend's survival. Egon looked at him doubtfully.

"I don't mean to sound like a cliche, but what happened?"

"Not much," Ray tried to sound nonchalant and failed miserably. "Krivas nearly killed you. Your heart stopped."

Egon stared down at his chest in a parody of surprise then back at Ray as if noting the pallor in his face and the new lines around his mouth and eyes. "Interesting," he remarked. "I'll need to catalog my memories of the experience. It was not the typical death experience one reads about."

Naturally not. Nothing Egon did would be typical. Ray smiled at him happily, so pleased to have him back, alive and evidently well that he could have started one of his most boring lectures and Ray would have hung on every word.

But Egon brought himself up short. "What about Krivas? Where are the others?"

"Downstairs--dealing with Krivas," Ray explained. "One of us needed to stay with you."

"Then we'd better go help them." Egon started to get up.

"Oh, no you don't." Ray grabbed his shoulders and forcibly restrained him. "You're not going. Your heart stopped. You're not doing anything until the paramedics check you out."

"But it's obvious that I'm fine, Ray."

"You look better. But you looked..." His voice trailed off as he remembered.

Egon looked at him silently a moment, then he stopped trying to get up. Instead he put a comforting hand on the occultist's arm. "Ray. I'm fine. It's all right."

Ray shuddered. "Not yet. Not until Krivas is in the containment unit."

"Not until then," Egon conceded. "Surely I'm well enough to leave. Go and see..."

"Krivas tried to kill you deliberately," Ray explained. "He thought you were the greatest threat to him. I'll wait right here--in case he comes back." He settled himself beside Egon and prepared to wait for any possible threat, his proton rifle resting against his knees. It tore him up to leave the others unprotected, but there were three of them. He wished he could be two people so he could help everyone.

That was when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Ray aimed his thrower, then lowered it as a man and woman in paramedics' uniforms appeared followed closely by the others. Peter pushed past the two EMT's, trailed closely by Winston, while Bodie and Doyle stood back.

"Egon!" Peter lunged. "You're awake!" His eyes lit up like twin suns and he grabbed Egon and hugged him hard. Winston wasn't far behind. "Don't do that to us," Venkman chided, shaking his head. He looked like himself again.

"If you don't mind, Dr. Venkman," cut in the woman impatiently, "We'd like to do our job now."

Peter winked at her. "Have your way with him," he encouraged.

"Really, Peter," Egon remarked, but he submitted to the paramedics' examination with good grace.

The paramedics insisted on taking Egon to the hospital, though the tall blond man resisted their efforts. "Come on, Egon," Ray prodded. "Go with them, at least overnight. We thought you were dead at first." He hadn't budged from Egon's side.

Egon looked at him seriously. "Very well, though I assure you all it isn't necessary. I'm fine."

"Listen to the man, Egon," Winston told him. "Let them run their tests. Better to be safe than sorry."

Doyle sat opposite the paramedics, his arm newly bandaged. He looked well, though his eyes kept wandering to Bodie.

Peter Venkman watched them all. He knew Egon should go to the hospital and that once the medical reports came though and proved him fit, he and the others would relax. But Bodie showed no physical trauma. Was he all right?

One way to test it. Peter wandered over to the pretty paramedic. "We got off on the wrong foot before. I'm Peter Venkman. I hope you'll allow me to apologize to you--maybe over dinner tomorrow night?"

She narrowed her eyes in consideration, only to turn when Bodie said, "Wait a minute."

"Did you have something to say?" she asked.

"He lives here," Bodie reminded her. "I've only got three more days. It follows logically that you spend tomorrow night with me."

Peter hid a grin. Yes, Bodie would make it. Krivas was gone and Doyle was all right.

"I asked first," he said.

"Suppose we leave it up to the lady," Bodie said smoothly, pouring on the charm. That, mixed with the British accent, which always seemed to get the ladies, caused her to look at Bodie consideringly. Then she turned back to Peter, pursing up her mouth as she considered.

"Well, you did ask first," she conceded. "But Bodie will be gone in three days. I'll make a deal with you. Both of you can take me out. We'll see what happens after that."

Her partner completed his work and called her over, and between them, they took Egon, still faintly protesting, out on a stretcher. "I can walk, you know," he reminded them. "I'm fine. It wasn't a major electrical charge, only a directed stream of psycho-kinetic energy. Scientifically, I..."

"Go with the nice lady, Egon," Ray told him, patting his resisting friend on the shoulder. "Just think. You'll make Peter and Bodie so jealous."

Egon shoved his glasses up on his nose and resigned himself to the inevitable.

Slimer waved goodbye to Egon then came drifting back, hovering in the air between Peter and Ray. "Bad ghost gone," he announced with considerable satisfaction. "Time to eat?"

"I knew we'd get around to that before long," Peter groused. "I suppose you want me to make popcorn for you?"

Slimer nodded so enthusiastically his whole body bobbed up and down. "Uh huh. Uh huh."

"You might as well make enough for everybody," Winston said, resigned and realizing that Peter could hardly refuse to give the ghost his treat after saving the psychologist's life. "Want some, guys?" he offered Bodie and Doyle. "Pete makes decent popcorn. Just as well. Everybody needs to be able to do something right."

Peter made a mock threatening gesture in his direction.

"No, we'll pass," Bodie decided. "I want to go back to the hotel and get cleaned up." He was still adorned with some of the slime that a certain little ghost had deposited. Peter saw him sneak a glance at Ray, who hadn't been touched.

Peter caught Slimer's eye and beckoned. He hadn't liked the grim lines around Bodie's mouth at the thought of the whole experience. Krivas, in his attempt to hurt Bodie had brought a lot of pain on other people, and Bodie, being the type of man Peter thought he was, would probably have preferred to be hurt himself. He needed a laugh, and Peter had the perfect plan. He whispered a few hasty words to Slimer, who smiled broadly at the idea.

Their farewells were both sincere and slightly uncomfortable. Shared danger brings people close together, and tonight's danger had been worse than most. There was a round of handshaking, then Slimer went into action, flinging his arms around Bodie's neck and planting a big smooch on his cheek. Bodie winced, stiffening uncomfortably. Doyle couldn't help laughing.

"You could always take him home, Bodie. Think what the Cow would say about your new pet."

"Not a pet," Slimer objected, and this time even Doyle understood him.

"No, I know, Slimer," he told the little ghost. "I was just teasing."

"Teasing," Slimer objected. "Not tease Slimer." He looked at Bodie, winked ostentatiously, and before the slighter CI5 agent realized what was intended, Slimer slimed him thoroughly.

Bodie was laughing so hard Peter thought he would fall over.

The last sight he had of the two agents was a dripping Doyle pursuing a still-laughing Bodie down the street with mayhem in mind.

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