Relative Absolution

By Princess Artemis

A Real Ghostbusters Fanfiction, © copyright S.D.Green, 1999, 2003.

Of course, Real Ghostbusters are copyrighted by someone else...several someone elses in fact...

Relative: Dependent, Interconnected, Blood Kin.

Absolute: Perfect, Pure, Without Fault, Certain, Total.

Absolution:

Exoneration, Vindication...

Dismissal of Charges.

The Terms of Acceptance

"Would somebody please tell me exactly why we’re doing this?" asked an exasperated Peter Venkman as he ducked, barely dodging the pale white ghost that had tried to take a swipe at him for the umpteenth time today. He picked up the flashlight he had dropped when he moved out of the ghost’s way. Not that there was much to look at in this forsaken, dirty old subway tunnel. The spirit skittered away, almost laughing as it came up from its dive to hover overhead for a moment.

"It’s our job, Peter," Egon answered somewhat irritably as he took aim at the large ghost, preparing to fire his proton rifle. This particular ghost had given them nothing but trouble since they had arrived at the abandoned tunnel. They had already lost one PKE meter, the insides fried as it tried and failed to measure the enormous energy the glowing ghost emitted. What was worse, the ghost seemed to delight in tormenting the four Ghostbusters. It had already managed to tie Winston’s bootlaces together.

Peter groaned, muttering and cursing as he aimed his own thrower at the stubborn ghost. They had been at this for nearly two hours and had yet to come close to capturing the thing. Once, he swore he hit the thing, only to find the proton beam pass right thorough it. He knew that couldn’t have been right, but the stupid thing was fast, so he hadn’t had a second chance to see if it was just his imagination. He glanced over at Ray and Winston, who had cut his tangled laces apart. They both nodded, indicating their readiness to trap the frustrating ghost and go home. As one they fired, sending glowing red proton beams toward the white ghost. It only laughed, a strangely infectious sound, as it danced out of harm’s way. With a joyous smile, the spirit buzzed Peter’s head, reaching out one thin hand and mussing his hair as it passed. It flew farther down the subway shaft and turned a corner, disappearing.

Both Ray and Winston struggled to suppress a laugh. Egon seemed to give the new ‘do careful consideration, then nodded sagely. "It’s an improvement. I like it." The other two couldn’t contain their laughter any longer.

Dr. Venkman cast a withering glare at his friends. It was doubtful that the ghost could have done a better job of incensing the vain Ghostbuster than it had by sliming his hair. Peter put a lot of time and care into styling his dark brown hair just so, and the pale spirit had utterly ruined it. Not only was Peter’s hair sticking out in several different directions, but colorless slime dripped from the soaked spikes and trickled down his face and under his collar as well. After a moment of righteous indignation, he fumed, "OK, no one messes with Peter Venkman’s hair and gets away with it!" then ran down the hall, thrower in hand.

The other three Ghostbusters sighed with some long-suffering humor and ran after Peter. As they ran, the white ghost poked its face out from behind the wall and smiled. It was hard to stay irritated with the pranks, for there was such a sense of joy about the spirit that it was impossible not to feel it. When it saw the rapidly approaching men, it waved and ducked back behind the wall, hiding it from view. All four rounded the corner and were confronted with a long empty hallway, dark and foreboding. The ghost was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, guys, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting the distinct impression that we’re gettin’ the royal run-around," Winston commented as he reached down to tighten his loose boot laces.

"Think it might be a trickster?" Ray asked, diddling with a second PKE meter, trying to set it so it wouldn’t blow the next time they tried to take a reading from the ghost. "It’s at least a demigod. I don’t know how we’re going to trap it even if we do catch it."

"Well it’s certainly played enough tricks on me today, thankyouverymuch," Peter pouted as he tried to wring the slime out of his hair. My beautiful hair...

"Maybe," Egon mumbled, thinking. He pushed his red glasses back up on his nose, as he did whenever he was trying to figure something out. "Do you remember reading about anything like this in Tobin’s, Ray?"

"No, not off hand, but let me check." The shorter man handed the meter to Egon and fished in his pockets for his portable electronic version of Tobin’s Spirit Guide. He pulled the thin guide from his pocket and opened it up, scrolling through it for entries on tricksters. "There’s nothing in here even remotely fitting the description of this gooper."

"I wonder why. A ghost with enough energy to toast our meter seems like it would have been noticed before today. Don’t demigods usually like to make themselves known?" Winston asked. Classification of ghosts wasn’t quite his bag, but he’d been around the rest of the Ghostbusters long enough to understand that much. Ray and Egon usually handled the finer points of paranormal taxonomy.

"Yeah, usually. And before today, there hasn’t been so much as a peep about ghosts in this particular area. Ghosts usually congregate around the areas that demigods appear," Ray replied, scratching his reddish hair. The call for this particular bust had come from a frantic overseer staking out the old shaft for possible reopening. He had described in near-hysterical terms how he had seen a glowing white form floating around the area and how it had tried to attack him. When the four had traveled down here, it became readily apparent that the ghost wasn’t exactly the hostile beast the foreman had made it out to be. It had made no effort to communicate with them, but it had immediately started playing silly tricks on them. Ray had almost been the victim of a full Melvin, which apparently the pale ghost had decided at the last minute was beneath its dignity. It wasn’t behaving like the ‘normal’ paranormal manifestations of this magnitude the four men had encountered before.

Egon made a last adjustment to the PKE meter and turned it on, tentatively pointing it down the hallway toward the last place the ghost had been seen. The two red antennae flew up, almost coming together at the top. Even at its lowest sensitivity, the meter began to smoke. Egon quickly shut it off before it completely overloaded. He shook his head and hooked the meter to a loop on his belt. "This spirit may be more than a demigod, gentlemen. We are extremely fortunate that it is has done as little as it has."

"What, does that mean we should leave it alone? I’m all for it. I’ll be going now," Peter said as he turned around, preparing to leave. He had no desire whatsoever to further annoy a spirit that might be as powerful as Gozer. Especially not one that slimed his hair.

Egon reached out a long arm and grabbed Peter’s shoulder before he could take a step. "This creature could be dangerous. We have to find a way to get rid of it; do you want to be responsible if it does turn hostile?"

"No, and that’s exactly why I vote for going home and taking a shower. My hair is getting stiff," Peter complained. He may have said it in a joking manner, but he was serious in his concern. Going back to the firehouse and regrouping might give them the chance to do more research and figure out just what it was they were dealing with.

Before anyone could answer, the pale white ghost reappeared and neatly snatched the red-rimmed glasses right off Egon’s long nose. "Hey!" the blond scientist exclaimed, instinctively reaching out to take back his glasses. The ghost darted out of his reach, then waved and sped down the hallway, laughing as it went.

Egon stood stock-straight, the picture of affronted dignity. "I guess you were next, big guy," Peter snickered, remembering his snide comment when his hair had been messed with. The steely, albeit myopic, glare he got for his trouble only made Peter laugh a little more; Egon just didn’t take turnabout very well, especially when it was so richly deserved. Besides, it was hard not to share in the ghost’s glee, when it wasn’t him it was playing games with, anyway.

"Come on, guys, we gotta do something about this gooper, even if all we can do is talk nicely to it," Winston reasoned, waving the others forward. "It won’t do at all for that poor foreman to have a heart attack when he finds this ghost still floatin’ around down here." At his suggestion, all four men started down the hall, walking carefully, wondering exactly what they could do about the pale spirit.

Suddenly, they heard a shrill scream, echoing from farther down the shaft. With a quick, concerned glance at one another, all four Ghostbusters started at a dead run down the hallway. They were all fast and in excellent shape, but Egon was just slightly faster by virtue of his height, and so reached the small archway at the end of the hall first.

Peter was next, slamming his nose into the solid rock wall that wasn’t there an instant before. He staggered back, only to trip up Winston and Ray who were less than a step behind him. After hitting the wall a second time, Peter and the other two men fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Many grunts and groans accompanied their attempts to disentangle themselves. It only took a few moments to finally sort themselves out and sit against the walls of the narrow stone tunnel, Ray on one side and Winston and Peter on the other. Peter gingerly set a hand on his sore nose then yelped. It hurt quite a bit, most likely broken.

"Peter, you’re bleeding!" Ray exclaimed, pointing toward Peter.

Peter took his hand away and looked at the red liquid staining his fingers. "Waaah!" he exclaimed, instinctively scrambling to back up but only succeeding in bumping his head against the wall. "Ow! Is this official ‘Pick on Peter’ day or something?" he whined, squirming because he hated the sight of his own blood. Next thing he knew, that spud was gonna come and shave his head or sic bugs on him or something.

"We got worse things to worry about than your nose, Pete. That wall wasn’t there when Egon ran into it," Winston commented as he handed the psychologist a handkerchief.

He took it and held it underneath his bleeding nose. "Yeah," he said in a muffled voice, "that’s right. Hey, Egon!" Peter shouted, then listened carefully for a response. None was forthcoming. He reached a hand over and knocked carefully on the wall, but it felt solid. He shot a glance at Ray, who shrugged.

"We might be able to blast it, assuming the ghost made it. I don’t know what else we can do," Ray answered. Before any of them could put that idea into practice, the pale white spirit reappeared just in front of the stone wall.

That will not be necessary.

* * *

Egon ran headlong through the dark archway, searching for the source of the scream. The instant he passed the arch, the echoing sounds of his companion’s footfalls disappeared. He skidded to a sudden stop when he caught site of a blurry glowing shape right in front of him. The skid stopped the tall man mere inches from the pale spirit, leaving him face to face with it. At this distance he could see it clearly. Surprised at its beauty, Egon just blinked at it for a long moment. Before, it had moved too fast to get a good look at it, but here, hovering not three inches in front of him, he saw it had a very lovely face, impossibly beautiful. It was clearly male, despite its long hair and fine hands, which he saw when it carefully placed his glasses back on his face. There was no ectoplasm on them, which was a bit unusual.

Speak to the pillars. I will let your friends know they need not worry. With those silent words, it floated behind Egon, who turned to watch it go, through the stone wall that replaced the archway. Concerned, he reached out a hand to feel the wall, unsure what he should expect. It felt like stone.

Turning again to survey the small room, he found it to be a relatively small area with a high ceiling and no exit. On either side of him, one just before each wall, stood two tall pillars, easily fifteen feet tall, with large spreading wings extending from their sides. The one to his left was a soft white which shed a pale light. The one on his right was also glowing, but rather than white, it was multicolored and shimmering as a black opal made liquid might. They were both extraordinarily beautiful. Egon found himself drawn toward the white pillar, but as he neared it he realized he couldn’t look at it without averting his eyes and feeling a strange and unaccustomed longing. Something he wanted very badly, but he couldn’t place what it was. He had always been uncomfortable with his emotions, far preferring the rational. He turned away from the white pillar when he could no longer ignore the emptiness and deep hunger it evoked. He did not want to deal with those sensations.

Instead, he examined the multicolored pillar. The shimmering colors skated across its surface, ever-changing and dazzling. Underneath the skittering colors was a black darker than night. Egon could hardly look at this pillar either, but only because the colors moved in such a way that it was difficult to grasp. It was like looking at an ever changing fog and trying to see the edges. His mind wanted to make sense of what he saw, find patterns in the swirling colors, but every time one seemed forthcoming, it was swallowed up in more seemingly random movements. The longer he looked, the more difficult it became, for he felt so many times the pattern just within his grasp, only to find it shift out of reach again. It straddled a place between order and chaos so impossible that he gave up finally and lowered his eyes.

Nevertheless, it also evoked strong emotion...a fascination that bordered on longing...

"Feel foolish, being asked to speak to a pillar?" The voice was soft, but real.

"What? Who said that?" the physicist asked as he cast his glance around the room, trying to find the owner of the disembodied voice.

"Who asks? Tell me your name."

Egon looked suspiciously at the multicolored pillar, more at the shape than at the colors so as to avoid the trap of trying to make sense of them. Its broad wings fluttered a bit, stirring up dust. He took his PKE meter and turned it on, pointing it at the pillar. With a strangled screech, the PKE meter let out a puff of smoke then died. From what little he could see, the pillar’s readings were vastly different than the ghost’s, indicative of an even more powerful entity. He had a strange sinking sensation that the Ghostbusters were in way over their heads this time. It was indeed fortunate that these beings had done no more than they had.

"Your machine tells you little, but enough. When a god asks for your name, you should give it."

As the pillar spoke, an overwhelming sensation of wrath washed over Egon, driving him to his knees. The fury came from behind; it was so strong it was nearly palpable. But the wrath was held. He felt the multicolored pillar’s response as an almost reckless arrogance. There was obviously something going on between the pillars, and he wanted no part in it.

He felt the colored pillar’s attention return to him. It sent chills down his spine, but he quickly put it aside, attributing it to the enormous ambient psycho-kinetic energy. As he stood, he said, "I don’t believe I will make that mistake."

A quiet laughter filled the room. "Superstitions by which I am not bound, Egon Spengler. I am Reason."

Egon looked again fully at the chaos-colors on the winged pillar, out of surprise more than anything else. He pushed aside all consideration of the powerful emotions passing through the room to give space for his thoughts to work. Now he was genuinely curious about this entity. Without his noticing it, the atmosphere of the room changed. As suddenly as it came, the overpowering emotional sense retreated. In that instant something important transpired, some decision made and course set, but there was no way to tell precisely what. Without knowing exactly why, Egon picked up a medium sized flat stone he saw and placed it in his pocket. It looked for all the world like a whetstone. He never spoke to the white pillar.

* * *

The pale spirit smiled lightly at the surprised expressions on the three men’s faces. Truly, you need not worry. Your friend is as safe as if he were in his own room. Here, let me fix your hair. The spirit reached one thin hand over to Peter, who cringed, a bit unnerved by the ghost’s silent speech. It touched his head, then pulled its hand back. Ah, it is as it was before.

"Huh?" Peter mumbled as he tentatively touched his hair. He expected slime, but found the dark strands as clean as ever and in the right place. He looked over at the ghost and asked, "Who are you?"

I haven’t a name. Address me as you will.

"What, if I said ‘hey, you’, you’d answer?" Peter asked in his usually flippant tone.

I would. I know when I am addressed. Be aware, however, that I am a...messenger and not a ‘demigod’ as you thought.

"Wow," Ray breathed. "Where’d you come from?" Somehow he found himself trusting this creature and doubting none of its words.

Elsewhere. I wish to return. That will be as it will be...I wish the easier path, but I doubt it will end so. Humans rarely make the right choices. I lead you here for that reason. The ghost turned back toward the wall, a frown creasing its delicate features. Then it cast a weary glance toward them all, a look of near infinite sadness on its narrow face. Return here when you realize your mistake.

"‘Hey, you,’ whadda ya mean, when I realize my mistake? All I did was run into a wall. I guess that counts, but I don’t quite catch your meaning." Peter gingerly rubbed his sore nose as he said this, his voice muffled.

The spirit cocked its head slightly. With a wave of its hand, Peter’s nose stopped bleeding and the pain vanished. That was unintentional. Do not return until you have realized your mistake. So that no one questions, take this with you. With another wave of its thin hand, a small white ghost materialized, blinking stupidly as if it had just awakened from a sound sleep. The first spirit vaporized, as did the stone wall.

The little white spud opened its mouth with a yawn and stretched prodigiously. Ray and Winston exchanged glances, and then Winston slowly unhooked a trap and placed it quietly on the ground. Before the tired ghost even had a chance to realize what was happening, it was sucked down into the trap. "That was easy enough," Winston commented, picking up the trap by its trip cord.

"We’ll get paid, too," Peter murmured absently, glancing into the heretofore closed stone room. There was a strange glow in there and Egon was standing roughly in the middle of the room, facing the right wall. Peter leaned over to get a better look into the room. He could just see the tip of what looked like a psychedelic bird wing on the right. "Hey, whatcha lookin’ at there, Spengs?"

The blond man started, as if he had been caught in a trance. Peter smiled a little, remembering at least a hundred times seeing that same reaction whenever he decided to talk to Egon while he was reading. He was so easily lost in thought Peter swore he needed a trail of breadcrumbs to make it back to reality. "Earth to Egon, come in Egon. This is no time to wander off into La La Land," he teased, satisfied at the slightly perturbed and embarrassed expression it garnered him.

"Come and see for yourself. I doubt I have the words to properly describe these phenomena," Egon replied after a second.

Peter stood and gave him a disbelieving look. "O thou loquacious one, does not thy mental thesaurus provide thee with adequate terminology?" he said as he stood. He rubbed his head as he took a few steps and joined his friend in the stone room. "Now my head hurts. How do you use all those big words and not get a headache?" When he got a good look at the multicolored pillar, with its gently moving wings, his jaw dropped. No wonder Egon couldn’t find the words. This was a work of unspeakable beauty; the physicist was not familiar with the use of such words as might describe the pillar...hell, no one was. He blinked a few times, unable to look at the constantly moving patterns for long. He shook his head, trying hard to ignore a sudden case of the willies that crawled down his back and made the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end.

"Wow...," Ray breathed as he entered the room. The pillars stood silent, glowing gently. He wandered over to the white pillar. He swung his flashlight beam on it, but the pale luminescence didn’t change at all. He tried blocking the flashlight, to see if he could cast a shadow, but he could not. Something about it felt solid, secure, in a purely intuitive sense. Slowly a tear came to his eye as he stood before it, longing for the security, the missing piece, he felt there. He didn’t turn away for a long time.

Winston came up next to him, joining him in his gaze at the white pillar. "That’s some piece of work," he whispered, almost feeling as though speech would be inappropriate before such an object.

Peter rubbed his eyes and turned to look at the white pillar. "We’re in over our heads, aren’t we, guys," he said quietly, sensing the great presence emanating from the tall shape. The jitters disappeared quickly, only to be replaced by a sense of terrified awe and longing. They really were into something they couldn’t handle. "Show of hands: who wants to go home and forget we saw this? Before we really get in trouble."

"Oh, how could we forget this?" Ray exclaimed. For his part, he thought he’d found a piece of heaven on earth. He turned to face his partner, then inhaled sharply. The other pillar was beautiful as well, but all he could think of was how he wanted to get away from it as fast as possible...while at the same time to embrace it wholly. "Oh man, this is giving me the creeps. Maybe we should leave." There was something strangely familiar about the darkly colored pillar, a sensation he had felt many times before, but he couldn’t place it.

"Perhaps you are right, Peter. We are in the presence of a very powerful entity, and it may be in our best interests to return to the firehouse so we can research this further," Egon replied, adjusting his glasses. He absently fingered something in his pocket.

"Yeah, let’s head out. At least the messenger was nice enough to give us a ghost to trap," Winston commented as he turned to leave.

The other three men followed Winston out, shining their flashlights ahead into the dark tunnel. The room sealed up again as soon as they exited it. The three Ghostbusters that had seen the two pillars shared a common feeling about both but they said nothing; both of the winged shapes were terrifying, awe-inspiring, and evoked desire, but in entirely different ways. Winston had set eyes on one, not both. After a long look at the stone wall, the four Ghostbusters continued on their way. As they walked, Peter asked Egon, "What happened after you ran into the room?"

Egon pondered his answer for a moment. "The original ghost communicated with me via some form of telepathy. It wished for me to speak to the pillars, then assured me it would let you know I was safe."

Peter nodded and stretched his arms out in front of him. "Yeah, ‘Hey You’ came out and said something like that. Fixed my hair, too." He pointed a finger at his dark locks. "Did you say howdy to the glowing things?"

After glancing at Peter and deciding it wasn’t worth asking why he called the pale ghost ‘Hey You,’ Egon continued. "Actually, no. The colored pillar spoke first. It wondered if I felt uncomfortable with the idea of speaking to pillars. It called itself Reason, and said it was a god. After that, the wall that had blocked my egress disappeared."

"Huh. Our ghost friend told me to come back when we realized our mistake. Wonder what it meant by that," Peter asked no one in particular. "I don’t remember doing anything wrong, except for running nose-first into a phantom stone wall."

"Perhaps the spirit was incorrect."

Peter shook off a sudden chill. "Hope so. I don’t know if I wanna find out what happens to people who make mistakes with those things."

* * *

Janine Melnitz twiddled her thumbs, bored silly. She had already filed her nails, painted them, and filed them again, then painted them a second time. The guys had been gone for a few hours on a bust that had promised to be quick and painless. They had told her she could go home after they got back; the call came around three, and it had been a slow day. She had been looking forward to a nice, relaxing afternoon. Well, it wasn’t going to happen that way.

The redhead propped her head up on her arm and closed her eyes, intending only to rest, but she ended up falling asleep. Not long after, the Ecto-1 pulled into the garage. After shutting off the engine, the four men piled out of the converted Cadillac, fighting good-naturedly over who got the shower first and who was going to make dinner. While the other three headed up the stairs, Peter decide to sit in a chair opposite the secretary and stare at her until she woke up. He leaned back as far as he could without spilling over the back and propped his feet up on Janine’s desk. Her face had slipped down her arm a bit, leaving her mouth open a little and her cheek stretched out of shape. Peter wondered idly if she would drool or not.

It didn’t take too long for Janine to awaken. She gave Peter a dirty look then said in a sleepy yet irritated slur, "Are you finished, Dr. V?"

"I was just waiting to see if you had any interesting dreams," Peter said in his most innocent tone. He smiled in satisfaction when Janine stuck her tongue out at him as she stood up and collected her things.

"I’m going home now, Dr. Venkman," Janine growled as she strode out of the firehouse. She didn’t hate the man, but he could be bloody irritating at times.

A moment later, Winston called down the stairs, "Are you gettin’ dinner ready or not, Peter?"

"What? Who elected me cook tonight?!" the psychologist cried out incredulously.

"I thought you did. I mean, you didn’t even fight for the shower, like you wanted the job, m’man." Winston knew why Peter had stayed downstairs, but he thought it only proper to make him fix dinner in defense of their secretary. Turnabout was fair play.

Peter grumbled and picked up the phone to order Chinese take-out. He was tired and didn’t really feel like eating his own cooking just now. Just as he finished placing the order, Slimer swooped down on him and grabbed the front of his brown jumpsuit with both hands, shaking him and leaving slimy fingerprints everywhere. "Sliiiiimer!"

"Something wrong, Peter!" the green ghost exclaimed, still shaking him.

"Get your slimy hands off me!" Peter yelled as he waved his arms in an attempt to rid himself of the annoying ghost.

"Something wroooooong, Peter!" Slimer insisted, finally letting go and wringing his hands in concern.

"Whaddaya mean something’s wrong, spud?" Peter asked, wondering if he misplaced his stuffed Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man or if it was actually serious.

"Bad...something bad...!" Slimer exclaimed, looking around suspiciously, as if he expected monsters to pop out and attack him any second. He started flying around in small, fast circles, flinging green ectoplasm all over, obviously worried. He whimpered again. "Something baaad!"

Peter gave Slimer a long look; the ghost was responsible for his very first sliming, and he ate everything in sight, but sometimes he was endearing, and occasionally turned out to be pretty useful. The psychologist sat up, thinking. The spud had good instincts; usually he didn’t use them for anything more than locating his next snack, but when something big was afoot in the spirit world, Slimer sometimes knew about it far in advance. Maybe something big was about to go down. "Spud, I’m going up and telling the guys about this."

Slimer quivered with concern and followed Peter up the stairs to the Ghostbusters’ shared bedroom. Ray was calmly reading a comic book while Egon sat on the edge of his bed, pulling a gray and red woolen sock onto his foot. Apparently he didn’t feel like wearing his boots anymore and didn’t want to lose toes to the chill in the room. Winston was in the shower, most likely hogging all the hot water.

"Guys, Slimer here is getting a case of the heebie-jeebies. I dunno if it’s serious or not," Peter declared as he sat down on his bed.

"What is it, Slimer?" Ray asked in concern, setting his comic book aside. He opened his arms wide, prompting Slimer to speed into his comforting hug.

"Baaad, Ray! Slimer worried!"

"You really are worried. Can you tell me what it is?" Ray asked soothingly.

"Bad ghost...bad ghost coming!" Slimer explained with a shudder. He snatched his Stay-Puft off a nearby nightstand and snuggled it close.

"Slimer, have you ever heard of a god named Reason?" Egon asked calmly.

"Nooo, Egon," Slimer whimpered.

Egon adjusted his glasses then stood, careful not to slip on the slick hardwood floor. "I’m going to do some research on this. It is possible that Slimer senses the presence of such a powerful ectoplasmic entity."

"Yeah, we better do that. I’ll join you," Ray agreed, rising to his feet. He followed Egon out of the room, carrying Slimer with him.

Peter really didn’t know what to make of it. It would just be their luck to get tangled up with a ghost powerful enough to call itself a god. ‘Hey You’ the messenger was bad enough, but Peter really wondered if that spirit would have scared Slimer so badly. He leaned back on his bed, trying to get comfortable. Maybe it was just Slimer’s hysterical reaction, but for some reason a dull anxiety settled itself in the pit of his stomach. He tried to dismiss it, but somehow instinct and a track record of terrible luck when it came to the big baddies of the universe refused to let him.

When he heard the doorbell ring, Peter groaned loudly. Luck indeed. He had hoped Winston would be out of the shower in time for him to stick the take-out bill on the older man. He muttered all the way down the stairs, huffing about vengeful gods and overpriced food.

* * *

Evening arrived, leaving the four Ghostbusters with as little information as when they started. Egon and Ray had nearly exhausted every resource and turned up with absolutely nothing for their trouble. There was no information anywhere that even came near the description of what they had encountered earlier that day. It was highly perplexing. Things like powerful ghosts and gods or whatever just didn’t turn up in abandoned New York subway lines without precedent, yet there was no history of similar occurrences in any literature. Usually there were huge disruptions in the ambient psycho-kinetic fields when entities of that magnitude manifested, as well as heralding spirits and general scene making. There wasn’t so much as a blip. There weren’t even any residuals.

It was as if it had never happened.

All they had to show for the experience was a full trap, two toasted meters, and a due bill. And perhaps Winston’s ruined shoelaces.

They couldn’t even figure out what Slimer was so upset about. Usually Ray could cajole a somewhat coherent explanation out of the green ghost, but such was not the case. Eventually, Slimer had bolted from the firehouse, distraught over the impending doom he kept predicting. No amount of loyalty would keep the spud around. He was plainly terrified of something, but for the life of them, the doctors Spengler and Stantz could not figure it out.

"Well, I dunno about you guys, but I say we sleep on it. Maybe you two brain trusts’ll come up with something in the middle of the night," Peter said. Often, the rest of sleep and taking one’s mind off-line for a while brought on startling leaps of intuition. Maybe that would be the case tonight. Peter sincerely hoped so; the anxiety he felt earlier hadn’t left him.

The two research scientists nodded as they prepared for bed. Winston propped his head up on his elbow; he had already slipped under his covers. "Why do you suppose it called itself ‘reason’? You don’t suppose it was ever worshipped as a deity of rational thought, do you?"

"No, not really. If it was, we would have run into some examples of it in the literature," Ray answered, slipping his pointed nightcap into place over his auburn hair. "Maybe the word had a meaning it liked. Or perhaps at some point utterly lost to history, it had been given that name. I doubt it, though. History doesn’t just lose itself like that. Even the rituals of Egyptian mystery religions came out, as the spirits behind them are still around."

"C’mon guys. Go to sleep! It’s been a long day already and it’s just getting longer," Peter complained as he shifted farther under his copious blankets. "We still have tomorrow to worry about this. All we’ve got to go on is Slimer’s jitters. I don’t think the world is gonna end before tomorrow morning."

After some final musings, the four Ghostbusters slept in relative peace, untroubled except for Peter, who dreamed of a great, sullen shadow cast on the earth by a winged creature. There was nothing but the shadow over all; it was not despair, not destruction, not even darkness, only a dull foreboding, an omen of things to come.

* * *

rationalism common sense intellect...intelligence. judgment discernment.

logic. Understanding.

* * *

The next day started just a touch earlier than Peter Venkman would have liked. The alarm startled him out of a sound sleep. He heard Winston shouting at him from the hallway, imploring him to get his buns outta bed and get dressed, ‘cause they had a bust and it looked like a big one. The sleepy psychologist groaned and cursed mornings. They sure had better swing by a coffee shop, or else one Ghostbuster was gonna be in a real bad mood.

Squinting his bleary eyes in an expression of his normal morning grumpiness, the dark haired man stumbled into his clothes and stomped by the kitchen, growling a grizzly-bear version of a thank you when someone set a cup of Joe and a doughnut in his hands. He clambered down the stairs, gulping the hot coffee with a vengeance. The horrid taste more than anything is what finally roused him to full consciousness.

"Who made this tar?" Peter griped as he slid into place next to Ray in the back seat of Ecto-1.

"Don’t complain, homes. At least you got some," Winston answered with a grin as he started the vehicle. Egon mumbled something through a mouthful of glazed doughnut.

"I like it," Ray enthused. The Ecto-1 pulled out of the garage with a screech of tires and a howl of sirens.

"You would," Peter grumped. He looked at the pastry in his hand and shrugged. It didn’t have chocolate sprinkles the way he liked, but it would do. He took a huge bite out of it, then asked as he chewed, "So what’re we goin’ up against?"

"Sounded like poltergeists," Egon stated simply.

"Whoopee. We get to go have vast assortments of crap chucked at us."

"Isn’t it great?" Ray said in his usual excited tones. Peter just rolled his eyes.

When they arrived at the townhouse several minutes later, a hysterical man in a three-piece suit covered with some sticky looking substance greeted them. The Ghostbusters piled out of the Ecto-1 and quickly collected their gear. Peter went to talk to the near-incoherent man about the disturbance, but it wasn’t really necessary. A fine bone china teacup flew out the front door and nearly beaned Ray as he donned his proton pack. It was poltergeists all right. A quick PKE scan confirmed it.

"Well, let’s go get ‘em pardners," Peter intoned in his best John Wayne, which wasn’t all that great.

The other three ignored Venkman’s attempt at impersonation and instead entered the house, rifles in hand and ready to go. All was silent except for the quiet beeping of Egon’s PKE meter. Peter motioned for Winston and Ray to head one way while Egon went with him. The ghost that had tossed the cup was nowhere to be seen.

As soon as Peter and Egon entered the dining room, the silence was broken. China dishes started flying around like UFO’s, shattering everywhere. The spirits quickly manifested, showing four in all—little blue and white imp looking things. Fortunately, these poltergeists weren’t the shy kind that required those odd helmets to see them. "One apiece. Not too bad," Peter commented, bringing his thrower to bear.

Suddenly, all four poltergeists zeroed in on the dark haired Ghostbuster, zipping around so fast and close that Egon couldn’t possibly get a clear shot. Peter was waving his arms around, trying to ward off the spirits’ porcelain ammunition. Before the blond physicist could even react to Peter’s sudden besiegement, he felt dark hands rest on his elbows, owned by a shadow that stood close behind him. Surprised, Egon spun around, but the shadowy hands moved with him. A silent whisper like black smoke filled his mind. I had thought you loved me.

The tall man shuddered as a bone-deep chill settled over him. He tried to speak, but the darkness behind him covered his mouth. Is it not customary to bend thy knee when addressed by thy god? For no logical reason he could find, Egon felt suddenly very ill.

objective aim incentive intention...purpose design object...

Motive. Impetus.

I will give these things.

The shadow passed as rapidly as it appeared. Egon shook his head, trying vainly to dislodge the sickening feeling that had settled behind his eyes. He turned toward the sudden sound of crackling porcelain. White, flat things flew through the air, some of them hitting a flailing form in the center of the room. The form was making a horrendous racket. Egon dropped the metal thing he was carrying and tried to beat off the offending ghosts with his hands. The ghosts pulled back in stunned silence.

The form stood, relieved for the moment of his siege. It wasn’t just a form, but rather his brother. Egon blinked a few times, surprised. After a glance at the spirits, his brother made some more noises, questioning ones. Egon frowned, a little unhappily.

As soon as the poltergeists let up on their siege, Peter stood. Egon was standing there, thrower dragging on the ground and a deeply confused expression on his face. "Whatsa matter, Egon?" he asked, but the only response he received was an unhappy frown. Peter looked at Egon as if he had sprouted a third arm. This was seriously out of character. "Get your thrower out! What are you thinking?" When his friend reacted by sniffling and wiping a tear from his eye, Peter gaped, astounded. This was wrong. Really, really wrong.

A saucer sailing not an inch in front of his nose returned Peter’s attention to the ghostly threat at hand. Whatever was wrong with Egon would have to wait until the poltergeists were trapped. He took aim and fired, catching one spirit in his beam. Fortunately Ray and Winston chose that moment to make their entrance, proton rifles blazing.

Within a few minutes the four poltergeists were trapped, although not without incident. Winston had a long cut on his forehead, inflicted by a fast moving gooper with a ceramic shard in its hand. Other than that, any injuries were very minor. Ray gathered up the traps as Peter handed Winston the handkerchief he had borrowed the night before. Winston folded it until he had a clean surface then held it to the bleeding cut. Egon watched the proceedings as if he had no clue what he should be doing.

The four stood there in silence for a moment. Peter looked carefully into Egon’s thin face, concerned. "Something the matter, Spengs?"

Egon reacted to his concern, but it was plain he didn’t know what the concern was for. He looked around at them, anxiety clear, but unfocused. Ray and Winston exchanged worried glances, which only served to upset Egon further. He started crying, fear and concern clear in his features.

Ray pulled his PKE meter from his tool belt and pointed it at his blond friend. Nothing. He turned to face Peter. "Did something happen to him?"

Peter shrugged. "Not that I could tell, but I was a little distracted by the dish-tossin’ spudlife." He took Egon’s elbow in an attempt to direct him out of the house. He wasn’t sure the man could figure it out judging by the look in his eyes. It wasn’t a dull expression; in fact, Peter never remembered seeing his friend so open with his feelings. It was, well, stupid, to put it bluntly. He looked like he was all feeling and no thought. The expression on Egon’s face was completely incongruous with what Peter knew of him. The level of disbelief it evoked was comparable to how he would feel if Slimer declared he was going on a fast, but the dread that gripped him was far more serious. "C’mon, big guy," he said in his most comforting voice, "let’s get back to the firehouse and figure out what’s going on."

Egon followed obediently, a smile on his face. He liked the way his brother had said that. It sounded nice, even though he didn’t understand the strangely familiar noises. It would be wrong to describe the sensations Egon was experiencing by calling them memories or knowledge. Words had ceased, thought no longer existed. Language was inadequate to the task—there were things the tall man knew without knowing, deep things that he understood without understanding. Nothing had been erased; indeed, it was more as if things had come into existence that were previously only ideas. Misunderstood emotions, wrongly categorized and misidentified, became solid and tangible and very, very real.

Ignorance had been lost as well as understanding.

This became increasingly apparent the longer Peter watched his friend. Ray was driving Ecto-1 back to the firehouse. They rode in comparative silence, concerned and confused. Egon reacted to everything. After watching buildings roll by the window, he turned back to look at his colleagues. He was watching Peter with a frightening intensity. Every nuance and color of expression, even the subtlest shift of the psychologist’s green eyes, was seen and answered. No, there was no formal intelligence, no brilliant reason in Egon’s face, but there was an unnerving perception there nonetheless. Peter had the sudden feeling that in this condition, no one could lie to Egon. No one could hide anything from him...if he added his formidable mental faculties to this new acute perception he would be a force to be reckoned with. As it was, only the strange simplicity in his blue eyes kept Peter from feeling like he was totally transparent and laid open like a cheap novel.

Well, he might not feel like Captain Obvious, but it was only by the slightest margins. Peter felt like he were having the most personal and intimate conversation he had ever had in his entire life and he hadn’t even said a word! Egon expressed in purely emotional, reactive terms precisely how he felt about Peter. A friend closer than a brother. A man well loved and respected. One who has access to the truly deep places, welcomed in absolute trust. He never said the words but Peter could see it in his face with uncanny and uncomfortable clarity.

"Stop looking at me like that!" Peter finally shouted, unable to continue with an emotional discourse in which he didn’t know half of what he had revealed. Yes, they were friends of that caliber, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with such a deep and plain expression of it. It was hard to imagine that he had not accidentally ‘said’ the very same things. Egon flinched as if he had been struck. Peter expected him to turn away, but he didn’t. His intense and piercing gaze didn’t move, only changed to a sad wondering. Peter groaned, realizing his mistake. Egon wouldn’t know it was out of sheer discomfort that he had snapped; as perceptive as his sight was now, it was still only half the man. He felt the irritation, but knew not from what it came. He couldn’t know anymore than an infant could figure out why its mother was mad.

"Whatsa matter, anyway?" Peter wearily asked no one in particular. Where was he going to get an answer for this? He felt about two inches high for snapping at Egon; why not just go kick some puppies while he was at it?

"I wonder if it’s that Reason character," Winston commented.

"Could be," Peter muttered. "But didn’t it fry the PKE meter? If it were wandering around sucking up Egon’s brains, wouldn’t it sort of leave a ‘BIG BAD GHOST WUZ HERE’ sign in bright neon letters?"

Ray shrugged and said a bit morosely, "Yeah."

"This just doesn’t make sense." Peter glanced back at Egon, who had returned to watching the road, his expression clouded. It couldn’t be organic, could it? That thought gave him the shivers. "Ugh."

"Hmmm? Something wrong?" Ray asked.

"No, I just had a doozie of a thought. It’s nothing."

The Ecto-1 pulled into the firehouse and settled to a halt. Winston and Ray stepped out of the vehicle and started around back to unload their gear and traps. Egon scrambled out of the car about as fast as humanly possible. He was a man with a mission. Peter jumped out after him, worried anew. The physicist poised himself to tear up the stairs then suddenly stopped.

"Oh my...," Peter breathed in amusement, smiling at the unabashed adoration on his friend’s face. Janine was sitting at her desk, thoroughly engrossed in a phone conversation and goodness if Egon wasn’t giving her a look! Dr. Venkman wasn’t the only one getting the unfiltered response. "Hey, Janine," he said, voice full of mirth, "you might want to take a look at this."

"Just a second, Kel," Janine growled to her friend, displeased that Dr. Venkman had disturbed her conversation. She looked up, prepared to let loose the fires of hell on the dark haired man. It died in her throat when Egon rather unexpectedly kissed her, quite passionately at that. A moment later and he bolted up the stairs as if chased by terror dogs. Janine dropped the phone.

With an admirable show of effort, Peter bit back an ill-timed and callous explanation for Egon’s behavior that might well have landed him in the hospital. Instead, after giving her a moment to recover, he said, "I got good news and bad news, Janine."

"Huh...?" Janine said faintly. Total blank surprise had been replaced by a dreamy look and a slight grin.

Peter ran a hand through his brown hair and said, "That’s about as honest a declaration as your ever gonna get outta him."

Janine brightened considerably. "Oh? What’s the bad news?" she replied.

"That was both. He’s got a world-class brain cramp. You know that isn’t like him."

Slumping, Janine muttered, "No, suppose not." She looked a little crestfallen. "Whadda ya mean, ‘world-class brain cramp’?"

Peter scrunched up his face, trying to think of some way to explain it. "Well, while we were on the bust, and mind you, we don’t know how it happened, he lost the ability to think."

"What?!" Janine shouted. "Is he gonna be all right?"

Ray came up just then. "We have to figure out what happened first."

Egon shut the door softly behind him. Something drove him up here to his lab with a dark insistence. Without understanding what it was or why, that fearful shadow communicated to him that he must take a certain action, that it was imperative. There were no consequences, no threat, just a persistent need to take the small stone he never remembered having in the first place and use it. Not for anything unusual, or at least, it didn’t feel that way, just to sharpen a little pocket knife he often used to strip wires or cut small pieces of material. Something about the action frightened him, but it needed to be done.

So he took the whetstone out of his pocket and set it on a table, then retrieved the knife. He didn’t know where it was, but something led him to it. Once he may have known how to sharpen a knife, but now he just stared blankly at the two objects on the desk. Again, something led him in the way it wanted the two objects used. It hurt; Egon sucked in a little gasp and cried freely at the pain.

After only a few minutes, a dim spark of awareness flickered through his mind, a slight knowledge telling him that this was a highly unorthodox way to hone a knife. The awareness grew, first to say that he was using a substandard whetstone, one that absorbed lubricant like a sponge...then to reason that the lubricant he used was improper... As his knowledge returned to him, it found its way back to his heart and in a sudden flash of disgust, Egon realized it was not improper, it was downright wrong.

He had honed the silvery blade in his own blood.

The knife clattered on the desk, dropped as though it were on fire. He looked at his right hand and saw the cut he had unknowingly made across his palm, at the prompting of a shadow. Bright red blood welled up in the hollow of his hand then trickled down his arm, staining the cuff of his jumpsuit. On the table, the whetstone glistened for a moment, then the blood which wet it was absorbed into its dark surface, never to be seen again. For a second, he struggled to remember how he came to this place. It didn’t take long as his mind and his emotions finally settled themselves in their usual routine.

Egon twisted his face in revulsion. That ghost, that thing that called itself a god had taken his mind away as easily as he breathed. A deep and fearful sense of violation gripped him in its cold fists. He remembered what he felt then, and what he had done. Shame and disgust turned his gut, and an irrational panic followed close behind.

How lost you are, my child, without thy god.

The blond physicist clenched his teeth in frustration, anger, and fear. This was a spirit not to be taken lightly...one that tore from him his only security and all he had ever known. Literally all he had ever known. He said nothing and made no move.

Do not so anger me again...

"What did I do to anger you," Egon whispered through his teeth. He was the one that was angry. How dare it violate him so!

You did not acknowledge me as you should. And I must discipline my children who do not acknowledge me.

Egon’s expression darkened, reflecting his growing rage at what this thing had done to him. "Discipline...." To lay him bare, to take his mind, to leave him without defense...

Oh, how I wish that it needn’t be so. But I myself am bound by my own law. If I made exceptions for thee, then I must for all. I, thy god, hath given thee much. Surely, the logic of my situation is plain to thee.

"You are no god of mine!" he ground out.

The fury his venom-filled statement produced was so thick and black it was nearly physical. You will NOT speak to me thus!

He found himself plunged into sudden darkness, the choking black of the darkest night, which clawed and tore at his mind. It wasn’t the same...this time the dark spirit left Egon an awareness and premonition of what was to come, more of a deep subordination than a stealing away of his intellect. It would leave him to see with his own eyes what he was without his intelligence and powerless to stop or control it, not just to remember what had happened later, but to see it first hand. For the briefest of instances, for less than a split second, the panic that vision induced willed him to do anything to stop it. The spiritual compromise was quickly tossed aside, but not soon enough. The darkness let up and the powerful spirit pulled its claws back a little.

I will relent, if only you will spill thy blood for me.

I will not, Egon thought, sickened to know it wasn’t so and hating that little flash of weakness.

You will. I do this not of my own choice...I loath to hurt my children, but it is the only way.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

I am bound by another’s laws. Rising anger filled the lab. If I were only rid of the lawmaker, I would not have to demand my children’s blood.

The fury abated somewhat. Now, though, is not the time for that. Blood is the price and blood I will have.

Egon growled deep in his throat as he picked up the finely honed knife, infuriated at the ghost’s power, terrified of what surely would happen to him if he disregarded its demand, and frustrated nearly to the point of madness by his own weakness. For he now knew he could be bought.

Lock, stock, and barrel.

Reason was his god.

* * *

Peter walked slowly up the stairs and down the hall to stand before the laboratory door. For a moment or so, the four downstairs had discussed what could possibly cause Egon to lose his capacity to think. It was certainly a puzzle; there was no PKE to suggest a paranormal explanation and as far as they knew, Egon had no psychoses that might point to a psychological reason. An organic cause might have cropped up unexpectedly; organic brain damage had a tendency to do that, but the thought was quickly banished in favor of less horrifying and far more treatable possibilities. Horses first, then zebras, Dr. Venkman thought. Peter had decided that maybe a professional evaluation was in order...maybe there was some hidden hang up deep within Egon’s guarded and difficult personality.

He rapped softly on the door, uncertain if Egon would understand the significance of his knocking. The dark-haired doctor was pleasantly surprised when Egon slowly opened the door. Peter smiled in relief when he saw that Egon’s glance was as discerning and his expression as composed as always. "We were worried about you, big guy. What gives?" he asked.

The taller man pursed his lips, his face concealing the train of his thoughts. For some reason, the expression struck Peter as strange. It wasn’t, not really...in fact, it was perfectly normal. Egon usually presented a composed front, a calm, although paradoxically open and amiable mask carefully held in place, guarding the workings of his mind. Only those who truly knew him or spent a good deal of time with him could see past it; Egon was nothing if not complex. He expressed only what he chose to.

And for some reason, the blond physicist’s careful constructions felt very wrong to his friend right now. Peter shook off the strange uncomfortable sensation and stood silent, waiting for him to speak.

"I’m fine, Peter," was his response. "Whatever it was is gone now." There was a note of finality in the statement, one which did not quite seem justified. He adjusted his glasses in his normal manner, then stepped past Peter and into the hallway. "I think I will lie down for a while," he said as he walked carefully toward the bedroom.

Peter shook his head and followed Egon. "Hey, Spengs, I’m not lettin’ you off that easy. We need to get to the bottom of this. I dunno about you, but I think it would be good thing to find out why your brains suddenly dribbled out your ears in the middle of a bust."

Egon cast a sharp glance at the other Ghostbuster, his expression clouded. After a moment his gaze fell and he confided softly, "I don’t...I’m not ready to talk about it just yet." Shame, and something else, flickered across his face, then disappeared as he turned his head away.

The look was not lost on Peter. He nodded in understanding; it had to be difficult for his extremely intellectual friend to discuss the loss of his considerable mental capacity...and especially hard to come to grips with the actions that had resulted. Egon probably felt just as ridiculous and exposed as he would if he had streaked the Oscars. "Yeah, OK, I can understand that. We still have to talk, but not right now." He saw his friend nod slightly then enter the shared sleeping quarters. Egon looked a bit pale. Peter was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before, but decided to leave him be for the moment.

"So? How’s he doing?" Ray asked as Peter walked down the stairs.

"All is as it was before," Peter quoted an old Star Trek episode but with strained humor. "Well," he continued in a normal tone, "his brain is back in his head. I’ll give him the third degree about it later."

Winston was thoughtful for a moment. "So now what? We just rest on it?" He didn’t particularly like that course of action, but was willing to defer to Peter’s judgment on this one.

Peter shrugged. "I don’t know what else we can do. I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that Egon’s experiencing some psychological upset. I don’t like it...but what else is there?"

* * *

That same shadow cast its darkness across the stark landscape, but it was a little different this time. A dim smile, like a glowering Cheshire Cat...something very cruel was enjoying itself at someone’s expense. Peter found himself standing just outside the feathered shadow, looking in. Tentatively, he extended his hand so that the shadow cast on it. Inside the darkness was a dimness of vision and a dulling of the senses...just by darkening his hand, he felt somehow apathetic. Was the shadow a living thing...?

Behind him stood a great white creature, a very gentle thing, yet at the same time terrible. He knew it was there before he saw it. He turned and looked up at it and realized suddenly that he was dreaming, for if he had not been, he would have fainted at its awful presence. As it was he gulped nervously. It was almost twenty feet tall. With four great wings and the head of an enormous ox, it was a frightening image. It had no eyes, but Peter felt it could see right through him. It had a somewhat human torso, with arms like a great eagle might have and a lion’s hindquarters and tail. It looked down at him with its eyeless gaze and pointed its taloned finger at the shadow.

The foothold is grasped in bleeding fingers, tightly held so as to break bone and strangle spirit. Fingers will slip, the hands will break, and the spirit will die. Help him let go.

"What? What are you talking about?" Peter asked, clearly confused. But the great creature had disappeared, leaving him alone with the forbidding shadow. "Help who let go of what?" he asked the silent air, but as he expected, no answer was forthcoming.

I Walk in Desperate Silence

Janine watched the four guys tromp down the stairs for their newest job, and the look on Egon’s face just about made her blood boil. It was hardly anything overt, but to her eyes, it could not have been any more obvious. He wore that subtle yet ice-cold expression that fairly screamed ‘stay away’. It was an outward show of passive-aggression perfected as an art and polished to its highest sheen. It made her want to kick his teeth in. She clenched her teeth and thrust the paper with the address and job information into Peter’s face. "Here," she growled.

"Whoa, what’s gotten into you, Janine?" Peter asked, surprised.

"Nothing, Dr. V," she snapped, her venomous stare never leaving Egon’s face. She knew that look just as well as she knew that if Egon had turned it on her when they first met she would have never given him the time of day again. It was the very fact that he never did, no matter how uncomfortable he was, that encouraged her to keep after him as she did. I’m gonna kill you, Spengler, she seethed, and it would have been hard to miss the sentiment for her face so eloquently expressed it.

Peter gave her a sidelong glance, trying to size up just what had infuriated her. He stole a quick look at Egon, the apparent object to which her anger pointed, but he didn’t see any reason for it there. He was just standing there examining his fingernails. Janine turned her fiery glare to the psychologist, eyes ablaze and just daring him to push his luck. Peter put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. He took the work order from Janine’s clenched fingers with all the trepidation due a man dealing with the fury of a woman scorned. Ray and Winston wisely practiced the better part of valor and kept their mouths shut.

As soon as Peter took the paper, Janine turned on her heels and stalked out of the room, unwilling to stay in a certain physicist’s presence any longer. She wanted very badly to perpetrate grievous violence on him, maim him maybe. She also wanted to keep her job, so as soon as she left the garage area of the firehouse, she found the nearest thing not bolted down and focused all her anger into it, hurling it across the room. It connected with several glass drinking cups, which broke with a deeply satisfying shattering sound, strewing tiny slivers of glass all across the room. After Egon’s open display of affection yesterday and his sudden and complete shutout today... It was enough to drive anyone batty. Maybe she was being over-sensitive...nope, nope, that wasn’t it. It was plain as day to her, an accomplished Egon-observer, that he was giving her the brush-off. It was decided. She was gonna kill him. She was just going to have to kill him.

"Yow," Dr. Stantz breathed as soon as Janine left the room. As one, Winston, Ray, and Peter cringed when they heard the glasses shatter. Egon was pointedly ignoring the whole thing.

"Oh boy, I don’t even want to know what you did to get her so mad, Egon," Winston commented as the four walked to Ecto-1.

"I didn’t do anything," the man in question replied quickly.

Peter shook his head. He didn’t know what it was, but something had happened, he was sure of it. "Like hell you didn’t. Janine doesn’t usually mentally tear you limb from limb, you know." He grinned malevolently as he opened the rear passenger side door of Ecto-1. "Usually she’s mentally—"

Winston smacked Peter on the head before he could finish that particular statement. Peter shot the dark-skinned man an injured look. "I wasn’t gonna say anything bad," he protested.

"Right," Winston replied, a very knowing look on his face as he slipped into the shotgun seat of the vehicle. "And pigs fly."

"I’ve actually seen flying pigs," Ray added good-naturedly from the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition and started out of the garage in his usual zero to sixty in three point one nanoseconds.

"Anyway," Peter sighed, trying to return to the subject at hand, oblivious from long practice to Ray’s madman driving, "you did something to set her off, Egon." After a moment’s mulling over of his previous observations, he realized what might have been the problem. It wasn’t at all clear to him, but he supposed Janine would have seen it easily enough. "You were bein’ kinda cool to Janine."

Egon cast the same heavily guarded look at Peter as he had given Janine. It wasn’t precisely a look, as their eyes never met; it was more of a studied indifference. The total effect made Peter feel right around three inches high and meaningless to Egon. Peter blinked, somewhat taken aback. "Damn, you can be cold when you want to be." Now that the expression was aimed at him, he could easily imagine Janine’s fury. He had to fight the urge to react to the expression as it deserved as well as struggle to keep in mind that Egon couldn’t possibly mean in his heart what he expressed in his face.

He succeeded, but only by the narrowest margins. Even so, Peter’s bearing was defensive. "So, are you gonna tell us what happened yesterday or what?"

"It won’t happen again," Egon stated somewhat forcefully. Again there was that strange note of certainty in his voice. Every single nuance of his body language told Peter to back the hell off.

Peter’s expression darkened considerably, but after a moment of effort, he calmed himself somewhat. He was a psychologist by training and claming up tight and raising shields like that was to his training as blood in the water was to sharks. Not that he generally compared psychologists to sharks...Lawyers are sharks, not psychologists, he thought to himself. "How do you know it won’t?" he asked as carefully as possible.

Egon’s lips thinned to a barely visible white line. He didn’t answer for a long moment. "It won’t," he restated forcefully, then turned to look out the window.

"Egon, you’re gonna have to talk about it sometime. You can’t pretend it didn’t happen, and you can’t assume it was a one-time thing. We need to get to the bottom of this."

For a long moment the blond physicist was silent. Barely perceptible even to Peter, one of his closest friends, was a faint in turning, an introspective expression on Egon’s face. To the obstinately defensive look was added a faint, cool, almost calculating one. Somehow it made Peter singularly uncomfortable. When it passed, Peter was positive he didn’t like the look that replaced it.

Egon turned a stony glare at the man sitting next to him. Still, their eyes never quite met. "Keep your vapid, amateurish psychobabble to yourself," he growled. "Your witless attempts to divine something behind my words are pointless. I said it would not happen again, I said I was fine, and I don’t think I have to remind you which of us has the greater understanding of what is real in this world."

Peter bristled; if he had been a cat, his ears would be flattened tight against his skull. In fact he nearly growled. Ray let out a low whistle and exchanged a surprised glance with Winston. "Amateurish psychobabble?! I’m not an amateur!" Peter declared hotly, picking only one facet of Egon’s harsh statement to react to. It was a rare day indeed that he felt as insulted and belittled as he did now.

Egon’s voice was cool, hard as flint, and just as sharp. "The only reason you ever practiced was to shack up with vulnerable women."

Peter’s jaw dropped. Now he was fuming. His hands turned to fists and he clenched his teeth. He was easily angry enough to deck Egon, and it was only by an iron will that he didn’t do just that. All he wanted to do was help! And this is how his so-called best friend repaid him? "Go to hell, Egon."

All Peter got in response was a very subtle sneer. Then Egon turned to look out the window, making it abundantly clear that he would not speak anymore. The way he was acting was a complete shock, nearly unprecedented in their long relationship, and Peter had no idea what to do with it. At the moment, however, he was far too angry to care.

"Man, who pissed in his cornflakes? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Egon that surly," Winston said under his breath, just loud enough so only Ray could hear. The two were unloading their proton packs from the rear of Ecto-1 while Peter was talking to the person who called and Egon was taking readings. "He wasn’t that nasty when Walter Peck blew the containment unit, was he?"

"I don’t think so, although he did try to strangle Pecker...He’s definitely never been that mean to me. I have an idea; let’s lay low and watch him...maybe we can puzzle out what’s bothering him." Ray hefted his pack onto his back and buckled the waist strap.

Winston nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me." He didn't mention what they both knew: that laying low would give Egon no chance to flambé them verbally.

* * *

Egon watched his blinking PKE meter without really seeing it. He regretted snapping at Peter and the way he had acted to Janine. It was no way to treat people he cared about, and the justifications he made to himself were flimsy at best. But the shame and violation he felt was deep enough that he wanted to forget about it, hide it at all costs. If he acted as if it was really there, then he would have to deal with it, talk about it...feel it. Really feel it.

And then there was Reason.

So he felt he had no choice but to fend off Peter and Janine’s prying (or perceptiveness). And if he needed to be on the offensive to do it, then he must offend. Even if he hated to hurt them...

Egon sighed faintly, heaviness weighing hard on him. Secrets...it was the weight of dark secrets; he had kept them before this day, but today he knew no more how to handle them than he had when he first kept the terror of the Bogeyman sealed away. That he had never learned.

Peter’s voice, tight with barely suppressed anger, finally snapped Egon’s reverie. "Are you gonna do your job or what, Dr. Spengler? Or is that asking too much?"

Egon wrinkled his nose and shot Peter an irritated look. Then he looked at the PKE meter beeping in his hand, seeing it this time. He jabbed a finger in the direction of the ghost they were hired to catch. "Class four," he snapped.

Peter glared at him in return then headed off in the direction Egon had indicated. Winston and Ray tried to look like they didn’t notice the hostility as they followed. Egon followed as well, but slower. They were walking down a narrow hallway into what was probably a dining room. He was several steps behind the others when he heard Peter make a crack about a tacky light fixture and the distinct sound of proton fire.

Just as he was about to take in hand the business end of his particle accelerator, Egon felt the unpleasant hand of Reason on his arm. Not now...what now...?

But Reason’s voice was kind. Dost thou think I would leave thee unprotected? Thou art my son and I shall always be with thee.

Egon stood very still, shaking, anticipating the worst. But it never came. He almost felt the spirit grinning behind him.

Do not fear, my son... I will not hurt thee. No, I have come to give thee thy desires...

The physicist was quiet. He didn’t believe Reason’s words; he was no fool...but it would be wrong to say he wasn’t in the least curious. Something in the corner of his mind felt drawn to the creature, not overpoweringly so, although he now knew how dangerous it was. What would Reason think were his desires?

Just this: the chance to lay aside those unfortunate and unpleasant feelings...the ones that cause you to hurt your friends and dim your clarity...

Another part of him whispered for him to ignore the perilous beast behind him, but still Egon listened; he felt as though he had no other option...and there was still that bit of curiosity. Reason had already established its power...and without warning, the dark one demonstrated it again. Not as before: this time, the ugly sensations that Egon had been struggling to ignore and hide came bubbling up like a black ocean tide. Very keen and sharp was the violation that led to shame, the anger, rage impotent in the face of weakness...not a one induced, not one a feeling never experienced before. And it hurt, oh how it hurt...

Egon shut his eyes tightly, trying to hold back stinging tears. He couldn’t ignore it anymore... He couldn’t gather together enough of the tiny scraps of his usual defenses. And again, for a second, a flash, but a longer this time, his weakness cried out for the flood of hurt to be taken away.

He felt Reason grin behind him. I think you know what you must do...

He did, somehow he did. And this time it didn’t seem quite so disturbing, quite so repulsive. With shaking hands, Egon reached into his pocket and withdrew the small knife he carried with him. He quickly opened it and pushed up the sleeve of his jumpsuit, revealing the bottom of his upper arm. Biting his lip and bracing himself for the pain he knew he would feel, he made a short, clean cut, leaving the tip of the sharp knife in it for a moment. No blood dripped from the small wound so long as the knife was there for that very blade drank it as thirstily as the whetstone had absorbed it.

The blade seemed to sop up the overpowering darkness of emotion as well. When that tide had receded so far that it was not even so much as a black spot on the horizon, Egon withdrew the knife and closed it. There was no need to wipe it clean, but now the cut bled more freely. He pushed his sleeve down over it; blood stained his cuff, but not in any copious amount. It would not be difficult to explain away...

Now this is my gift for thy desire. Do thus as you see fit—I will always protect thee. Shortly thereafter, the darkening presence of Reason evaporated.

For a long moment the physicist just stood there, examining the strange sensation of having his secret emotions under lock and key. For now they could not escape, and he need not try to suppress them. There was something strangely pleasant about it...yet at the same time he felt the weight had not disappeared; instead it was heavier than before. For the moment, he could barely feel the crack that now ran the length of his soul...now merely a hair’s breadth, but present nevertheless.

And so it was that Egon did not quite recognize the heaviness and compromise for what it was in truth: the bite of the trap that had closed on him and sealed his fate.

* * *

"Get your butt in here and help us!" Peter fairly shouted at the lagging physicist. He was in no mood to put up with Egon’s stupid games at the moment. Whatever he had found that was so fascinating would just have to wait.

"I’m coming," Egon stated with surprising calm over the sudden and sharp crackling noise of proton energy. Startled, Peter spared a glance in his direction. He had been expecting controlled anger, not unruffled composure.

Winston’s proton stream traced a long, swooping arc as it followed the speedy Class Four across the ceiling. The little beast’s trajectory intersected with the chain holding up the small and indescribably ugly chandelier over the dining table; the ex-soldier realized it too late. "In coming!" he shouted as the chain broke under the neutronizing fire and the fixture began to fall.

All four Ghostbusters ducked under the table and cringed as the chandelier shattered over their heads, sending hundreds of faceted glass pendants and thousands of shards in every direction. It might have been a small chandelier, but it sure made a big mess. After the impact, the four scrambled out from under the table and scanned the room for the offending spirit. Egon checked his meter and pointed in another direction. Wordlessly, the four moved out of the dining room and into the kitchen, glass crunching under their boots.

They found the ghost easily enough; like Slimer, it seemed to have a voracious appetite and was quickly cleaning out the cupboards. Ray raised a finger to his lips, indicating his desire for quiet. Then he slowly unhooked a trap from his belt and tiptoed over to a cabinet from which issued many horribly disgusting munching noises. The door was closed, but also shaking. He lifted the trap up so the doors faced the cabinet. Without opening the cabinet or making a sound, Ray pressed the trap switch against his leg, activating it. The ghost screamed in horror, caught completely unawares, as it was sucked into the container. The lid snapped shut and the full indicator light began to blink.

"Nice goin’, Ray," Winston congratulated while the younger occultist flashed a thumbs up sign.

"At least we didn’t trash the kitchen," Peter commented as he holstered his rifle, "I don’t think the owners will be too happy with their dining room."

The four made their way out, walking gingerly over the broken glass as they passed through the dining room. They met their client at the door. Peter wrote out the bill and handed it to him.

The client looked the bill over and reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. "What was that awful noise? Did the chandelier fall?"

"Uh...," Peter muttered, unsure what to say. He hadn’t thought it a terrible loss; the thing was hideous, but it was just the sort of thing an owner would love. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Oh no! It’s quite all right!" the man assured him, "I’ve been looking for an excuse to remove that horrid thing; the missus loves it and wouldn’t let me take it down. Now I can redecorate." With that, he wrote out the check and handed it to Peter with a lopsided smile. "I tacked on a little extra for services rendered."

Peter examined the check; it was for three hundred dollars over the bill amount. The dark-haired psychologist blinked and checked again, just to be sure, then broke out into a satisfied grin. "Thank you sir. Glad to be of service."

With a wave, the man walked back into his house. The four waved back and then took their leave. After stowing their proton packs, they all piled into Ecto-1, Peter making a point of riding shotgun so he didn’t have to sit next to Egon. Although the extra three hundred dollars had lifted his spirits considerably, he was still pretty pissed at the blond man.

Ray was the one who received that honor. To him, the physicist seemed less prickly, much less than he had been on the ride over. The younger man watched Egon for a moment, then caught sight of the pink cuff of his jumpsuit.

"What happened? You’re bleeding!" Ray cried in shock. Egon looked down at his arm and blinked, as if seeing the smallish stain for the first time. He took a closer look, pushing back the sleeve slightly.

"I must have cut myself on a piece of glass from the dining room," he said calmly. "It isn’t too bad." There wasn’t even a trace of his earlier surliness; he sounded perfectly normal.

Peter turned around and took a good, long look at Egon. "What’s with you today, Mr. Mood-Swing? Not twenty minutes ago you snapped my head off and handed it to me on a platter! What gives?"

Egon dipped his head and said with the same calm, "I apologize for that. It was inexcusable."

Dr. Venkman blinked his green eyes a few times, unsure what to make of this strange turn. He was glad Egon wasn’t in a snit anymore, but something about his new-and-improved mood just struck him wrong. "Well, ah...yeah, thanks. Maybe when we get back home you might be willing to unzip your lip for a bit?"

"Perhaps," the blond man said.

Winston stole a glance at Ray, who just raised his eyebrows. Both of them silently agreed that they would not let up on their vigilance.

It didn’t take them long to return to the firehouse, and as soon as they pulled in, all four of them shot out of the Ecto-1 and were about to fly up the stairs for lunch. The stormy look on a certain redhead’s face as she stood in their way like an avenging goddess was enough to stop them all in their tracks. Her fiery stare would have stopped a charging bull.

She stood with her hands on her hips, casting her gaze about until she found what she sought. Her glare settled on Egon, who was at least looking her in the eye this time. The heat of her look should have been enough to bore holes through his head, but such wasn’t the case. Egon regarded her very calmly, very collected. Of course, this just made Janine angrier. Before she could read him whatever riot act she had prepared in their absence, Egon stepped over to her and looked her in the eye. His voice one of complete calm, he said, "I owe you an apology, Janine. I should not have been so distant to you this morning. It was unconscionable and I apologize for hurting you like that."

Janine sputtered for a moment. The wind fell from her sails just like that, and it irritated her immensely. "Well, ah...that’s right. You do owe me an apology." She shifted her feet and tapped a toe, then dropped one hand from her waist. She was having a hard time staying mad. Why did he have to be so blasted reasonable?! No other words presented themselves, so she left it at that, stalking away.

Peter shook his head, startled again by the change in Egon’s attitude. He walked over to Egon’s side and searched his face, perhaps hoping he could find an answer there. Then he straightened and asked, "Mind clueing us in?"

Before Egon could answer, the telephone rang, and Janine picked it up in a huff, shouting her usual pleasant greeting of, "Ghostbusters, whaddaya want?"

Peter prepared to follow her, but stopped. Curiosity as to what was going on with Egon far outweighed any desire to find out what the call was about. Patience wearing thin, Peter said somewhat loudly, "So? Spit it out, Spengs!" Both Ray and Winston listened quietly.

Egon looked down at the shorter man and exhaled a sigh through his teeth. "I should have told you about this sooner," he began calmly. "You know it’s not easy for me to talk about things like that."

"You mean when your brains decided to take a vacation?" Peter said, attempting to pin down just what Egon was talking about.

The blond man didn’t respond except to pause before he continued. "It took me a while to come to deal with it. It doesn’t bother me now. How I acted this morning was an inexcusable symptom of my temporary inability to come to terms with what I did...I apologize for that."

Winston rolled his eyes and exchanged a glance with Ray, who was frowning slightly. Clearly, neither one was prepared to believe what they felt was a sizable fish story. Peter puffed loudly and said, "OK, got it. Now do you feel like letting good ol’ Pete know why this all happened? We know it wasn’t paranormal, and I for one refuse to think it might have an organic cause. Do you know why it happened?"

Egon pushed his glasses back up his nose and continued with an almost uncanny composure, "It did have a paranormal cause. The winged pillar we found in the old subway tunnel precipitated it; however, it is certainly possible that my own psychological condition continued it. I assure you, it will not happen again. Now I must finish something I left in the lab from a few nights ago." He turned on his heel and walked up the stairs, leaving three surprised Ghostbusters in his wake.

While Ray knitted his brow in thought, Peter blinked several times then finally shut his mouth, which had dropped open sometime during Egon’s explanation. All of a sudden, he grabbed his hair as if to tear it out and stomped his feet in an over-wrought display of frustration. "Argh!! Gah!" he cried in hysterics.

"I’m with you, man. Homeboy’s sure got a way about him sometimes," Winston said in a long-suffering tone. Ray nodded his agreement, looking up after their sometimes-strange companion retreating up the stairs.

Janine set the phone down and walked back to the three remaining men. "What’s goin’ on, Dr. V?"

Peter let go of his hair and jabbed a finger toward the stairs, huffing and glaring, his shoulders hunched in complete bafflement. "That man has got to be the most bizarre person to walk this Earth! He can say everything, explain nothing, and mean something else entirely!"

"Tell me something I didn’t know, Dr. V."

"One way or another, we’ve got our work cut out for us," Ray sighed. "I’ll see if I can find something at the library about those pillar things. There must be something written down about them."

Peter finally dropped his over done act and said, "Yeah...I guess I’ll whip out the old Ph.D., see what’s got Egon’s brains in a blender. After what he just said, and how he said it, I’m even more concerned."

Janine frowned. "Much as I’d like you to shrink Egon’s head, there’s a job for you. The ambassador from Outer Mongolia or heaven knows where has a ghost haunting his official motorcade. The mayor said he’d have your buns in a sling if you didn’t get on it pronto."

"Ah great, just great. The ambassador from Timbuktu can’t wait for the troubles of us lowly peons," Peter muttered.

"You guys go on, I’ll go to the library," Ray offered. "Although I can’t say I believe either of those pillars were involved...they both fried our PKE meters, and we should have picked up residuals at least if one had affected Egon so strongly."

"I don’t know what to think. Let’s just get Egon down here and go. We can talk about it on the way," Winston insisted as he started getting into Ecto-1.

"OK, OK...duty calls," Peter sighed. To Egon he called, "Hey Spengs! His highness the mayor of New York demands our presence! Come on!"

A few minutes later three Ghostbusters were on their way to save the city’s honor, while one cajoled their secretary into taking him to the library.

* * *

Stumbling under the weight of many old, dust-covered books, Ray Stantz picked his way to the polished oak table he and Janine had taken. He could barely see where he was going, but undaunted, he let his long familiarity with the library guide him. Finally reaching his objective, he unloaded the tomes onto the table with a loud thump. Several books tumbled from the top of the stack, kicking up clouds of ancient library dust. When the small literary avalanche came to a standstill and after both Janine and Ray had stopped sneezing, Ray took his seat. He leaned over and gathered up a few books that had fallen to the floor.

Wiping her nose, Janine asked, "What exactly are we looking for, Ray?"

As he opened one of the large books, he answered, "Any record of ghost sightings in the abandoned subway tunnels we visited the other day, any mention in any literature of tall pillars with wings, of a creature going by the name Reason... Instances of unexplained acute loss of cognitive ability...anything."

Janine’s shoulders slumped. "Ray, we’re never gonna find anything like that. It’ll take forever!"

Ray shrugged a bit. "It’ll be difficult...but I don’t think it will be impossible. There has to be something mentioned about it. Things like that don’t just happen."

"They do to Egon," Janine muttered as she opened a particularly dusty book about obscure mythology.

The redhead had something there. The truly odd, the crème de la crème of the bizarre always seemed to take a shine to Egon Spengler. Why that was had never been explained, and not through lack of trying. So many hypotheses lay dead or dying in the firehouse lab...it was frustrating in a way. Egon never complained about it, at least not that Ray heard, but he knew it must wear on the physicist. If nothing else, the insurance premiums alone could ruin a man.

"Granted," Ray said. "But...even when things do just happen to him, they have a reason...I mean, they aren’t inexplicable."

Janine began turning pages in her book. "It’s going to take us ‘til Doomsday. Do we even have a place to start?"

Opening another book and leafing through the pages, Ray answered unhappily, "Just what I said. We don’t have anything more specific."

After several hours pouring over books so esoteric and arcane they made Janine’s head hurt, the two were no closer to a solution than when they began. There was quite literally nothing in the literature, anywhere, about a god named Reason that shaped itself like a winged pillar. There were more references than Janine or Ray could count for gods and goddesses of reason, rational thought, rational war, rational this that and the other, but no Reason.

"I’m beginning to think this...‘Reason’...is just a name it came up for itself," Ray said as he closed one more book.

"But there’s still no winged pillars, unless you count caducei and things like that. And those were symbols, not actual beings," Janine said. "Nothing like you described."

Ray rubbed his head. "I know, I know...there has to be some explanation we just aren’t seeing," he grumped. "And it’s not like we can ‘think inside the box’ very often in our line of work." He slumped and shoved the book away. "Maybe it’s a trickster coming up with new tricks. I guess even for an ancient trickster the old stuff must get boring."

"Like Coyote changing his fur, huh?" Janine asked. "Trading it in for feathers."

"Yeah," Ray said, not sounding entirely convinced even though it was his own idea. "That still doesn’t explain the lack of PKE readings."

Janine sat back in her chair. "There’s nothing you guys have come up against you couldn’t read?"

"Well...yeah, there has...but nothing that blew two of our meters the first time we came across it and then didn’t even blip the next time. If there even was a next time, like Egon said."

"When did he say was the ‘next’ time?"

Ray sat up suddenly. "You know, he never did! Maybe it was when our meters were off." He paused for a while, then slumped back again. "No, the next time had to have been when we were busting the poltergeists. Something with readings like Reason gave off would have shown up if it didn’t toast our meters first. Unless tricksters can now make undetectable ‘time bomb’ tricks." He snorted slightly at the idea, even as it took root in a corner of his mind. "I doubt that. PKE is associated with nearly everything. Even human biorhythms are psycho-kinetically based. Still, I suppose I oughta pursue it."

Janine sat in silence as she watched Ray think. He was drumming his fingers against the table, looking away at nothing in particular. He was obviously frustrated. "I hate to say it, but it must be psychological. That’s the only thing that wouldn’t show up on our meters."

"What, so you guys are going to have to corner Egon and make him ‘fess up or something?" Janine asked, mildly perturbed.

"I guess so. Something like that. That’s not my field though. I suppose I could do something that is in my field. At the very least I could do a Tarot or astrological reading on him, or get someone who’s better at it than I am to do one."

Janine shrugged. "Might as well try it. Obviously the history books aren’t any good."

So the two left the library after returning most of the books to the restricted section and getting their collateral back, then went to one of Ray’s occult contacts, after picking up a bite to eat. She usually went by the name of Raven Silverfox, but to Ray, who was a good friend, she was Jennifer. Ray didn’t explain anything at first, just let Jennifer set out the cards, but as she did, Ray could tell this was going to be as blind an alley as every other one they’d gone down. He wasn’t an expert reader, but once the cards were out, he didn’t really need Jennifer to tell him that Egon’s reading was pretty much standard fare for a man in his profession. Many contacts with the spirit world, check, continued interpersonal conundrums with the secretary, check, more exploding experiments, check. Janine frowned about the ‘interpersonal conundrums with the secretary’ bit.

Ray asked, "So there’s nothing hiding in there anywhere about contacts with deities, demigods, or anything of that nature?"

Jennifer shook her head. "Not at all. Every now and again I do readings on you guys just in case I can track something big before it happens, but no, there’s nothing. This is a very normal reading for Egon."

Ray rubbed his head. After a moment, he explained in fairly good detail what had been going on, and Jennifer looked quite surprised. "I can try again I guess. It might be better to try something else though." So she did—Janine, Ray, and Jennifer spent a few more hours trying just about everything in the book, and several things not in the book, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. They even tried readings for the other three Ghostbusters, but that too came up with a great big nothing. The only reading that turned up anything interesting was for Slimer, of all creatures, and that only told them what they already knew: he was terrified and convinced of the arrival of a very evil ghost. Nothing could tease out any other reference to the evil ghost scaring Slimer; in fact from the gathered evidence and further readings it looked like he was making it up. By the time they were finished, it was quite dark.

"Man, it really is like it never happened!" Ray growled in frustration. "Nothing in the books, nothing on the meters, nothing here either!"

Jennifer said, "You know, if what you said really happened...if there is a god we don’t know about out there as powerful as you say, he could be mucking up my readings."

Ray’s face fell. "Maybe. But I’d think if there was, we’d catch it on our meters." He shuffled his feet a little and pulled out his PKE meter. "Sorry, but I was scanning, just in case there was something messing with your magic. But it doesn’t look like there was anything out of the ordinary."

"Oh. Well, don’t worry about it," Jennifer said. "Sensible precaution I suppose."

"Thanks for the help," Ray said.

"Anytime."

With that, Ray and Janine left Jennifer’s house, and climbed back into Janine’s car. "You know," she said, "I’m getting really tired hearing ‘nothing’."

"I am too," Ray agreed. "It’s obviously not nothing. And now I’m even more concerned. Something that can slip by science AND magic?"

Janine turned on the ignition. "Maybe it is psychological like you said. Something that hard science and magic can’t ferret out. Something just good old regular human interaction can find."

Ray sighed. Even to someone as exuberant as him, trying to figure out what was up and striking out in two of his specialties was a harsh blow. That if nothing else convinced him that whatever Reason was, it had nothing to do with Egon’s recent odd behavior, no matter what Egon himself said about it.

* * *

The bust involving the ambassador from Some Tiny Country Not Big Enough To Be On The Map had gone quite easily, mere routine, and afforded Winston and Peter no time to do any serious prying on Egon, nor even attend to the proper acquisition of lunch. In fact, it had taken such a short time that Peter, Winston, and Egon returned to the firehouse hours before Ray and Janine did, leaving them all with hopefully a little free time.

Winston volunteered to make lunch, thereby guaranteeing no Spengleresque culinary ‘delights’ nor something slapped together as fast as possible. Peter was too busy thinking to make anything worth eating right then.

So while Winston fixed up some subs, Peter and Egon watched the television. Carefully watching Egon out of the corner of his eye, Peter flipped through the TV Guide. "Oh, Ray’ll be disappointed," he said, in actual surprise, spotting a listing.

"Why?" Egon asked.

Peter held up the TV Guide and pointed to the listing. "Hell of a time to start it, before most kids are out of school, but there’s a Murray the Mantis marathon on right now." After a beat, Peter snatched the remote and changed the channel. "Well, hopefully he’ll get home in time to catch the tail end of it."

Egon gave Peter a sour look. "Any particular reason you want to watch it?"

Feigning innocence, Peter said, "I thought you liked Murray the Mantis. Just trying to be nice to my fellow colleagues."

"I have no desire to watch such childish entertainment," Egon replied, with a slight hint of real anger.

Peter arched an eyebrow and changed the channel to a game show. "Didn’t mean to make ya mad, Egon." This was not strictly true; Peter was actually trying to provoke his tall colleague, just a bit, to see how he would react. He was interested in how long Egon’s aggravating calm would last.

Apparently, it wasn’t destined to be for a great deal of time. Ruffled, Egon stated, "You need not offer anything like it again."

"Touchy, touchy," Peter mumbled, watching the game show.

"I am not touchy," Egon growled.

Peter tapped a finger against his knee. "You haven’t been having any odd dreams lately, have you?" he asked conversationally, albeit well off topic.

Frowning slightly, Egon stood up and said, "If you will excuse me, Doctor Venkman, I must use the facilities." With that, Egon stalked out of the room.

Looking at his fingernails, Peter said to himself, "There’s one reason not to practice on your friends. They can tell."

A moment later, Winston came in with a plate stacked full of hoagies. He set the plate down on the table and then sat himself in one of the ratty chairs. "Lunch is served," he said, grabbing a sandwich for himself.

"Thanks, man," Peter said quietly, reaching for a sub.

"What’s up?" Winston asked after he finished a bite.

Peter nibbled on his sandwich and said, "His Moodiness is too quick for me."

"You were trying to sneak in a head shrinking while he wasn’t looking?" Winston asked, mildly amused. "You know you can’t do that with any of us."

"Yeah, yeah. But I wanted to give it a try anyway...gotta see what’s got him in such a weird mood."

"Maybe you should wait until Ray and Janine come back. They mighta found something."

"Hopefully. He did say it was partly because of the things in the subway." Peter flicked the channel back to the cartoon marathon.

Winston groaned. "Why this?" He pointed at the TV with his sandwich.

"Ray would never forgive me if I didn’t give him a blow-by-blow. Besides, call it Venkman-style psychology."

"I don’t even wanna know."

Egon paced back and forth in the restroom, not having had any intention at all of coming there for the usual reasons. He knew Peter was trying to pry something out of him, and as the day had gone on, he found it harder and harder to contemplate telling him, or anyone, about what had happened the day before.

It did remind thee of things outside thy desire...

Egon hissed through his teeth, not feeling any strong wish to deal with Reason at the moment either.

I am right, though, aren’t I. Reason set a shadowy hand on Egon’s, a soft touch that felt to the man like a mockery of everything human contact should be.

He snatched his hand away, getting angrier by the moment. "Yes," he ground out. Peter’s bringing up the subject of children’s cartoons seemed to have inordinately upset the physicist. He was certain all three of his colleagues knew he hadn’t had the happiest childhood around, and he knew Peter had only brought it up so he could ferret out some kind of answer. Unfortunately, Egon had lied in the first place—the answer was all with Reason, and not with him.

Again he felt Reason’s touch, feather light. It seemed the dark god was in a gracious mood now, if the lack of an attack on Egon’s mind was any indication. Is it so much to ask for thy desires? Reason asked softly.

"It’s repulsive," Egon stated, quiet, but with heat. Still, he fingered the knife in his pocket. Contemplating a little blood loss to appease the dark creature was getting easier.

He felt the spirit near him shrug in resignation. If you, my son, doth not wish for my gifts, I will understand. I am not forcing the issue. The hand was withdrawn, and Egon felt Reason edge a hair’s breadth away.

Suddenly fear leapt up in the pit of Egon’s stomach. Although Reason had made no inner motion, not yet committed any violence upon him, Egon was afraid. It might. There was nothing stopping it, and he didn’t trust the spirit. "You don’t mean it. You are a liar." He braced himself for an assault that never came.

You wound me, son. I am no liar! When hath I lied to thee? All I have done is shown thee by signs that I am verily thy god. Were they lies, were those signs lies? Is it not you that hath lied?

Were they lies...violent demonstrations of power that gouged at his mind, were they lies? Egon leaned against the sink, the knife clasped hard in his hand, his eyes shut tight. The banishment on the rage, the shame, it was wearing off, but it didn’t feel as though Reason were taking it away. No, the feelings were surfacing naturally. He tried his best to ignore them, and he succeeded on his own somewhat. But the question posed remained, and so the feelings the question engendered would not be held back for long. It was right though; he had lied about Reason to his friends. Slowly, near whispering, Egon said, "You have demonstrated that your power is real. That wasn’t a lie. But that isn’t what I meant!" He didn’t answer the question regarding his own veracity.

Then what? If thou choosest to leave me, then I cannot lend thee my power for thy gifts. All that you know will occur will occur. But if that is thy wish, I will not force thee, though thou may thinkest I am forcing thee...

He wanted to shout at Reason that there was little difference between force and coercion, but he couldn’t. His hate for the creature was mounting, and he was beginning to feel the stranglehold of a trap he hadn’t quite realized was there. Without Reason, without reason, he felt helpless. Had he actually begun to accept Reason as his god, he wondered? Finally, the dark tide of emotion began to tug at him as it had before, and in a similar but stronger desperation to stave it off he chose Reason’s path, slashing at his arm with the knife several times. "Is this what you want?" he hissed quietly, standing still, trying to suck up the pain.

At first, he felt silence, then the utter calm. Everything was again sealed away, the hate was gone, and his mind was clear. He left the knife in the last cut for several minutes, the knife absorbing every drop.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then Egon felt dark arms, or wings perhaps, come around him, and Reason held him. Next time don’t wait so long, my son. Thou hast done more than what was needed in thy haste. He felt sick at the spirit’s touch, and he forced his way out of its clinging grip, reaching for the toilet. He half-imagined a faint laughing as he retched... He wondered if he weren’t hallucinating the chaotically lit black feathers dripping from his cuts...

Eventually he bound his arm and cleaned the tiled floor of any stray blood spatters, with no emotion at all but the weight of secret madness piling on him.

Winston finished off his sandwich and glanced over the couch. Suddenly a shiver ran down his spine. "Oo, creeps."

"What’s that?" Peter asked, still watching the cartoons.

"I dunno. Just got a quick case of the willies." In the profession of Ghostbusting, a case of the jitters was something at least to think about, even more so with the humans than with Slimer.

"Hold on, I’ll go get a meter," Peter said, getting up and wandering into the lab. Snatching up a PKE meter, he flicked it on and returned to the TV room. A quick scan provided nothing but Slimer’s residuals. "Not a thing."

"Guess it was nothin’ then."

Just then Egon came back into the room and sat down in his previous seat. Peter looked over at him, about to make some comment about how long he’d been gone, when he caught sight of something rather odd hanging off the cuff of his pink shirt. It was also a bit odd for Egon to wear his sleeves down instead of pushed up around his elbows, but it was cold out. "Uh, Spengs, you’ve been molting again, haven’t you?"

"Molting?" Egon asked quietly, looking at himself. It was true he had been turned into a werechicken once, but he hadn’t been one long enough to molt. He soon found the object in question, a small ebony feather stuck in the fabric of his shirt. Pulling it out, he said, "I suppose a bird must have become trapped in the restroom at one time." He handed the feather to Peter for his examination.

Peter took it and turned it over in his hand, then started absently running it along his cheek. "Feeling better now?"

"I’m fine," Egon replied with extraordinary calm. He set his feet on the coffee table and contentedly watched Murray the Mantis. "This is one of the better episodes. Ray will be sorry he missed it."

With mouth agape, Peter rounded on the blond physicist. "Egon Spengler, you tell me what is going on right this instant!"

Tranquilly, Egon turned towards Peter. "I’m not sure I follow?"

Winston picked up another sub and shook it at Egon. A bit of lettuce attempted an exodus. "I’ve never seen you so all-fired moody. Seriously man, we just want to help. If you got something bugging you, you know you can tell us, right?" After a moment, he added, "And you don’t look so good...you sick or something?"

"I know, Winston. And I may be catching something," Egon said, turning back to the television.

"No, oh no, you aren’t getting away that easy this time," Peter declared, tossing away the black feather. He stood and started walking out of the room, expecting Egon to follow. When he didn’t, Peter reached over and grabbed Egon’s arm. He let go quickly when Egon winced in pain and drew back. "Sorry, forgot that monstrosity of a chandelier got you yesterday." After a moment, he asked, "Never got it looked at though. I thought it was just a scratch...looks like it might have been deeper than that?"

Looking up, Egon stated, "It was not deep enough to warrant more concern than two butterfly bandages. It does hurt, however."

"Sorry about that. But I am serious. We need to talk, and we need to do it now."

Egon replied, "I have already told you what happened."

Peter rested his hands on the back of the couch, one on either side of Egon’s shoulders, and leaned down. "Yeah, but you never did quite say why. I’m a tad curious about Murray too, ya know. I hate confrontin’ you like this, but I wanna catch this quick before it gets any bigger than it already is."

Pushing up his glasses, Egon sat silently for a moment. Then, he began to speak with an unnatural calmness. "In regards to the cartoon, the initial cause of my discomfort was simply that I had never been allowed to indulge in such frivolity as a child. I used to draw pictures when I was very young, of animals and trees, I suppose it must have been the natural fare for normal children, but whenever my father saw them he would become quite disappointed and often raised his voice." The dispassion in his deep voice raised the hackles on Winston and Peter’s necks. Egon turned his serene countenance toward Dr. Venkman. "That is a perfectly natural reaction to the cartoon, I’m sure you would agree. I’m fine now."

Quite stupefied, Peter went over to Winston and hauled him out of the room instead. When Peter felt they were sufficiently out of earshot, he gaped, "Did you hear that?"

Winston answered with similar incredulity. "I dunno. Did you hear it?"

Raking his hand through his dark hair, Peter shook his head. "Now me and Egon have known each other for a long time, but I’ve never heard him talk like that about his childhood. Hell, he even once declared he’d never even been a child. I was trying to get a rise outta him with the cartoon, but that reaction is not normal, not for him, not for anyone."

"Like he was talkin’ about some character in a book or somethin’," Winston observed. "Dude can get detached sometimes, but like that? Gettin’ detached from yourself is pretty serious, isn’t it."

"Yes it is. And this is sudden." Peter tapped his foot for a moment, chewing a thumbnail, then looked Winston right in the eye. He started ticking off symptoms on his fingers. "We’ve got acute loss of cognitive ability, verbal aggression followed hard on the heels by passive-aggressive rationality, hypersensitivity, and now inappropriate affect."

Winston frowned. "Whassat mean?"

"It means reacting or feeling inappropriate emotions for a certain situation. Like thinking a funeral for a best friend is uproariously funny."

"Or talking about drawing pictures and gettin’ yelled at it as a kid like it was the weather."

"Yeah, that’s it exactly."

Winston nodded thoughtfully. "So what do you think’s goin’ on?"

Peter frowned and nibbled his bottom lip. "Feel like a round of Spengler-wrangling? I hate to think it, but I want to run some tests on him, CAT, PET, MRI, tap, whatever I can get my mitts on."

"Since when can you order tests like that?" Winston asked reasonably.

"Erm...since I’m a nurse practitioner?" Peter offered with a slight reddening of his cheeks. "I got a deal goin’ with a local psychiatrist; he lets me order whatever tests I want, and in exchange I get him loads of patients gleaned from our less stable-minded clients."

Winston just shook his head, wondering how Dr. Venkman had found the time to pick up any actual medical training while studying for two Ph.D.’s and running his underwear up a flagpole while still occupying them. "What do think is going on?"

Sighing heavily, Peter said, "Worst case...some organic damage. Some kinds of organic damage start up like flicking a light-switch. Best case, some sort of minor, sudden onset personality disorder. I’m personally...considering...schizophrenia."

Winston shuddered, but agreed to help.

As it turned out, there was no possible way to ‘Spengler-wrangle’ Egon into allowing any invasive tests such as Peter had mentioned. No one could force him to consent to the exams without bypassing his legal rights, of which he reminded them in the most aggravatingly rational and logical manner possible. He simply would not allow anyone to poke him nor prod him; his reminder that a lumbar puncture would have him potentially laid up for two or three days at least deterred Peter from any further serious contemplation of that test.

"At least let me do some simple tests, Egon," Peter pleaded.

"Do you mean the sort where you ask if I know who the President is?"

Peter waved a hand, "No, not those. Why can’t I just run one teensy-weensy little CAT? Pretty please? With Twinkies on top?"

"It would take too long. We don’t know when or if the powerful entities we encountered in the subway might become active. We should be preparing for them, not worrying about me."

Peter was nearly at the point of tearing his hair out. "Egon, we can’t be ready for that if we aren’t all up to full speed, provided those things will do anything at all. They haven’t yet, which I think is a very good sign. Ray and Janine will probably come home with a pile of research, and then we can worry about the sticks with wings. Right now, however, I have a friend that’s gone so far out on the Mood Swing he’s about to tip over the swing set."

Egon looked at Peter square in the face, cool blue eyes on worried green. "I’m fine, Peter. I don’t know how many ways I can say that and have you believe it."

Winston leaned over from his seat. "M’man, you ain’t fine. Did you forget what happened the day before yesterday? Do you know how you’re acting?"

"I didn’t forget," Egon replied with complete equanimity. "I told you what happened."

Exasperated, Peter kicked his feet in what almost looked like a child’s tantrum. "And here we are back to the same question. You said, ‘Mr. Winged Stick probably got me moody, but after that, it’s my own internal screw-ups that were the cause.’ Egon, that’s not an explanation any of us buys for a second!" Winston seconded the sentiment with a nod. "You said it yourself, and you still haven’t said why or how the pillars were involved, or what hang up had your gray matter fried! I need to know. We need to know. We need to figure this out and help you get past it, no matter if your skull is made of solid granite."

"I didn’t say the pillars were involved." Egon’s statement was not, technically, a lie.

Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose, growing increasingly frustrated with Egon’s stonewalling. "Yes you did," he said, as if it were the most blatantly obvious thing in the universe.

"I said one was involved, not both."

Before Peter could leap up and try to strangle some answers out of Egon, Winston asked curiously, "Which one was it? I only saw the white one."

"The one on the right, the one named Reason. It was luminescent in a rather peculiar manner, as if there were a mathematical pattern to it that was just out of reach."

Peter’s hands clenched. "I don’t suppose that was what got you so worked up, was it? You couldn’t figure out the pattern?" He was grasping at any straw he could find.

Egon shrugged. "Entirely possible."

Winston clamped a hand down on Peter’s shoulder before he actually did try strangling Egon. Winston understood the sentiment; the physicist was being unbelievably tight-lipped about the whole thing...especially after his bizarre admission about the cartoons. Peter frowned deeply. "You said you would talk about it."

So calm. Egon was so calm. "I said no such thing. I admitted the possibility, nothing more."

"What do you have to hide, Egon?" Peter asked, suddenly uneasy.

"I have nothing to hide." So calm. Not a flicker of deceit. A simple statement of fact.

Nevertheless, Winston Zeddemore and Peter Venkman felt the lie slip down their spines, chilling cold, as if it were verily a creature in its own right.

Until Ray and Janine returned, no one spoke another word. Winston was truly worried and Peter chewed a nail, suddenly taken up thinking about a dream he only half remembered.

This Knife is Full of My Fears

Tiredly, Ray and Janine stumbled out of Janine’s car, unhappy with how staggeringly little they had learned. Janine dropped her purse on her desk, then followed Ray upstairs. She felt she had at least some right and not a little personal interest in whatever Peter and Winston may have discovered about Egon’s odd behavior. Ray carried a bag of Del Taco food up the stairs, entering the kitchen to set it down on the table.

Janine went in search of whichever one of her employers she met first. She found Dr. Venkman sprawled out on the couch, staring almost petulantly at the news on the tube, while Mr. Zeddemore had his arms crossed and his head bowed deep in thought.

"Anything?" she asked cautiously, causing Peter to jump nearly out of his skin. He glared up at Janine, then frowned.

"Not a damned thing, unless you consider acting even wonkier than before ‘something’," he answered, no longer glaring. "Sorry."

Winston stirred from his contemplation. "Or if you think adding ‘baldest faced lie ever’ to the description is evidence." He looked morose.

"What do you mean? What happened?" Janine demanded.

Peter shrugged. "He started getting grouchy, left for a bit, and came back cool as can be. So cool, in fact, that he told us stuff like it was meaningless, stuff that I don’t think he’d tell another soul unless he was under the pain of death. Then he pulled his nerve-rattling literal trick."

"And he sat right there, looked us in the eye, and lied like a rug. And y’couldn’t even see it. Like he believed it himself," Winston added. "Gave me the creeps. We watched Murray the Mantis for a while, then he holed up in the lab." Fortunately, Ray was out of earshot at the mention of the cartoon.

Janine narrowed her eyes. "Egon’s not what I’d call a spectacular liar. Are you sure you didn’t miss something? He can be awfully serious lookin’."

"Not a chance," Peter muttered. "Thing is, we only know he’s lyin’ because of how weird he’s acting. He said he wasn’t hiding anything, and hell if it didn’t look like he was tellin’ the Gospel truth. But we know he wasn’t. And before you ask how, he told me things yesterday and the day before that definitely qualify as ‘hiding something’." He grumped to himself, "Use every evasive tactic in the book and then claim you aren’t hiding anything." After another long moment, he said, "I tried to talk to him a little while ago, but he just said ‘I don’t want to talk’ and shoved me out of the lab. Still as calm as ever, but he kicked me out and now the door’s locked. I’m seriously thinking he might have gone around the bend."

Just then, Ray walked in carrying burritos, tacos, and quesadillas, a look of general gloom on his face. Winston asked, "So how’d you guys do?" He suspected he already knew the answer.

Ray’s face fell even more. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a peep in any literature, and we went to a fortune-teller friend of mine...she did Tarot, cast runes, coins, checked the starcharts, hell, she might have cut up an animal if we’d asked her to, but the only thing odd that came up was for Slimer. Unless you count getting no odd readings as odd...." Ray suddenly furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute. After all that looking and not finding, I never stopped to consider that in this case, normal readings on all of us would be abnormal."

"What do you mean?" Winston asked, reaching for a burrito.

Peter snapped his fingers and brightened somewhat. "He means that all four of us had contact with three entities that class so high we can’t measure, but all the divination his friend used didn’t detect it. So unless we’re all going insane, that lack of evidence is evidence in itself." He paused. "But she picked up something for Slimer?"

Ray nodded, shaking the quesadilla slice he had bitten into. Around his bite, he said, "She picked up just what Slimer told us; that he was afraid of a very evil ghost. We might be dealing with something so powerful that it can conceal itself from every known method of detection!"

Winston nearly choked on a bit of tortilla. After taking a moment to recover, he said, "What could do that? And in any case, what does that have to do with the way Egon’s been acting? Or are we even on the same topic now?"

"Hold on, let me get him." Ray got up, then after a few paces, he said, "We’re not gonna talk to him about him—we’re gonna get his input on a potentially serious threat, OK?"

"Good call, Ray," Peter said, "Don’t wanna drive him off again."

"Right." Stantz left, and after a few minutes, returned with Spengler in tow. Apparently, his enthusiasm for such an unusual discovery was quite enough to get Egon out of his lab. He was beginning to look as if he needed to get out badly; his skin was slightly paler than Peter’s, something quite abnormal for the normally healthy reddish Ghostbuster.

Now with all four Ghostbusters and Janine sitting in the TV room, several munching on various forms of cheap Mexican food, Ray described the problem as he saw it. "All of us, with the exception of Janine, encountered two, probably three entities of enormous power three days ago. The first fried a PKE meter and nearly busted a second one when it was set to its lowest sensitivity. That one behaved as a trickster, had healing powers, and told us specifically that it didn’t want to be there, that it lead us there to escape, and that we should return when we realized our mistake. It also claimed to be a messenger and not a demigod. To Egon, this same entity told him to speak to the pillars and that it would tell us he was safe. We agree on that?" There were nods on all sides, while Janine listened with interest.

"OK," Ray went on, "then before we were allowed into the room, Egon was spoken to by one of two winged pillar entities; it said it’s name was Reason, and that it was a god. That’s what happened, right?"

Egon nodded. "The PKE reading was so high it destroyed the meter set to its lowest sensitivity before I had a chance to turn it off."

"Was that for one or both pillars?" Ray asked.

"There was no way to tell. The meter was destroyed far too quickly for me to ascertain if it had picked up one or two entities." He frowned as he said this, eyes narrowed, as if he should have been able to make that determination.

"All right. Then the rest of us were admitted, and exchanged our stories. We unanimously decided to go get out of Dodge and see what we could find out about the pillars before we got in too deep. I think it’s safe to assume we all had a strong reaction to being in the presence of the pillars." Ray was matter-of-fact, but his voice caught half way through the last sentence. There were nods of agreement all around.

"Don’t forget," Peter added, "‘Hey You’ gave us a ghost to catch, too."

"That’s right! It had power over lesser spirits, didn’t it," Ray agreed. "Anyway, after we got home, we did a PKE scan and picked up nothing. No residuals, and certainly nothing consistent with the arrival of entities of the magnitude we saw in the tunnel. Me and Janine went to research Reason and the winged pillars, and we also came up with nothing. There’s nothing anywhere about them. We even had a friend of mine do Tarots on all of us, and she didn’t pick up anything either. But...Egon, you said the pillar affected you the day after...and there weren’t any readings then either."

Egon nodded again, but he appeared none-to-happy about the discrepancy presented by a burned out meter on one hand, and nothing on the other.

Ray continued. "No PKE is really suspicious, but some entities do class out different than they appear, and just because it’s usual for entities that flash-fry our meters to be accompanied by huge PKE surges and spuds of all sizes, or dimensional rips, it doesn’t mean they always do. What got me suspicious just now was realizing that my friend’s magic didn’t pick up anything unusual."

"Raymond, if the entities left, there would be nothing for her to pick up," Egon stated. "Regardless, why would that be suspicious? Perhaps there was another force interfering or intentionally changing her Tarot."

"But I checked with a meter; there wasn’t anything there. And it’s suspicious because we did all encounter something powerful; she picked it up for Slimer but not for us. I think we may have stumbled on entities that can mask their PKE to the point where literally nothing can pick it up! Isn’t that exciting?"

Still, Egon argued. "Perhaps she did not pick up on it because it was three days old and any trace of them were gone. In any event, a Tarot reading won’t necessarily reveal something that had no effect on the person being read. Slimer hasn’t returned, so his situation is likely current."

Winston glanced over at the physicist and said, "But you said it did affect you pretty bad, homes," pressing the point.

"Then perhaps I was wrong," Egon snapped. "I cannot accept the existence of any ectoplasmic entity powerful enough to mask their PKE. Everything has PKE. There is nothing supernatural, natural, nor even paranatural that does not. Gods and powerful demons cannot hide their PKE; if creatures of that massive power cannot, then nothing can."

An odd expression passed over Peter’s face. "This isn’t the usual role I play, but what if Ray’s right? That sort of thing would go way beyond dangerous."

"‘Dangerous’ would not begin to describe it. It would have to be something that does not operate by the physical laws of the universe," Egon said slowly, almost growling. "Assuming some entity did possess that power, it would not be true masking; it would have to expend enormous energy to disperse the PKE to the point where it was below the normal ambient level in all places. I cannot imagine a creature capable of dispersing itself to that extent and still able to maintain a strong, visible presence in any one place."

Ray looked crestfallen. "But it’s the only thing that fits. I thought at least that you’d be interested in pursuing the idea...."

"Then you were mistaken. I am not interested in anything that can break the established laws of the universe," Egon stated harshly. "I may work on the very outer fringe of science, but it is still science." Then, after a moment, his expression and voice softened. "Perhaps the entities left with as little fanfare as they arrived. That would also be consistent with all of our findings."

"I suppose," Ray muttered softly, slumping in his seat. "I didn’t really think much of the idea myself at first."

Egon stood, and as he passed Ray on the way out, he said, "We could go back to the tunnel and find out if they left."

Peter nearly tripped over his tongue shouting. "No no no we don’t! ‘Hey You’ said no going back until we realized our mistake, and I ain’t goin’ against ‘im. Sorry, but I still think the feathered sticks are there and I don’t want to screw with them unless we have to."

"As you wish," Egon replied. Then he left, but when he did, the room seemed a little lighter than it had been. No one was really paying enough attention to notice, however.

Four people listened carefully for their tallest friend’s footfalls, waited until they were far enough away that they were certain they were out of earshot. Then Peter gave Ray an awed look. "I didn’t know you had it in you, Dr. Stantz!"

Ray sat up and rubbed his forehead. "I wasn’t entirely faking it, Peter. He did rather neatly shoot down the theory. He raised a lot of real objections to the idea of a PKE masking entity."

Janine frowned and twiddled with an earring. "Why would you be fakin’ anything, Ray?"

"I didn’t want him to get suspicious about the other reason I dragged him out here. Figuring out what’s eating him."

"Oh. Get anywhere? I’m not sure what to think yet."

Peter’s whole frame fell in defeat. "I think he’s gone off. My honest, professional opinion is that he needs professional help. Might be developing a pretty serious psychological condition...I just wish there was something I could do to help."

Winston scratched his head. "You don’t think Reason had anything to do with it now?"

"No," Peter said sullenly. "Wish I did, then I could pin all my worries on something I could fry."

"It is hard to believe," Ray said, "but I guess it’s possible he felt something a lot stronger than I did from it. Maybe that did it. Me, I feel kinda like I’d like to go back to the tunnel and just sit there in front of the white one for the rest of my life. It was like heaven on earth."

Janine blinked. "Was it that strong? I mean, those winged things made you feel stuff that strongly?"

Winston nodded. "Pretty powerful stuff."

"Then why couldn’t that be the problem?" Janine asked. "We all know how he is with anything touchy-feely," she said with an annoyed twist to her lips.

"I might agree with you Janine, heaven forbid," Peter responded, "if he hadn’t been perfectly normal the rest of that day. This isn’t like the time he fell off the Tower. He probably did feel something every bit as strongly as I did, but whatever it was, he dealt with it in his normal way and wasn’t worse off for it. Suddenly, and I mean light-switch suddenly, completely forgetting how to think is light-years away from gettin’ freaked out and staying up all night trying not to be scared."

"So what do we do?" Janine shouted, fidgeting nervously. "We gotta do something!"

Peter nodded. "I can’t practice on my friends...and I don’t know for sure it’s as bad as I think it is. I mean, he’s just been really moody after that first bit. I’ll try to get him in with a psychiatrist tomorrow. Otherwise...we play it cool."

"I dunno if I can, Dr. V." Janine punctuated the statement with a shiver.

The walls of this strange place seemed to rise forever, so high they blocked out the light of the sun. There was nothing, not even the thinnest tendril of light could penetrate the depth of this black hole. And he wasn’t alone in it either. Someone else stood near him, although he didn’t know who. The sense of presence was strong but not familiar.

"Who’s there?" he asked quietly.

"I am," said a thin voice, neither male nor female. "Now come from this place, let us go from these shadows out into the light."

"You call these shadows?" Peter asked, incredulous. But he followed the presence, picking his way after it through the utter dark. Soon, or was it forever? he didn’t know, but whenever it was, he stepped out of the dark into a place with clinical white walls. In the center of the room was a tall, white enameled box, closed on all sides but the front. In the front of the box stood two large, cold white cylindrical grinder blades, looking like nothing so much as gargantuan pencil sharpener parts.

Peter shuddered at the sight of the device, not caring at all to find out for what it was used. He looked over at the person standing next to him, who he assumed was the presence that led him here. The person looked like a tall man wearing a long white nightshirt adorned by white ribbon. His face was of a thinnish sort, not so thin as Egon’s, but of a similar angular cast. His eyes and hair were dark, of an indeterminate shade, not quite black, but not brown either. The man wore no expression, not even a glimmer in his eyes to betray his thoughts. Peter would have thought him hypnotized or even possessed, but he could see humanity in his gaze, if nothing else.

The man turned his not-brown eyes on Peter and said in his not-male voice, "It doesn’t bother me. It really doesn’t."

Peter frowned his lack of understanding and asked, "What do you mean?"

"It doesn’t even hurt. Is that not a good thing?" was all the man said in response. Peter continued to look at him, still confused. Then the man walked to the box and stood in front of it. The blades began spinning with a quiet hiss, a faint vibration that Peter could feel in the soles of his feet.

As if from no where, an urgency he had rarely experienced came over him and he began to shiver. Something was about to happen, something inevitable, unavoidable, something permanent that could never be reversed, something final, something Peter wanted to stop at all costs. Just as he lunged toward the man in the white ribboned shirt, the man fell back into the spinning cylinders on the box. His body was not torn nor destroyed in a gory mess as one might expect, yet he was devoured by the blades, quickly and cleanly, so fast that the man seemed to melt into them. His expression did not change, never varied from the resigned mask even as his face melted away.

Peter cried out, still moving toward him, an arm outstretched to grab the man before he fell, but he failed. His hand still extended, he managed to touch the man’s face before it too fled in death. Momentum carried him forward, bringing his body to within an inch of the box with its clean whirring blades. He did not fall in, but he hardly noticed it. The man was gone...it felt like something had been snatched out of his very soul and destroyed as easily as smoke before the wind. He was gone. Forever.

The thought dominated him for some time. He backed up a space and lowered his arm. It took several minutes before he realized something of him really was missing... Peter looked down at the arm he had extended to rescue the man, only to find it ended just above his elbow. His hand was gone. His arm had been devoured, melted away, painlessly, but permanently. The finality of it struck Peter so hard his legs buckled under him and he fell.

The man was gone. His arm was gone. And the blades continued to spin, spotless, uncaring, blindly, ready to destroy with the efficiency of the soulless.

Peter lay there, spirit crushed by the finality, the inexorable finality, of what had just occurred.

Some minutes passed, then the room flickered and changed. No longer the clinical white, it was now a shade warmer. It was as if a soul had been breathed into the room. For an instant, Peter saw over his head the face of a white bull and white feathers. Then a voice spoke from the walls, whispering in his mind.

There must be a fight...help him to fight.

"Who? He’s gone, forever. He’s gone," Peter replied, his voice empty.

There is one Inevitable, but be not deceived; what you have seen is not it.

With a start, Peter sat up in his bed, breathing hard. He was still for several minutes, almost afraid that if he moved, the bedroom would disappear like smoke, only to be replaced by the white room in his nightmare. All at once, he shuddered hard, the fearful heaviness of his dream falling on him.

He untangled his legs from his covers and wandered into the bathroom. A little splash of cold water on his face woke him up enough to escape most of the nightmarish feeling. That and seeing his arm intact.

Deciding there was no way he was going back to sleep that night, he wandered into the TV room and flicked on the tube. It hissed quietly, the static reminding him of the whir of tall blades. He shivered again and turned the TV off. He rubbed his face for a moment and decided that maybe snitching Ray’s pocket game would help. Fortunately, it was sitting on the end table. He picked it up and flipped it on, prepared to fill lines playing Tetris.

Playing helped some, but mindlessly dumping blocks on a tiny LCD screen was not enough to banish fully the weight of finality that lay on Peter like a thick fog. Who ever it was, he was gone forever.

The light of dawn crept through the window shades, and Peter continued to think of finality and the inevitable, wondering what it was that the white bull was trying to say to him. Eventually he drifted off, determined to do whatever he could when he awoke to forget that nightmare.

Dr. Venkman didn’t notice when with silent steps Egon slipped out of the shared bedroom and into his lab. He hadn’t slept at all that night, despite having used Reason’s gift to him twice. Something refused to be silenced in the back of his mind, and he had chewed on it for hours. Finally, he had enough and entered his lab, intending to lose himself in some project.

But such was not to be.

What is it, my child?

Egon remained silent. Reason already knew. Why shouldn’t the creature be aware of his discomfort? He had lied through his teeth to Ray that night, lied to them all...and he dared call Reason a liar? He already knew Ray’s theory was right, even as every objection he had raised was true. Egon was personally involved with an entity that transcended physical laws. There was no way to scientifically read Reason’s PKE, but Reason was there. Egon suspected that Reason had fouled up the Tarot readings.

The repercussions of such a thing, however, were more than he could accept. Reason transcended the universe. It meant that Reason was precisely what it said it was...a god.

No, child, it means I AM God.

And this did not startle Egon. He glanced around the lab, looking with hooded eyes for Reason. "You can’t be," he said half-heartedly.

But I can, and I am. Of course, it does trouble me that so many are deluded...

Dr. Spengler drew out his knife. He turned it over in his hands, and then, in a moment, realizing that all was lost anyway, he chose to find an escape. He wandered to the night-darkened windows and pulled the shades, then sat down in his usual position in the lab.

"There is nothing to lose," he whispered, not even wincing at the bite of the razor-edged blade.

Nothing to lose...? For once, Reason sounded confused.

"Nothing to lose. I do not believe in you. I will escape you. There is nothing to lose, and much to gain."

And he meant it. Eventually his friends would discover his lies, unearth this darkest of secrets; he had already spoken of his drawings, that seeming-ancient pain that he no longer felt. He had already laid himself bare to Peter and Janine...there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t do the same soon for everything else. It was with a clarity of mind that he oddly hadn’t felt for days, this one, simple truth—he had to escape before he had given everything away; this is what he would gain, even if the gain added one more lie to his charge. Reason could not force anything else from him this way...even if the creature took his mind away, he knew that he would still want to escape more than anything; this is why he had nothing to lose.

The knife drank quite slowly, and Egon rested his head on his arms, waiting, while Reason raged.

Reason did indeed rage...made good on its threats, removed every supernatural block on his emotions, took his mind from him, but nothing moved Egon nor budged his hand from the knife, not for hours. Indeed, the tumult merely strengthened his resolve when it left him able to be resolved, and when he could not, he instinctively ran toward his chosen escape.

And then Reason stopped. Reason returned everything to the way it had been these last days for Egon, who was adamant to escape...but that didn’t mean Reason was without resource. The Ghostbusters were not on the premises, all having left for errands, but Janine was. Darkness seeped out from under the door, down the stairs, and into the air—Reason would draw her here and stop this pointless escape attempt...

Reason wasn’t ready to own its prey just yet.

* * *

Janine drummed her finely manicured fingernails on her desk. She never felt this uneasy. Her stomach was tied up into tiny knots and her whole body was restless and cold. Try as she might she just couldn’t get comfortable. She shifted her position for what must have been the nine hundredth time. She flicked some stray red hairs out of her face and adjusted her green-rimmed glasses. She tapped a foot. Then the other foot. She raked her fingers through her longish hair; the act would have completely set her style in disarray if it hadn’t already been totally messed up. She chewed the side of her lip for a nervous moment, then finally made a small, anxiety-filled noise.

She stood and paced back and forth, fiddling with her bangle bracelet. What could possibly be making her so nervous? Was it some psychic premonition of the end of the world? Maybe, she thought ruefully, it wasn’t as if that had never happened before. She’d seen the end of the world so many times it was old hat now. She bounced nervously on her toes for another long moment. Most of the guys were out doing whatever this morning; Winston was shopping for parts to repair some-such on Ecto-1, Ray was blowing a wad on comics again, Peter was making a doughnut run for Winston and himself, and Slimer (oy, did she really feel nervous enough to want Slimer’s company?) hadn’t been seen for days. Egon was on the premises, but he was in his lab, which was almost the same thing as being on a whole other planet. "AAAGGGHH!!" she shouted at the empty garage, "Why am I so nervous?!"

It was worse than the time Josh Silverberg had asked her to their junior prom. She had been on pins and needles then, but her nervousness at that time lacked the deep sense of dread she felt now. She swore the world was about to end. Again. "OK, calm down Melnitz, you’re gonna hyperventilate," she said to herself as she sat down at her desk and set her head in her hands. Her stomach just tightened up a notch. She stood up again and wandered up the stairs to Egon’s lab, unwilling to be alone with her jangling nerves any longer. He may be on Planet X mentally, but at least there would be a warm body in the room.

She knocked on the door, intending that it be soft, but her fidgety state made it a lot louder. She waited for what felt like forever for a response. It was really only a few seconds, but Janine was in no state to count. When no answer came from within, she opened the door as carefully as her shaking hand would allow and stepped inside. The lights were out. That was strange. It was early enough in the morning for that side of the firehouse to get little light, but Egon usually had all kinds of lights on so he could see his work better. But the lab with the curtains pulled as they were admitted very little illumination. In the very dim light that filtered through the cloth curtain, Janine saw Egon sleeping with his head and arms on his desk. His face was turned toward her; something about his expression didn’t click. All the anxiety she had felt up to then came on her full force; something wasn’t right with this picture. Certainly, Egon had been having some trouble this week, but this was different. She stepped weakly over to him and looked at him more closely. Maybe it was the light, but she thought he looked far too pale, even paler than he had the night before. His face was drawn, etched with a dull pain that spoke more to despair than anything else. Very lightly, she touched his cheek, unsure if she should leave him be or not. He felt strangely cool to her.

With a very slight movement and soft intake of breath, Egon stirred and opened his eyes a slit. He looked at Janine, almost without expression. She returned the look, but with a great deal of concern. He didn’t look good at all. "Whatsa matter, Egon?" she asked quietly, watching him carefully.

Egon looked away, closing his eyes and making no sound. After a prolonged silence, he moved his hands slightly, enough to expose what he held in his hand. "I...didn’t...," he breathed, far too quietly to be called a whisper. "Escape...." For an instant, Janine wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Then she looked at his hands.

What she saw turned her blood to ice.

One hand was empty; the other limply held a small pocketknife...the blade rested against his arm, dislodged from the long cut it had made in his wrist. The slit oozed blood. "Wasn’t...for...that... Not to...die."

Janine stood frozen in place, in such a state of shock that she couldn’t think. It took a full minute for her to recover her wits enough to stumble to the telephone and pick up the receiver. Her mind suddenly rushed out of its deadlock and began racing too fast for her to keep up. She tried three times before her numb and shaking fingers would obey and dial 911.

The only thing that she could recall after that was putting the knife in her pocket after the paramedics arrived and thinking over and over and over, He did it to himself, he did it to himself.

His knife, his hands, his blood.

He did this to himself.

And the horror of it was more than she could bear.

"Peter, stop eating the doughnuts!" Ray exclaimed for the third time that trip.

The aforementioned Doctor Venkman looked up from the pink box full of pastries sitting on his lap. A doughnut was in one hand, while the other sat poised over the container like a bird of prey. He blinked once. "Stop harassing me! Winston won’t care!" he protested around a mouthful of old fashioned.

"Of course he will! He paid for ‘em, he ought to get his pick," Dr. Stantz replied as he drove the Ecto-1 back to the Firehouse. His stack of comic books sat precariously on the seat between the two.

"I had to get them," Peter complained.

The younger Ghostbuster rolled his eyes. "I drove. It’s not like you had to do any work...."

"Sure I did. Besides, I know he won’t mind if I eat this chocolate sprinkled cake...he’s a kind and gentle soul...."

"He didn’t give you the money, did he?" Ray asked, voice full of suspicion.

Peter started and stared at the man next to him. His surprised expression was rendered comical by the bite of doughnut stretching his cheek to the point that he looked just like a squirrel storing nuts. "Just what are you insinuating?" he asked in his best ‘innocent-falsely-accused’ tone.

Ray just laughed. "You better save some of those for Winston and be prepared to hide when he finds out you stole his money."

"I didn’t steal it. I was gonna give it back...later...," Peter pouted. Just as he finished saying that, Ray was forced to stop Ecto-1 short because of unexpected traffic, causing all of his comic books to fly off the seat. Peter made an instinctive grab for them, but only managed to save one from certain bent pages as the rest crashed to the floor. He held it aloft triumphantly. A second later and traffic began moving again, albeit slowly.

"Pe-ter...!" Ray groaned as he saw the glaze fingerprints Peter had inflicted on the pristine cover of his Captain Steel Annual. After that brief second of self-indulgence, Ray looked out the front window to see what had caused the sudden spat of traffic. "Oh no," he breathed when he saw the paramedics parked a way down the street, right in front of the Firehouse. A couple of cop cars were also there; apparently, lookie-loos had caused the slow-down.

"It’s just a comic book, Ray. No need to get maudlin about it," Peter said. Ecto-1 came to a stop a second time.

Ray shot the psychologist an irritated glance, but it lacked heat. Then he pointed forward, toward the ambulance. Peter’s gaze followed the line made by Ray’s index finger. His face lost all its color and he quickly opened the car door, not caring that he upset the doughnut box, spilling its contents on the floor. Ray followed suit, and both sprinted down the block to the Firehouse.

As he approached the ambulance, Peter felt a sudden and bone-deep dread wash over him, slowing his gait to a walk and nearly freezing his heart to the point of stopping. One glance at his companion confirmed that Ray felt it too. In fact, Ray had stopped, frozen in place, white as a sheet. Peter looked back at the scene before him and with a supreme effort of will, forced his shuddering legs to continue running. He hoped against hope that nothing had happened to Egon or Janine. He had never felt such a profound sense of evil in his life. No mean feat for a man who dealt with demons on a regular basis.

He reached the Firehouse and the ambulance in front of it in time to see a small group of paramedics lifting a stretcher into the back of the vehicle. He swung around behind the ambulance, trying to see who was on it. A paramedic was blocking his view, so Peter rudely shoved the woman away. Any faint hope he had for the safety of his friends was utterly dashed. They were carrying Egon away.

"What’s wrong with him?" Peter demanded as Ray came to his side. Ray would have asked the same, but the stillness of his friend’s face had silenced him.

"He lost a lot of blood," the paramedic Peter had pushed answered politely as she helped the others finish loading their patient into the vehicle.

"Hell if I know where it went," another man added. "Sure wasn’t where ya’d expect it ta be. Strangest thing I ever saw."

"Wh, what? How?" Ray asked, shocked.

"Looks like a suicide attempt," the man said, almost lightly, as he jumped into the back of the ambulance. "Don’t worry, he’ll be all right."

Peter wanted to reach out and strangle the man for his cavalier tone, but the chill that slowed him before returned in full force. So he said nothing, just stood there and watched them take his friend. The paramedics shut the door and the ambulance pulled away. Both Peter and Ray turned to the garage entrance and walked toward it in a stunned, oppressed silence.

Janine was standing in the doorway; the same strange coldness that Peter felt seemed to be holding her as well. The two Ghostbusters stopped in front of the redhead and all three of them stood there without making a sound for several minutes. Then, as suddenly as the evil atmosphere had come, it lifted away. Janine was the first to recover; a mixture of rising ire and fear replaced the white shock on her face.

She turned a heated glare on Peter. "You," she growled, raising a finger and pointing it like a dagger at his face, "You shoulda known. Mister high-and-mighty psychologist, you shoulda seen this coming! You shoulda done something!" Her voice cracked, and a sudden rush of tears streaked down her face. "Why didn’t you do something?!"

Peter took a step back, shaking his head. "What did he do?"

Janine grabbed her wrist and shook it in his face. "He slit his wrist! He said it wasn’t trying to ki-kill himself, but! You shoulda seen it coming Doctor Venkman!" She grimaced and choked back a sob. Her voice was broken as she spoke. She shook her arm again; her hands were clenched into white fists. "He was...I saw it; his arms! There were cuts all over his arms, Peter...."

Cuts on his arms? Had Egon really done something like that to himself? Peter was at a total loss. He knew Egon had been having a tough time lately, but he had not even in his darkest dreams thought it was as bad as that. He had at worst considered that Egon may have fallen prey to schizophrenia, but this thing, the monstrosity Janine had declared, felt too soon. Too soon, too fast.

Ray stumbled to Janine’s desk, sitting shakily in her chair. "How? How could...?"

Peter hissed through his teeth and raked a hand through his hair. "Janine...this...this might seem like an awful thing to ask...but how old were they? What did the cuts look like?"

Still shaking, she answered, "All but one was bandaged, not old...just the last...last...they...not fresh, just that one...that one...."

Finally the visceral shock of what he’d seen and what Janine described caught up to him, and Peter swayed and crumpled to the floor. Janine was in no condition even to attempt to catch him. "This was too fast," he declared heatedly. "It was too damn fast!" He couldn’t make himself believe it. He just couldn’t do it.

Just then, Winston drove up in a cab and stepped out, carrying an armload of car parts. He walked in and set the parts down, noting with concern the condition of his friends. He rushed over to the three and asked, "What happened? What’s wrong?"

Peter was the first to speak, and his voice held a note of irrationality that scared Winston. "It was too fast! I knew something was wrong, but it was too fast!"

"What was too fast, Pete?"

Peter just pointed out the open Firehouse door. Winston looked at the others for answers.

Ray spoke. "He attempted suicide."

At the same instant that Winston shouted, "WHAT?!", Janine heatedly declared, "He did not!"

"But that’s what the paramedics said," Ray said limply.

"That’s not what he said! He said it wasn’t for that!" Janine roared.

Confused, Ray looked up at Janine. "Then...why?"

"I don’t know!" Janine snapped back, shivering. She stared back at Peter. "You should have known!"

Peter wracked his stunned mind for a reason, any reason. "There was no way to know! Some psychosis, had to be, but it was too fast! How could I have known?"

Winston shuddered and sighed. "Why don’t we go see? Maybe they’ll let us in."

"I doubt it," Peter muttered. "Not so soon. Maybe later." He explained to Winston what he and Ray had seen coming to the firehouse, as well as what Janine reported.

Scratching the back of his bowed head, Winston said, "Then we got some clean-up to do, unpleasant as that sounds. And I think we should sweep the place for unusual PKE."

If only to provide themselves with a distraction, the rest agreed. Ray and Peter rounded up some PKE meters and started a floor-by-floor exam. Janine made herself busy with paperwork, but soon couldn’t stand to be there anymore and left for the day. She had a lot of nervous energy to work off and staying in the firehouse wasn’t helping any. Winston took the worst job for himself...clean-up duty.

He cautiously entered the lab, opening the shades and turning on the lights. He narrowed his dark brown eyes and frowned at what he saw—or rather, what he didn’t see. The lab was remarkably clean for someone to have attempted suicide by slitting his wrist in there. A few droplets of blood smeared the desk nearest the door, but that was hardly a life-threatening amount; Winston had lost more from the poltergeist attack. Still, Winston took a cloth and wiped them up, then sprayed the desk and cleaned it. He picked up a nearby meter and took a few readings. Oddly, there was something, but it was very faint. He would have to take the readings back to Ray to see what they meant. In the meantime, he followed the tiny blip to another desk in the lab. Running the meter over the desk, he noted that the antennae lifted ever so slightly when he passed it over a drawer, so he opened it. Inside was a small, flat stone that vaguely resembled a whetstone. He pulled it out and examined it. It couldn’t be a real whetstone, well, at least not a good one; it wasn’t made of the right material. Still, it was giving off a faint reading, so he pocketed it and left the room.

* * *

I hate you, little worm. My fury burns...and I will burn you with it, you worthless piece of trash, you waste of flesh... It giggled insanely, filling his mind with its hopeless and vile humor. ...Oh, how could you ever have thought you possessed more of a mind than any crawling thing that gorges itself on the vomit of beasts? What a useless little thing; you wouldn’t even make a good pet for the least of the creatures I own. It laughed again, its voice cutting him like a thousand jagged shards of glass. Maybe I will keep you as a pet...you’ve amused me so far with your vain struggling...You could dance for me...

Egon cringed, an entirely useless gesture. The thing in his head giggled again, and he felt its dagger-like claws pierce his already tormented heart; its maddening laughter just increased when he squirmed in pain. All he wanted in the entire world was to escape this thing, this monster that called itself a god. No one understood...no one would let him escape...all the damn doctors wanted was to keep him alive and in Reason’s crazed fists. They wouldn’t let him go.

For what might have been the hundredth time, the physicist weakly tried to wriggle his hands free from the soft restraints so he could yank that thing out of his arm. He didn’t want more blood. More for me... the monster whispered. Reason started laughing again. Then the entity settled down and whispered to Egon, I’m sorry, my child...I’m just so angry. How could you dare try to leave me like that? It hurts me...you rejected me...and have I not given you so much? Was the price so much to ask?

Such fear and loathing as Egon had rarely experienced threatened to drown him. He was such a weak and pitiful thing. Was the price so high? Reason had blackmailed him so easily...had it given him anything in return? Oh, it had, in spades. Everything he wanted in his worthless heart was exactly what Reason gave him.

See? Why do you pay me back with such ungratefulness?

I don’t know, I don’t know... He tried again to wriggle his hands free, but he was too weak to do anything. Less than a week and he had been torn in so many pieces he didn’t know how to begin to put himself together again, or even if it could be done. Where had he lost his way? Where had his vaunted rationality been when Reason whispered nine kinds of lies in his ears, not one jibing with the other? He should have known...

Reason laughed again, stinging black knives of sound. Never had any without me! it giggled hysterically. No knowledge without Reason! The dark god sat and grabbed fistfuls of memories and tattered emotions, tossing them in the air like a child playing in a stack of raked leaves.

Egon actually saw flickering bits of ebony cloth crawling with a thousand colors of chaos float down around him. Gone mad...must have gone insane...if not now, then soon. He looked forward to it.

Not yet, my son. Reason hasn’t abandoned thee yet. Its voice was calm, quiet, maybe intending to be comforting. Feather hands of shadows caressed his arms.

"LET ME GO! DON’T TOUCH ME!"

This outburst, the last words the scientist would speak for a long while, brought the attention of an attending nurse. He quickly injected a small amount of sedative into the IV, and Egon drowsed swiftly. Just as he fell asleep, Reason hissed, Soon I will let thee go...

* * *

A few hours later, the three Ghostbusters finished casing the firehouse, top to bottom. They met up in the kitchen where Peter went about preparing three Cup O’ Noodles for lunch. While they waited for the noodles to cook, Winston handed his PKE meter to Ray.

"What do you make of that?" he asked, pointing out the blip.

Ray furrowed his brows and tapped his lips. "It’s so faint it doesn’t even rate a class. You said you found something by following this trace?"

"Yeah." Winston pulled the rectangular stone from his pocket and set it on the table. The three meters also on the table reacted to it with the faintest twitch of their antennae.

Peter carried over the noodles and set a cup in front of Ray and Winston, then sat down with his own. "Might make a nice skipping stone."

Winston opened his noodles, then realized he didn’t have a fork. He retrieved three from a drawer, passed them out, and then started in on the noodles. After a bite, he said, "Kinda looks like a whetstone to me, but a really cheap one. It’d sharpen a blade, but eventually it would gouge the edge and ruin it."

Ray continued tapping his lip. "Anyone here dumb enough to use a whetstone like this?"

Four eyes traveled to Peter. Mouth full of noodles, he protested, "It’s not mine! I’ve never seen it before. I still think it’s a skipping stone. ‘Sides, I know how to hone a knife properly."

"Well, whatever it is," Ray stated, "it’s giving off faint readings. Probably residuals."

"So what does that mean?" Peter asked. "Slimer think it was a candy bar or something?"

Ray shrugged, slurping up some noodles. "Nah. Our meters are already calibrated to ignore Slimer’s residuals. If they weren’t, we could never get a proper reading here. The readings are really too faint to tell. It might have just been near something really hot for a while and picked up some PKE from that. I don’t think there’s anything significant about it."

"So why’s it here, then?" Winston asked.

Dr. Stantz shrugged again. "Maybe one of us picked it up and forgot about it?"

Peter pointed his fork at the other two. "Forget the funny rock. Anyone else pick up anything?"

"Not me," Ray answered.

Winston sighed, slumping his broad shoulders. "Only other thing I picked up were a few drops of blood in the lab. Just a few, mind. Not what I expected."

Peter made a face. "That’s what the paramedic said."

"That’s...awfully strange," Ray commented, scratching his hair. "Where’d it go?"

After a moment, Peter’s expression turned fierce. "Not gonna think about it. Not gonna discuss it." He made his point vehemently clear by stabbing at the air with his fork. "End of story." Then he stormed out of the kitchen.

Ray looked after Peter and asked, "I wonder wh...um...never mind." His face lost a good deal of color.

"Probably a good idea," Winston said softly, pushing his half-eaten noodles away, appetite lost.

For most of the afternoon, the three Ghostbusters occupied themselves with chores that needed to be done around the firehouse. Winston and Ray absorbed themselves with tuning up Ecto-1; both buried under the hood. Peter, in an unusual although not unexpected spate of work, cleaned the firehouse so thoroughly it was as if he were giving it a spit-shine.

All three worked for about two hours when, unexpectedly, Slimer returned. He hovered over Winston and Ray, unnoticed for several minutes until a small drop of cold ectoplasm splatted on Ray’s neck. Ray yelped and shot up, hitting his head on the hood of Ecto-1 and accidentally unlatching it. The hood crashed down on the two, going right through Slimer. Ecto-1’s engine compartment spouted curses as Winston and Ray struggled to lift the heavy hood off themselves.

Finally, with a concerted effort, the two escaped the clutches of Ecto-1 and stood, rubbing their legs and back where the hood had hit. "Yeow, Ray!" Winston stated, casting an accusing stare at his shorter friend.

"S’not my fault. Someone startled me and dropped ice on my neck," Ray protested. The two looked around for Peter, automatically assuming he would play such a prank, but he was no where to be seen.

Winston shook his head and turned back to Ecto-1, spotting the round slick of green ectoplasm on the hood. He looked up from there, finally catching the culprit. "Slimer? When did you get back?"

Ray spun around and looked up. "Slimer!" he exclaimed.

For his part, Slimer just floated there, looking downcast, but not fearful as he had been when he left days ago.

"What’s wrong?" Ray asked cautiously.

"Bad ghost gone," Slimer muttered unenthusiastically.

Winston scratched his black hair. "That’s a good thing, though, right?" It was somewhat confusing, since so far, no one had tracked down Slimer’s bad ghost.

Slimer shrugged and moped. "No bad ghost here."

"You mean it’s somewhere else?" Ray asked.

The green ghost nodded, then started floating slowly up the stairs. Winston thought for a moment then followed Slimer up, leading him to the kitchen where the odd whetstone still lay. "Slimer, what do you think of this?" he asked, holding up the stone.

Slimer floated near it, then sniffed at it. His yellow eyes went wide and he spared no ounce of speed as he shot out the door and eventually out a window.

Eyebrows furrowed, Winston returned to the garage and reported Slimer’s reaction.

"I guess there must be a connection with that and the ‘bad ghost’," Ray commented after a moment’s consideration. "Maybe there are some residuals Slimer can sense but our meters can’t? After all, we sorta invented the science of ghost detection. There’s surely a lot we haven’t even considered yet!"

"Yeah, maybe," Winston replied. "You think we should keep it?"

Ray bobbed his head. "We’ll need to study it, y’know."

Just then, the phone rang. Winston walked over to Janine’s desk and picked it up. "Ghostbusters, what can we do for you?" After a few moments listening to the person on the other end, Winston’s face turned ashen, and he said, "Yeah, we’ll be right over." He set the receiver down with exaggerated gentleness and turned to Ray. "That was the hospital. They want us to come down and fill ‘em in on what’s been going on."

"So he’s all right?" Ray asked hopefully.

Shaking his head, Winston answered, "He’s still alive, if that’s what you mean."

Subdued, the shorter man asked, "Should we call Janine?"

Winston nodded. "She saw some stuff we didn’t...I’ll call her, you go get Pete."

Ray slumped and went searching for Peter.

It took quite a while at the hospital to discuss everything that the psychiatrist on staff, one Dr. Ramirez, wanted to know. The three Ghostbusters and Janine went into as much detail as they could concerning Egon’s recent odd behavior. While it was apparent the psychiatrist didn’t believe any of the supernatural parts, he did press for very specific details in many cases. Eventually, Dr. Ramirez and Dr. Venkman got to discussing Egon’s troubles using jargon deep and esoteric enough that Ray, Winston, and Janine were lost three sentences in. If the issue hadn’t been so serious or personal, Janine at least would have razzed Peter about the dense psychobabble. Just as bad as technobabble, as far as she could tell.

After what felt like hours of questioning, Dr. Ramirez sat back and said, "So far, I have to agree with Dr. Venkman’s preliminary conclusions. Dr. Spengler is most likely suffering from atypical presentation schizophrenia. Earlier he was quite agitated and experiencing some hallucinations. Now he has simply stopped talking. Actually, he’s stopped doing much of anything, including react to the presence of nurses. Quite calm, in fact, although he appears confused. We’ve moved him to the psychiatric wing for observation. We won’t start any medical treatment for now..."

"Damned straight," Winston muttered under his breath, but if the doctor heard him, he didn’t react.

"...But we’ll do what we can if he becomes agitated again. Physically, he’s relatively healthy, but fatigued, more so than would be expected." Dr. Ramirez paused, took in the expressions on the faces of those present, he added, "I don’t believe it would be in his best interests to have visitors at this time."

The four present made every effort not to dash out of the room and find Egon. Dr. Ramirez was probably right, in any event; it was too soon for visitors. Before they left, Peter tapped a finger on the desk and asked carefully, "You said he was healthy, I mean, pretty much...he wasn’t...nauseous, didn’t get sick or anything?"

"No, not at all. Just to be on the safe side, we did examine the contents of his stomach; he didn’t ingest any drugs in his suicide attempt."

Janine shot out of her seat, but Winston and Ray wrestled her down before she could make any attempts on the life of Dr. Ramirez. They had already discussed Janine’s insistence that it was not a suicide attempt, and the psychiatrist explained that she might be right, that it was a result of the characteristic illogical thinking of someone with severe schizophrenia. But he was still going to call what appeared to be a spade a spade.

While the two other Ghostbusters tried to calm Janine, Dr. Venkman said, with relief and a faint strain of confusion, "Thanks doc. C’mon guys, let’s go. We’ll come back tomorrow." Peter grabbed Winston and Ray by the collars of their shirts and dragged them out of the room. And because the two had a hold on Janine already, she was dragged out as well.

In the hospital lobby, Peter scratched his head so hard he made his hair stand on end. "Winston, are you certain you didn’t pick up any PKE in the lab? I mean, outside of the skipping stone."

"Yeah, Pete, I’m positive. Why do you ask?"

Peter pulled his coat tighter around him, although the room was warm. "And are you sure you just picked up a few drops of blood?"

"Peter," Winston declared, "I wouldn’t lie about something like that."

"Well," Peter said, "I didn’t want to think about it at the time, and you guys are smart, I think you figured out why...but...I gotta know! Where did it all go?"

"It wasn’t in his clothes," Janine offered quietly.

"Then where? Where is all that blood?" Peter pulled a bit more at his brown hair. "It doesn’t make any sense! Nothing supernatural and nothing natural took it, but it’s gone."

Ray frowned and narrowed his hazel eyes, thinking. "Maybe there is a PKE masking entity. I know Egon shot the theory full of holes...but we are deeply involved in a science that’s still in its diapers. People shot all our original theories full of holes, but here we are." Ray finished with a shrug.

Winston rubbed his dark forehead. "Y’know, guys, I think we should go. This place is givin’ me the creeps. ‘Sides, we need to call his folks and then we need to sleep."

Janine shivered a little. "It is creepy here, and Winston’s right. But damn it all to hell, I hate the idea of calling his parents. His mom’ll freak and I don’t even want to think about what his dad’ll do."

Peter’s eyes glittered angrily and he sneered. "He’ll think Egon just finished his trip, that’s all. From what I hear, jerk thinks Egon’s off his rocker as it is. This’ll just confirm it."

Winston started for the exit. "We still owe it to them to tell ‘em."

"Fine, but you call. I’m not up to it," Peter snapped, following.

"All right, man, I’ll do it. After that, we’re gonna sleep on this. None of us are in any condition to think up some brilliant reason for all the weirdness that’s been goin’ on, although I got this gut feeling the reason is sitting under our noses. Wait...the reason...?"

"You aren’t thinking it was Reason, Winston? We already pretty much ruled that out," Ray said as he walked alongside Peter.

"I dunno, Ray. It would make a whole lot of sense to me. But we need a fresh start, and at the very least, now Egon can’t hurt himself anymore, no matter what the cause."

The rest followed Winston out to Ecto-1 and sat down in silence. Winston drove. He dropped Janine off at her apartment after she declined an invitation to stay at the firehouse for the night.

It was late when the three arrived home. Peter headed straight for the bunkroom while Ray wandered into the basement to run some tests on their PKE meters and the whetstone. Winston, with a great deal of reluctance, dialed up Egon’s parents. No one was home, so he left a brief message simply to call the Ghostbusters as soon as they could. Then he too went up the stairs and to the bunkroom.

* * *

Janine’s thoughts were running out of control, racing around in tight circles as she lay under her comforter. She was scared and worried and confused. She believed Egon when he said he hadn’t attempted suicide, but it was becoming harder and harder to maintain that belief after everything she’d heard. He had been acting so strangely...and when she found him nearly passed out with that pocketknife stuck deep in his arm, she had really begun to worry about his sanity. The Dr. Venkman and Dr. Ramirez agreed made it all the more difficult.

It took some time, but eventually Janine dropped off into a restless sleep. Strange dreams came to her....

Look what I made for you, Father! she shouted in glee as she held up her little drawing. It might have been a small animal, traced in the unsure and shaky lines of a very young child. Father looked up from the book he was studying.... She was so proud of herself, certainly Father would break into a smile and gather her into a big bear hug, delighted at the unexpected gift his daughter had made for him. But he never did. Father scowled at her and said, I don’t need such frivolous things. You shouldn’t waste your time making pictures like that.... Father returned to his book, muttering how he would not raise her to participate in such silliness...she shrank back, crumpling the drawing to her chest, tears welling up in her little eyes, crushed by Father’s callous dismissal. He glanced toward her, attention drawn to the tiny sniffle of sadness she made. Father’s eyes were ablaze. She hastily drew her small hand across her eyes, trying very hard not to cry...Father hated it when she cried....

She is such a prodigy, they were saying...we can’t really handle her here. She should go to this place...Mother and Father were discussing something with her counselor. They wanted to send her to a special school...but she didn’t want to go, not really. Her best friend was here...her only friend...

Father said there were more important things in life than so-called friends who wasted away their time playing silly games...it will be OK, Mother said. It’s a wonderful chance for you. But Mother...I’ll miss her...my friend.... You’ll do great things; you are a special child—study hard and make us proud.

Father, she said, her voice trembling, I’m scared...Father shot her a harsh glance. She lowered her head. She knew better than to let herself be afraid...But Mother, they are all so much older than I am! she wailed, then caught herself. That wasn’t important...She was smarter than any of them...she wouldn’t allow herself to give place to her fear...

She bit her lip so hard she drew blood, holding back the tears with a grip of steel. Father looked up from the final standings report for her first year at that new school...she had the second highest scores in the class although she was several years younger than the rest. Father’s voice was cool. Don’t disappoint me like this again...

She was shaking in terror. That monster was in her closet again. She saw its ugly, pasty white fingers and long blue-black claws as it slowly opened the door. She cried out for Mother...but her parents had stopped coming long ago. It was all in her head, they said, and they did not want to encourage it, after all...

Slowly Janine moved away from her dreams, her path meandering enough that she never fully awakened. She sat up in her bed, mind caught in that place of supreme unreality between dreams and waking. She was not aroused in any way when she picked up the cold pocketknife from her nightstand. It never occurred to her to think about why she had it. Drawing out the blade and carefully pulling back until it locked in place, Janine watched it in a very impersonal manner. Almost as though it meant less than nothing, something to be taken for granted, as breathing often is.

For some indeterminate period, she continued to look at the small knife in that half-dreaming way. Then, for just an instant, she felt the shade of her recent dreams pass over her. A moment later the pocketknife began to bleed.

Janine wasn’t surprised at that. In her dream logic, it made sense. She let the red blood trickle down her hand and between her fingers. It was as warm as if it were freshly drawn. Poor knife, she thought, no one ever just let you cry, did they? Perhaps that thought came from her dreams, maybe from the knife, or maybe from nowhere at all. But it was true, she knew, intuitively and without surprise. It just made sense that way.

For some time that night, she let the knife weep its crimson tears in silence. Her half-state of consciousness faded out and she slept again.

It seemed all a dream until she awoke in the morning to find dried blood soaking her sheets and hands.

* * *

Morning dawned earlier than Peter Venkman would have liked. Janine stood in the doorway of the bunkroom, her arms folded around herself. Normally Peter could have ignored it all—Janine hadn’t said anything, but some sixth sense woke him up.

"Guys, I’ve got something terrible to tell you...," Janine said in a shaky voice. Something told him she was dead serious and he had better listen.

"What is it Janine?" Ray asked cautiously, rousing himself from his slumber and flicking the end of his nightcap out of his round face. In the next bed over, Winston sat up and rubbed his brown eyes.

Trembling, she pulled a slim knife from her pants pocket. She looked at it fearfully for a moment then handed it to the youngest doctor. "I think it’s haunted."

Ray turned it over in his hands. "This is Egon’s knife," he muttered. A pained looked darkened Janine’s features. He looked up, eyebrows pulled together and lips pursed. Suddenly understanding dawned; he blanched and his face fell. "This is what...what he’s been...." Ray stood up and continued looking over the pocketknife, face pale.

"Yeah," Janine replied softly.

"You think it’s haunted?" Peter asked somewhat disbelievingly. "Why do you say that?"

"Last night...I thought it was a dream, but when I woke up...well, it wasn’t a dream...." She was hesitating; it still felt enough like a dream that she had to keep reminding herself of the very real fact that her sheets and night shirt were right now sitting in her hamper soaking in Spray ‘n Wash and hydrogen peroxide. She took a deep breath and continued. "I was having weird dreams about when I was little, then I sorta half woke up and picked that knife off my nightstand and then I sorta just held it...then it started bleeding all over, but I thought it was a dream, so it didn’t surprise me or anything, and I felt so sorry for it, like it was a little lost child sniffling on a street corner, looking all forlorn and sad.... Anyway, I didn’t realize it was really happening until I woke up covered in...in blood." She shuddered at that last statement.

"Sounds haunted all right," Winston said as Ray retrieved a PKE meter from the Egon’s nightstand. When he returned, he flipped it on and pointed it at the pocketknife in his other hand. The antennae twitched a bit, and it emitted a slow, erratic noise, low pitched and faint.

"Hmmm... It can’t be much more than a Class One shade. The readings are faint, but I suppose it could at least influence emotions...," Ray trailed off as he turned his attention to the pocketknife. It was closed at the moment, so he pulled the blade free of the handle and locked it into place. "Sure kept it sharp," he muttered when he saw the light glint off the finely honed edge.

All four now stood, watching the blade, some in grim anticipation, some with a twinge of fear. Very slowly, as they stood in silence, a creeping sensation of long ignored sadness began to shadow their minds. A moment later a crimson streak formed at the razor edge of the blade, growing second by second to be a steady stream of fresh, warm blood.

Disgusted, Ray dropped the knife and instinctively wiped his hand on his pajamas pant leg. He regretted it almost instantly. As soon as the knife left his hand, it stopped bleeding and the gloomy feeling passed. Drops of blood spattered off the knife as it hit the ground.

Winston scratched his chin thoughtfully. He’d seen crazier things than this in his tenure as a Ghostbuster, so it didn’t startle him. "I wonder...Hey, Ray, what exactly makes a shade? Aren’t they those things that just sort of hang around places making the air cold?" The team did get an occasional call for such phenomena, but not often; most people just lived with it, as shades rarely caused enough trouble to justify the expense of a full-fledged bust.

"Kind of," Ray answered. "This particular shade was probably formed when the knife was used under emotionally difficult circumstances, probably in the presence of either heightened ambient PKE or a more powerful supernatural force." It took a long moment before he realized the implications of what he said.

Winston was the first to vocalize the connection. "I got fifty that says that’s Egon’s shade. Another twenty says Reason’s the reason."

"You mean...Egon haunted the knife, not the other way around?" Janine asked slowly.

Winston nodded. "That’s exactly what I’m sayin’. What do you think, Ray?"

Ray’s eyes were wide. "I don’t know about the Reason part...after all, we didn’t pick up a reading for that gooper, and as much as the idea interests me, a PKE masking ghost does seem implausible. I was running some tests last night, and I didn’t pick up any low-level field like Egon thought there would have to be for such an entity. And even if it were a PKE masker, Reason certainly didn’t mask its PKE the first time around. But we all have enough ambient PKE around us to make a shade under the proper circumstances. The firehouse is filled to the brim with residuals, and we’ve all absorbed enough ourselves."

"I don’t think it takes a professional psychologist to figure out we’ve got the circumstances," Peter added, "even if one did. Well, anything that could upset the big guy enough to...," his tone slowed here, not wanting to say what they all knew, "well, anyway, if it looks like a duck...."

"Something tells me it’s one mighty mean duck," Winston insisted. "I’m telling you guys, Reason is behind this."

Ray looked dubious, but after a few moments, Peter nodded. "I think Winston’s right. The first night we came home after that whole tunnel deal but before anything else happened, I had a dream about a winged shape, and have off and on ever since. I’d kinda forgot about it ‘till just now." He looked critically at the drawn knife, then picked it up, closed it, and set it on his nightstand. "Sure as hell explains where all the blood went, though."

"Reason is that thing we’ve been looking for everywhere and not finding...," Janine said slowly.

"Yeah," Ray answered. "Not finding anywhere."

Sighing, Winston sat down on the edge of his bed. "Anyone want to put another ten on the table and add the whetstone in?"

"Lemme go get it and we’ll see," Ray said, heading for the stairs. "I’ll be back in a sec."

Winston scratched his ear and said, "Peter, maybe you better tell us about those dreams you’ve been having."

Peter nodded. "Lemme think about it, get ‘em back in my mind. Even that nightmare I pretty much forgot."

Sitting down on the very end of Ray’s bed, Janine asked, "Nightmare?"

"Oh yes...I dunno how I could have forgotten it. It was one of those things that makes you feel it for a month after." He paused for a long moment. "I guess real-life nightmares’ll drive out pretend ones." He sat down also, and Janine, by some instinct she would deny ever having, got up and sat next to him, resting a hand on his arm.

They all sat in silence until Ray returned with the whetstone. He quickly scanned it and compared the results with the knife’s readings. He set both objects down on his nightstand. "It’s got the same signature, but it’s not haunted."

The four now sat facing one another on Ray and Peter’s beds. Winston told Peter and Janine about how Slimer reacted to the whetstone. With just the tips of her fingers, Janine plucked the stone off Ray’s nightstand and sniffed at it. She flinched back as if she had been struck and dropped it. The stone clattered to the floor.

"What’s wrong, Janine?" Peter asked.

Her nose wrinkled and her eyes squeezed shut, Janine almost snarled, "Smells like blood."

Winston picked up the stone with a bit of trepidation and also sniffed it. "Smells like a rock to me."

"You didn’t spend half the night sleeping in blood," Janine retorted. "You know how many showers I took before I came over?"

Ray reached over to Peter’s stand and set the knife on the whetstone then scanned them together. "No difference. There’s no resonance. The whetstone’s ordinary for our purposes. I’m certain it was used to sharpen the knife, though." He returned the knife and stone to Peter’s stand.

Winston made a thoroughly disgusted noise. "I don’t even wanna know how it got blood in it. I betcha that’s what Slimer smelled. We should probably destroy both."

"Probably, but let’s hold off on that," Peter stated. "I want to talk to Egon about this first. We can’t do that yet, so let’s forget that and swap stories."

"Stories about what?" Ray asked, confused.

"Oh, um, I meant me and Janine should tell about the dreams we had," Peter answered. Then he turned to Janine and said, "You first."

"Nuh uh! It was your idea, Dr. V."

"It was Zed’s idea!"

"Yeah? In that case he said you spill, not me." She crossed her arms and gave Peter a look that clearly stated that she wasn’t going to tell anyone anything just yet. There was the normal stubbornness in her bearing, but her blue eyes held reluctance as well.

"All right, all right, you win. This is not fair... Fine, I’ll talk. Fine. OK. So." It was clear the brown haired doctor was stalling. "Well...the first night I just had this dream about a shadow...I guess it had wings or something. I couldn’t see whatever was casting the shadow. It wasn’t a nightmare or anything. Felt ominous. Then I had another dream with the same shadow, except this time it was like the thing was alive and nasty. I put my hand inside the shadow, and I felt...well...numb, like I didn’t care about anything. Then there was this really big monster thing behind me. It had wings too, four of ‘em, and a bull’s head, and bird hands, kinda like the werechickens had...I guess it looked a bit like a gryphin, but it was all white. Didn’t have any eyes, but I distinctly remember feeling like it didn’t need ‘em. It pointed at the shadow and said some weird crap that I didn’t understand."

He paused for a long moment, beginning to shudder. "Then...then there was...the nightmare." Haltingly, his voice uncharacteristically subdued, Peter told them all about his nightmare. He spoke of it in length, with such detail that the rest could hardly blame him for not wanting to discuss it. He put special emphasis on how the man had died, how calm he was...about the finality he felt, and the reoccurrence of the feathered white bull and what it said. "Although," he said slowly, "I don’t know why it asked me to help a dead man fight, or why that awful end wasn’t...inevitable."

Janine again placed her hand on Peter’s arm as a gesture of support. Winston thought for a while, then said, "Y’know, maybe that was prophetic? You said the guy in the nightgown wasn’t Egon...but it sounds just like him, the way he’s been acting. ‘It doesn’t even hurt, isn’t that a good thing?’ What...what if his whole mental problem has been supernatural all along? That might explain why he could say he wasn’t trying to kill himself when it sure as hell looked like it."

Ray furrowed his brow. "But why would he...well...for supernatural reasons? I’m still not convinced, but a prophetic dream does support the idea. Peter, the creature in your dream might have been telling you that Egon would be OK, if it was prophetic."

Peter shrugged, his face drained. Remembering his nightmare had taken a lot out of him, piling it up on the real-life nightmare of seeing his best friend fall into some insanity and attempt suicide. "Maybe," he said limply. "Maybe. But...I think after Janine is done with her story, I’m taking a nice long nap. All this has suddenly got me really worn out."

The others nodded, and then it was Janine’s turn to tell her story. As she thought back on her dream, she suddenly seemed confused. "I told you about some of it...but I just realized something. I wasn’t dreaming about my past! Let me tell you about it, and you’ll see what I mean." So she began her story, which was a bit disjointed, just as her dream had been, memories blurring into each other.

Ray nodded. "I think you would have reacted differently when the Carter kids came over that night if you’d had the Bogeyman in your closet."

Peter wiped his face. "And that bit about the pictures...Egon said something about that recently. Weird. Sounds like you were dreaming Egon’s memories."

"And it only now occurred to you that you weren’t dreaming about your own past?" Winston asked gently.

The redhead huffed a bit, but calmed herself quickly. "Yeah. I guess I just never stopped to think about it. I had other things to worry about when I woke up."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, patting Janine on the shoulder. "Don’t worry about it. We’ve all had a lot on our minds."

Just then, the telephone rang. Ray picked it up and answered, "Ghostbuster Central." He nodded a few times. "We’ll be right over."

"What’s up, Ray?" Winston asked, getting up and preparing to change.

"Just a couple Class Twos. Peter, you up for it?"

Wearily, Peter nodded. "But the instant we get home, I have dibs on the shower and then I’m going nighty-night."

"You got it, m’man," Winston agreed.

Janine stood. "I better get out of your hair then. I’ll get a quick pot of coffee on." She waved and exited the bunkroom, allowing the three men to change without fear of indecency.

Shortly they were ready to go, their usual breakfast of coffee and doughnuts in hand.

The bust was an easy, if lengthy, zap and trap deal. Fortunately, no one was hurt, and much to Peter’s secret delight, Winston and Ray got slimed to their socks while he came home totally ectoplasm-free. That didn’t stop him from demanding his shower first, but he was feeling generous enough to make it fast so the other two could clean up properly.

Dr. Venkman was true to his word in all ways. As soon as his shower was over, he changed into his pajamas and hit the sack. Winston and Ray continued their projects that had been dropped the day before, and occasionally helped Janine out with her form filling, billing, and whatnot.

All told, the rest of the day was quiet, quieter than usual. No one felt particularly jovial. Slimer returned, but instead of getting into everything and causing mischief, he hid in a file drawer, morose.

Soon evening arrived. Janine stayed late, as she often did. Winston and Ray trudged up the stairs and got ready for bed.

Glancing over at Peter’s recumbent form, Winston smiled. "The only man I know who could win a marathon in napping."

Ray also grinned. "Watch, he’s not up until noon tomorrow."

Winston nodded. Then the two slipped into their beds and fell asleep.

Ray slept well, but Winston’s repose was fitful.

Ransom the Liar’s Fee

It was a little different this time, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure if he remembered this happening the first time, but in any event, this was a potent recalling. He looked down at the knife in his hand and the blood on the whetstone, watching the small stone suck it up as if the thing were dying of thirst. He felt sick. What a terrible thing to do, a sick, disgusting, terrible thing. What could have possessed him? The blade was bright, the edge honed by expert unthinking hands.

Unthinking? That’s right, he remembered now. Reason had taken his thoughts away. For a second, a mere twinkling, he felt like he were stretched a little tight, pinched in places...it was the mental equivalent of wearing an ill-fitting suit. Then it passed, pushed away by an uncomfortable schizophrenia. He remembered all he had felt in that time of literal thoughtlessness; he was almost amused at what he had done. Under that was a deep sense of violation, one that made his stomach turn.

He smiled a little guiltily when he remembered how he felt when he kissed Janine...who knew? He certainly had no idea he had ever harbored such fondness, such a passion, for their abrasive secretary! If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he was in love with her. He was in love with her...and it angered him. Weakness...? How could he think it was a weakness? Something to guard against. How dare Reason force that from him! It was something to guard! Oh how it infuriated him! It wasn’t safe; it was dangerous, dangerous, too dangerous...but how in the whole world could a real love like that be dangerous? Yeah, sometimes you get hurt, but this was the Real Deal...but...how had he not known?

He held his head in his hands, and without thinking, he ran his bleeding hand through his hair. Why had he not remembered any of this before? Maybe, maybe it was because even now it made no sense, some time after the event, all these scattered feelings that he wasn’t sure even belonged to him... He shook his head. He should just stop trying to make sense of it. He could still think straight, for the moment anyway.

A voice, a dark, haunting sound, echoed in his head. It was the voice of Reason. How lost you are—It hesitated. He felt some shadow reach dark fingers into his head, as before...this had happened before? He felt cold.

WHO ARE YOU?! the black voice thundered, full of fury. He instinctively turned around, eyes wide, fear clutching at him. Before he could answer the hot demand, he saw Reason.

He was dreaming again. That was the only possible reason he had not yet died.

Peter let out a strangled, near-silent scream, waking from a nightmare he couldn’t clearly recall. He tried to sit up, but a terrific pain shot through his gut and left arm...and for the briefest of moments, the feel of feathers and shadows brushed against his chest. He gasped, tried to cry out again, but he was having trouble breathing. He couldn’t be having a heart attack, could he...?

* * *

Winston was having trouble sleeping. For some reason, he just couldn’t get his eyes to stay shut. So he was sitting in the TV room, a mystery novel half-finished in his hand. He set the book aside and rubbed his face. He was tired, that was for sure. Just tell that to his eyelids.

For a long moment, he just sat there twiddling his thumbs. Then he shrugged and stood, deciding he might as well make another attempt to sleep. After a long yawn, Winston made his way back to the Firehouse bedroom. On the way, he passed by the lab. He paused by the door, wondering for a moment how any spirit could ever affect his physicist friend so adversely that the normally composed man would resort to inflicting such violence on himself. Winston didn’t even pretend to understand what it was that Egon thought he was accomplishing by cutting himself over and over again. It was something he couldn’t quite get his mind around. He shook his head and continued on his way.

Winston rubbed his eyes and yawned prodigiously as he entered the bedroom. When he lowered his hands and looked in the room, he found one reason at least that it might have been Providence that kept him up. Peter looked to be fighting for his life. Winston was at his side in an instant.

The psychologist gasped for breath and clutched his shoulder, his face contorted in pain. For a second, Winston was at a complete loss. Then at the prompting of a dim intuition, he put his hand to Peter’s throat to check his pulse. His jaw dropped. Under his fingertips, he felt nothing.

Immediately Winston started CPR. It didn’t take long to revive Peter; he was in very good health, as were all the Ghostbusters...which begged the question: why had his heart stopped? Winston watched him carefully.

After a few moments to catch his breath, Peter relaxed a little, then winced and peeked one green eye up at the darker man. "Ow," he said matter-of-factly, though weakly.

"Are you all right man?" Winston demanded loudly.

In the last bed from the door, Ray stirred and sat up. "Whaz goin’ on...?" he slurred sleepily.

Peter tried to sit up, but it wasn’t going to happen. It was not at all uncommon to have a rib or two cracked after CPR, and he was no exception. "Ow. Am I all right? I sure don’t feel all right..."

"You had me scared, m’man. Don’t do that again, OK?" Winston said, relieved.

Peter grinned a little. "I promise. Now tell me what I’m promising not to do?"

Ray walked over, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. There was a question in his look. Winston nodded. "Well, I decided to try and sleep again, and what do I come in and find but one of my best friends havin’ a heart attack! So, no more heart attacks for you, OK?" His tone was light, but the adrenaline was still rushing through his system. It scared him quite a bit for his friend to come that close to dying. That was two brushes with death in nearly as many days with two friends—not a good record. He walked over to the phone and dialed the hospital and asked them to send someone over to get Peter.

"Wow. Man, that was close...," Ray wondered, shaken.

Peter nodded thoughtfully, then watched Winston as he came back to his bedside. Seemingly out of the blue, he said, "I had the granddaddy of all bad dreams just now."

Winston shrugged a little and asked, "You want to talk about it?"

"I think I better," he replied seriously. "I dreamt about something I forgot...kinda weird, huh, remembering something that happened only a few days ago that way. Anyway, I had a knife, just like that one," at that he pointed at Egon’s pocketknife that was sitting on his nightstand, "and I guess I must have been sharpening it. But...well, I was using blood from my hand on the whetstone." He grimaced in disgust at the memory, then looked up at an indistinct point in the air. "Sorry, I’m remembering this in pieces."

"That’s all right, man," Winston reassured him. "You have an excuse." Ray nodded in agreement.

After a few moments of thought, Peter continued his account. "Seems like I was doing stuff without thinking about it...um, ahem...." He blushed a little. Winston and Ray exchanged bemused glances, certain they didn’t want to know why he was blushing. "Um, anyway. Then I started feeling weird, thinking six different things at once, and it didn’t make any sense. And oh, ugh, I heard that thing’s voice in my head." His face darkened considerably as he spoke. "It was Reason. I don’t know how I knew, but it was...It sounded surprised, like it expected me to be someone else...and it was mad. It surprised me, so I turned around and...." He clenched his teeth, and Winston could see plainly that it was upsetting Peter to remember his dream. But before he could say anything about it, Peter gasped in shock. He continued in a whisper, every word he said losing more strength and leaving him more distraught. "It...I saw it...it h-had so many wings, four of ‘em, feathers everywhere...it was beautiful, had a—had an angel’s...f-f-face...."

Peter whimpered and squirmed, ignoring the pain he must have felt. He lifted his hands to his face and covered his eyes. Suddenly he screamed and scratched at his face, his voice edging closer and closer to madness. Instinctively, Winston and Ray stood and backed up, stunned by the suddenness of Peter’s fit. Soon he was tearing at his hair and squinting his eyes shut, unable to banish the terrible vision of Reason’s maddening beauty.

Just then, the paramedics came into the room, having let themselves in when they heard Peter’s screaming.

Winston, Ray, and Janine followed the ambulance to the hospital. Being one of the several nights that Janine had stayed far too late at the firehouse, she was there and ready to go once Winston and Ray had suited up to follow Peter. Janine had picked up Egon’s knife and Winston had the whetstone. Ray was driving the Ecto-1, but without their sirens on, they soon lost the paramedics in late-night traffic. It wasn’t as if being there would do any good; Peter was stark raving loony-tunes, to put it mildly, and no amount of his friends’ compassion could help him any.

The black haired Ghostbuster gazed out the window at the stars, lost in thought. Something about what Peter had said gave him the willies, but he couldn’t quite pin down what. "Something about that winged thing... It sounds familiar somehow..."

"What winged thing? Not the pillars?" Janine asked.

Ray answered. "Pete was telling us about another dream he had...sounded strange, like he might have been having the same sort of shade-induced visions you had. Anyway, just before he, um, lost it, he was telling us that he saw Reason, and it was a four-winged being with an angel’s face."

Janine looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe it was a cherub," she said, somewhat uncertainly, recalling the description of the bull-creature Peter had mentioned the day before. "Dr. V. was talking about another four-winged thing in his dream...it wasn’t quite like the four cherubim in Ezekiel with four heads and four wings and calves feet and human hands. But it was sorta like it was the same...it had a bull’s head...he might have made a mistake and it was really an ox...a human body, a lion’s hind end, and claws like an eagle...not to mention four wings."

Winston’s brow furrowed deeper, while Ray discounted the idea. "Cherubim are sometimes said to have four wings, but they’re angels, not gods...or at least, they don’t claim to be. Reason just doesn’t sound very angelic to me, no matter what shape it comes in."

Suddenly, revelation struck and Winston’s chocolate skin turned ashen. He rubbed his face with one slightly shaking hand. Everything fell into place. His voice held an under-note of dread when he said, "No...I think Janine’s right...and we’re in it deep."

For an instant, Ray didn’t catch his drift; then, he too blanched. "Oh no...."

"There is an angel that claims to be God," Janine said darkly. She looked very angry. She pulled Egon’s knife out of her pocket and closed her fist around it so hard her hand was shaking. Through clenched teeth she hissed, "And he was drinking Egon’s blood."

"Damn," Ray muttered under his breath.

"Indeed," Winston added, his own anger mounting by the second.

Ray flipped on the siren and gunned it.

* * *

The Ecto-1 screeched to a halt, coming to abrupt rest across two handicapped parking spaces. Ray didn’t even notice as he, Winston, and Janine jumped out of the car and each grabbed a proton pack. After donning them, the three stalked into the hospital through the main doorway.

The night receptionist stood, ready to ward them off, but at the last second he backed off. Maybe it was the drawn proton rifles...but more likely it was the expressions they wore: cold anger mixed with sharp fear cast in stony determination. Janine especially looked like she would stick the tip of her rifle down anyone’s throat that messed with her just now.

She looked the receptionist in the eye and growled, "We’re here to see Egon Spengler. Where is he?"

The receptionist blinked a few times, too scared to answer. When the furious redhead shifted the rifle menacingly, the receptionist gulped and looked up the information on the computer screen. "Psych wing, Room 23," he stammered, voice trembling, his shaking hand pointing to the left. Janine bared her teeth slightly in answer then started off.

So without hindrance, the three stalked through the halls in the direction of the psychiatric wing. When once they came to a locked door requiring a passkey, Ray took aim and slagged the lock before anyone could say anything. The door was located next to a nurse’s station, and the nurse handling graveyard shift check-ins yelled at them to stop, but they didn’t listen. Winston kicked open the door and the three proceeded on their way.

"I’ll call security!" the nurse shouted, but the warning fell on deaf ears.

A few hallways later found Winston, Ray, and Janine in front of the door to Room 23. They paused for a moment, each feeling the onrush of dread that had swamped them all on separate occasions over the last few days.

Ray’s normally cheerful features set into a grim mask. "I know what this is now. It’s the same feeling as in the subway tunnel, but much worse...."

Winston looked over at his partner. "Was it like that in the tunnel? One way or another, that clenches it." He looked none too pleased with that revelation.

"It means we were right, doesn’t it," Janine whispered, trying to fight off the seeping wickedness she felt in the air, trying to recapture a hint of the righteous fury she possessed only seconds ago.

Winston nodded slowly. "And this is the one time I most wanted to be wrong." He paused, took a deep breath, and said, "Let’s do it. Heat ‘em up."

Janine aimed her rifle at the pass lock and fired.

* * *

Egon sat rather listlessly in a chair in the corner. He was in the small room he occupied in the psychiatric wing of the hospital. They had kept him here longer than was medically necessary because he had refused to speak for any reason whatsoever and because the doctors sensed something eminently dangerous about him. In point of fact, he was giving everyone without exception such a case of the creeps that none but the hardiest souls could stand to be in his presence.

The physicist had no idea why that was, but he could see it in their eyes on the few occasions he had looked in any. He wasn’t dangerous, not to anyone...he hadn’t tried to hurt anyone, hadn’t even attempted suicide...at least he didn’t think he had... He was too confused right now to be sure just why he had cut himself in such an easily fatal manner. Nothing made any sense. His every attempt to figure out how he had arrived at this point was quickly lost in chaos. It was the same confusion he felt trying to figure out the colors on Reason’s pillar, but by far more profound, for it was in his own normally well-ordered mind.

It all came back to that vicious Reason...he hadn’t been like this before...but how did it happen? How exactly had all of this happened? Sometimes he wanted all of that madness locked away to be freed and to swallow him whole...but it wouldn’t come. Complete insanity seemed so much better than this teetering half-madness he found himself in now. Maybe then he would be free of Reason.

No matter how confused he felt, that he knew with staggering clarity—there was nothing in the world he wanted so badly as to be free of Reason.

Just then, Egon heard the sound of a proton pack firing. Not three seconds later, someone kicked in the door. Winston, Ray, and Janine piled into the room. All three were paler than they ought to be. It was enough to startle Egon, just a bit. But he said nothing, just stared at them.

Winston was the first to speak. "Egon, man, we just pieced together what’s been going on, most of it anyway. We just put two and two together, and four never looked nastier. What are we gonna do? That knife of yours just sent Pete over the edge with a heart attack! You wanna fill us in now?"

Egon started badly at the mention of the knife and what had happened to Peter. He shook his head, disbelieving. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything; so tattered were his thoughts that Winston’s words flitted away as fast as everything else did. He wanted freedom from Reason, but now he wanted his gift as well...just to take the edge off this confusion so he could focus. His friend was in trouble, and it seemed to be his fault. Where was the knife now? He clenched his fists.

Janine growled. "Look, we know what Reason is, too." She pulled the knife out of her pocket and shook it. "Peter told us about this—," but she was interrupted by a faint growl from Egon.

He purposefully strode over and snatched the knife from Janine. She tried to hold onto it, but despite appearances, Egon was fast and struck for it like a snake. The knife now in his hands, he expertly unfolded it and drew it across the back of his hand. For an instant, every feeling imaginable warred to express itself, but it all bled away, precisely in the manner the cut on Egon’s hand did not.

The tip remained in the clean cut until a calm now ghastly in appearance settled over him; then he set the blade aside and turned away, to sit in the chair he had occupied since they entered.

Not a blip registered on Ray’s PKE meter, but the oppressive evil in the room grew palpably.

In horror, Ray looked down at his meter then at Egon. It seemed so simple now that the solution was right in front of him. It wasn’t that Reason was undetectable...far from it. It was that Reason didn’t operate by the rules of ectoplasmic entities or demons or even humans with their biorythms and psycho-kinetic energy. Reason didn’t need PKE. Reason wasn’t the same sort of creature at all. And they had all felt it. From the minor sense that something wasn’t quite right to the massive sense of wicked, bone-deep evil, they had felt Reason. Ray wondered if he would ever use ‘spirit’ off hand to describe an ectoplasmic manifestation again. "We could detect Reason all along," he said quietly.

Equally shocked, but for a different reason, Janine dashed over and grabbed the knife, pocketing it. There was no way she would let Egon get hold of it again. She choked back tears, horrified and angry. "So that’s it!" she shouted. "That’s why! Winston was right this whole time! How could you let that happen? How could you?"

Winston shook his head and sighed heavily. "Janine, if Reason is who we think it is...he must have been exercising a lot more power on Egon than he usually does. We don’t know what all Reason did yet." He sighed again. "Yeah, Ray, I guess we could sense him all along. Don’t be citing any lack of science on this, though. I don’t think the Accuser is one of those creatures you can look at through a microscope."

Egon, now much calmer and less confused, still found himself unwilling to speak. They knew...and it seemed they knew more than he did. He was the one dealing with Reason, but they discovered something he couldn’t. He would have been angry about it, but Reason’s unnatural calm wouldn’t allow it. Another stupid mistake to lay to his charge.

Still, he wondered if Janine was right...if he had indeed had a choice in the matter.

Very soon, I shall let thee fly from me as thy desire...

Egon’s three companions flinched, but didn’t seem to hear the dark voice. He wanted to be free...he wanted to keep Reason’s gift, but not have to pay the price for it. Unable to do much else, he pulled his legs up on the chair and wound his arms about them, holding a shirt sleeve over the small cut in his hand.

Then there was a wisp of light that entered the room. Egon felt Reason pushing against the faint light, and he almost heard the light speak, but the words were not for him. His companions looked relieved.

The words were for Winston, Ray, and Janine. It was the messenger. Two of you must come with me for a moment. You have another friend in need; one who can be helped, and indeed, must be helped before you can even begin to deal with this one.

The three were in a bit of confusion. "Who are you?" Janine asked.

Peter calls me ‘Hey You’... The silent voice sounded as if it were smiling. Come with me. Winston will stay here. You can’t leave your friend unguarded now.

"Oh...OK," Ray answered uncertainly. "I don’t know what we can do for Peter now, though."

I will explain when we get there. Come now.

So the two called out followed the light out of the room, leaving Winston behind. They had to admit to themselves that it was a relief to leave, as much as they hated the admission. They wanted to help Egon, but Reason’s oppressive presence made it difficult to stay in the same room.

As they walked, Janine asked, "So, how do you know our names?"

The invisible presence smiled in their minds. I know many things. You are of special concern right now.

"Oh."

It didn’t take long for the two to reach the room that they assumed housed Dr. Venkman. A doctor stood outside, examining a chart. He turned to look at Dr. Stantz and Ms. Melnitz. "He’s under observation right now, so I can’t allow visitors. And, in all honesty, those...things on your backs...I’m certain they must confound our instruments in ways a simple cell phone could only dream of."

Ray actually laughed about that. "You’re probably right! But we have to go in. We’re...I can’t believe I’m going to say this...but we’re on a mission from God."

The doctor granted Ray an amused look. "I know Dan Aykroyd played you in the movie, but really."

Nevertheless, it is true.

The doctor blanched. "Who said that?" He almost dropped his chart and looked around frantically for the silent voice.

Janine almost suppressed a smirk. "I think that’s our visitor’s pass." Briefly, at the edge of her vision, she saw a flash of translucent white feathers.

Gulping, the doctor nodded, all the while staring at a point just behind Ray and Janine. "G-go right in." He moved out of the way, and the two entered the room.

They didn’t find anything particularly out of the ordinary. Peter was sleeping, or perhaps drugged; unfortunately, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to find him in such a state. The other bed in the room was unoccupied.

Ray and Janine felt the messenger pass them, invisible. Ray realized that the messenger must act on the same level as Reason, because he could feel the creature’s presence, but his meter didn’t so much as flicker. He was going to have to ask the creature about that at some point.

Suddenly, the messenger resolved into a visible form, the same that the Ghostbusters had first encountered in the abandoned subway tunnel. He leaned over Peter’s sleeping form, then passed a hand over his face. Be well, in mind and frame.

Ray and Janine moved closer to Peter’s side. Peter took a few moments to come around, then he blinked up at the faces leaning over him. "Why hello, I must be so cute when I sleep for you guys to watch me." He blushed slightly and glanced at Janine, which was somewhat peculiar.

Ray exhaled a huge sigh of relief. "You had us scared outta our wits, Peter! What do you think you’re doing, going bonkers after having a heart attack?"

Confused green eyes blinked a few times. "I went bonkers?"

Any man whom had seen the face of a creature of such power and evil as you had, even in a dream, would fare the same.

"Oh, it’s Hey You!" Peter looked over at the ethereal spirit. "But we see evil demons all the time...."

You have never seen a truly powerful spirit of evil. All you have seen are, as one might say...‘small change’...and those, which are amongst the greater of them you have seen, are still not of the same order of power.

"Oh... Now...maybe you could do us a little-bitty favor and do whatever it was to Egon that you did to me?"

Alas I cannot. Power over you was not given to him; but the result was not unanticipated. It has been to your advantage.

"Oh... Please don’t tell me we’re mixed up in whatever you were down there getting us mixed up in, OK?"

I shall not. However, if I should say anything against it, I would be lying.

"Good. Because that’s just what I don’t want to hear," Peter said sourly.

"You probably’ll like less what we figured out on our way here," Ray said somewhat apologetically.

Sighing, Peter said, "Before we go on, could you excuse me and Janine for a sec? There’s something I really have to tell her, and I’d like to do it in private."

"Uh, sure," Ray said, somewhat confused, but leaving the room. The messenger nodded and left with Ray.

After Ray and the messenger left the room, Janine looked uncertainly at Peter’s face. "What did you want to tell me?" she asked cautiously.

For a moment he looked down at his hands, surprised at how much he enjoyed just the sound of Janine’s voice. Why had he never realized this before? "I want...to tell you this while I have the chance. I don’t want to be an idiot about it and wait until it’s too late."

"Well, what is it?"

Peter reached over and took Janine’s hand in his. What lovely hand she has... He sighed and smiled a little, then looked her in the face, his green eyes soaking in just how beautiful she was. "You are the most wonderful, most beautiful woman I have ever met. I love you. I am so passionately in love with you, Janine...."

Janine looked every inch the deer caught in headlights. She was so surprised she squeaked. It’s the drugs talking...it’s gotta be... she thought to herself when her brain finally unfroze from its seize. She cast about the room, instinctively looking for a means of escape.

Peter was unfazed. "I know! I was shocked too! I hadn’t even realized it until today! It’s just when I remembered how I felt when I kissed you the other day...."

Janine shot Peter a wary, cornered animal glance. "Doctor V...you never kissed me."

Peter was about to argue the point, but a sudden realization stopped him. "Ohmigod, ohmigod...." His eyes went wide, then squinted closed. He blushed so deeply he felt the flush in his toes. He let go of the secretary’s hand with all due speed.

Janine took that opportunity to put a few extra feet between her and her obviously confused boss. "What is it now?" she asked in trepidation, unsure if she wanted to continue this conversation.

Peter peeked one eye at Janine, his face a veritable study in chagrin. He gulped hard. "eeep! I mean...um...I think I, er...It was a dream I had...I thought I was remembering something that happened to me...."

She gaped. "That was the same kind of dream I had...! They felt so real...but they weren’t my memories, they were...!"

Peter nodded somberly. "Yep," he croaked. "I just accidentally spilled Egon’s beans. And hell if they don’t feel like my own." It was a good bit more information than he really ever wanted to know, although he felt it might be a good reason to smack the big guy upside the head for stupidity above and beyond the call.

The redhead’s jaw snapped shut then opened then shut again. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, clearly at a loss for words. After a few long, uncomfortable moments of stammering, Janine lunged at Peter, grabbed him by the front of his polka-dotted gown, and said in a panicked tone, "Not a word! Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone! Especially not Egon! Not a word! Pretend like it never happened...!"

Peter was no fool. He agreed without a moment’s hesitation. He was fortunate the messenger had healed his cracked ribs, considering the way Janine was shaking him.

The door opened slightly, and Ray peeked in. "I heard shouting...is everything OK?"

"EVERYTHING IS FINE!" Janine shouted, letting go of Peter’s gown, and Peter nodded meekly to confirm Janine’s statement.

"Right," Ray answered, not quite believing it, but willing to let it slide. There was something in Janine’s voice that warned him off, and if whatever it was was enough to cow Venkman, then he was probably best off not knowing. He entered the room, and the messenger followed. "Anyway, like I said, we figured out some stuff we need to discuss."

Peter nodded. "Lay on, McDuff."

So Ray and Janine quickly explained what they had figured out and what they had discovered, about the nature of Reason, the use of the knife, and the way Reason was shadowing Egon.

Peter rubbed his forehead and groaned. "Y’suppose it’s possible to get any deeper than this? I was...erm...remembering that last dream. But I’ll be OK now. I dunno if I’ll sleep for a month, but I’m OK. Anyway, it was just like Janine’s, influenced by the knife I guess. Egon used the whetstone to hone the knife with his blood, so that’s the connection there."

Ray kicked his feet and sighed. "I think that’s the last piece of that puzzle. Now for the real question: what do we do?"

Peter nodded. "Hold on, we’ll think of something, Ray. Hey You...from what my friends here tell me, you’re probably the ‘gryphin’ in my dreams...if that’s true...why me? Why tell me things that won’t help?"

Do you yet know they will not help? Yes, I gave you those dreams. That is your part. You all have parts, and they haven’t been played yet. I must go now. I hope to see you again, soon... With that, the messenger vanished.

Peter snorted. "I don’t know how any of those dreams I had would help anything. It’s all stuff we already know, now."

"They might still, Peter. Who knows?" Ray said. "Still, what should we do?"

After a moment’s thought, Peter suggested, "Maybe we can go directly to the source. Chat up the winged sticks."

"Are you sure?"

Shrugging, Peter said, "First I’ll try to crack Egon’s head...but yeah, I’m serious."

"All right then. Let’s get you ready to go, then we’ll go. Can’t deny I’d like another look at the white pillar."

"Right. Now shoo, I need to change." So Ray and Janine backed away, closing the privacy curtain as they went. After a few moments, Peter walked out in his pajamas, which, all things considered, were better clothes than a hospital gown. "Let’s go."

As Ray, Janine, and Peter approached Egon’s room, Peter shuddered hard. He slowed, then stopped before reaching the door. The darkness held them back like a physical force. "It is Reason...I can tell...I might not clearly remember seeing him, but the feel... It feels the same." Peter leaned against the wall, head bowed. "How did it come to this? Should I have seen it coming? I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it...even when he was acting normal."

Ray set his hand on Peter’s shoulder. "Look, we all knew something was up, but none of us expected this. We could all go blame ourselves, but it won’t get us anywhere."

Peter actually smiled at that, though wanly. "Mr. It’s My Fault says this? Well...I guess I better go see what I can do." He forced himself to move against the darkness and finally entered the room. Winston looked up at Peter and smiled.

"Nice to see you feeling better, Pete," he said.

"I’m not gonna sleep for a year, but I’m OK," Peter replied. Then he scanned the room, looking for Egon. When he saw him, sitting in his chair, his chin set on his knees, and that mask of calm on his face, Peter’s throat tightened up. He wondered what was going on behind that mask, how deep it went. He remembered what Ray had told him about the knife’s effects and his dreams...the words the messenger had spoken to him. He walked over to his friend’s side and asked, "How can we help you? What is it you’re holding onto so hard, Egon? What is breaking bones and strangling spirit?"

Egon looked up at Peter and said nothing. There was little expression on his face, almost no light in his blue eyes. Peter ducked his head, reminded of another dream...this time the nightmare he’d had the night before Egon had attempted suicide, or whatever it was he thought he was doing. "You know, I had a dream about this trick you pulled. It didn’t look like you, but it must have been. You said that it didn’t bother you, didn’t even hurt anymore, and that was a good thing...then you...died. I didn’t know then why I cared so much that this weird guy with nothing in his eyes but the tiniest spark of humanity got gobbled up by a machine that didn’t even leave a drop of blood, but I think I got it now. What I don’t understand is why it’s such a good thing not to feel anything? What about all the good things, what about your friends?"

Perhaps Peter had been expecting something, a change, but he didn’t get one, unless it were a lessening of what little feeling he could still see in Egon. He felt more than heard a shadowy laugh that came from somewhere around Egon’s lean form. Peter backed up a step and narrowed his eyes. He looked around, trying to find the source of the laughter, but he saw nothing. This time Peter addressed the darkness in the room. "What have you done? I know who you are! What have you done?"

He got no answer out of the shadows except a faint chuckle.

Winston moved over to Peter and then gently pulled him to the other side of the room. Quietly, Winston said, "You really think you wanna go provoking him?"

Peter shifted his eyes a little. "OK, maybe not a good idea. It’s really that deep, isn’t it."

Shrugging slightly, Winston said, "I got a feeling that whatever Egon was doing that nearly got him killed just pushed him farther into Reason’s grip. So yeah, this weird calm thing, it’s in deep."

Peter looked back at Egon. "I don’t know how to get past that. I think we should go back to the tunnel. Someone down there has the answer. Maybe they’ll tell us."

"You think that’s a good idea?"

"What else can we do? Talking to him...I can tell, he’s not gonna come out of this on his own."

Winston suddenly turned thoughtful. "All right. Who all should go?"

"You, me, and Ray. Janine’s got a pack, she can play look out. That OK, Janine?" Janine nodded shortly. "All right then. Back to the tunnel then."

It didn’t take the three long to get to the tunnel. Once they got there, Peter slipped on a spare suit, but Winston and Ray wouldn’t let him have a proton pack.

"Why not?" Dr. Venkman whined in his best whine.

"Man, you just had a heart attack and cracked some ribs," Winston declared, no-nonsense. "I don’t care how well the messenger patched you up, you ain’t packing."

"I don’t think it matters anyway, Peter," Ray said reasonably.

"Well, yeah," Peter had to agree. That settled, they made their way down to where the room with the pillars should be.

On the way, Ray wondered about the three entities. "If they’re not operating on PKE," Ray asked, "Why the disparate readings? Why could our PKE meters pick them up at all?"

"Maybe they wanted us to pick them up. Maybe that was the only way to, well, scientifically say ‘you’re in over your head’?" Winston suggested.

"You mean to convince all of us that there was something serious here...."

"Something like that."

Ray’s expression clouded. "They don’t operate on PKE," he said again, under his breath. Normally he would be excited about such an idea, nearly bounding out of his skin to theorize on it. But then, the Ghostbusters so often dealt with the evils of the world, the demons, the fearsome demigods; he had never stopped to consider they might ever be called out to bust an angel. That, however, was precisely what they had been called for earlier that week. ‘Hey You’, the ‘messenger’, the living creature...had caused enough of a disturbance for the subway foreman to call them. "But...why? Why would...a cherub...want to get busted?"

"Like we could bust a cherub!" Winston stated. "He wanted us down here."

"We bust demons often enough...," Ray said, still confused.

Winston shrugged. "I don’t think the demons we bust are angels, Ray. They ain’t even in the same class. Have we ever busted a fallen angel?" Although Winston wasn’t the expert in classification, he was quite certain that his statement was accurate.

Ray looked thoughtful. "I...no, I guess we haven’t. So you think this cherub brought us here on purpose?" As an occultist, he had training in angelology as well as demonology, but somehow he had the feeling everything he had learned about angelology would be useless today.

"I think so, yeah. Don’t have a clue why though. Been thinking about it, but...I just don’t know."

"If you come up with anything, let me know," Ray said softly. "I’ve been feelin’ pretty useless on this trip."

Peter had just been listening to them theorizing, but the shorter man’s statement made him frown. "Don’t say that. Hey You said we all had a role to play. I don’t think he’d lie about that." He paused. "Confuse the hell out of us, but not lie."

"If you say so. Makes me wonder what it would be."

"We’ll probably find out sooner than we want," Winston answered.

Shortly they arrived at the room where the pillars stood. Unfortunately, while the room was open, there was a rather large spirit blocking their path. It was the messenger, but in a form none of them had ever seen. In actuality, he looked quite a bit more like the cherubim described in Ezekiel than he had before. Two wings spread out, two covered his body; hands poked out from under each wing. He had four faces, the ox head facing forward, an eagle’s head to one side, a man’s to the other, and they could see the hints of a lion’s mane behind. His feet were like a calf’s, but that’s where the resemblance ended. The messenger was all white, had no eyes, and no wheels. His presence wasn’t incredibly imposing, but somehow they knew that was for their benefit. He still felt like an immovable object and the Ghostbusters were cowed somewhat.

"So...um," Peter said. "Hey You...mind moving? We need to have a chat with the...the...those guys in the room."

You have come back too early. You don’t yet realize your mistake. Return when you have, and I will let you pass.

"Well...er, could you give us a little hint?"

The cherub made no motion and said no word.

"But you were so helpful before!" Peter stated, grasping at straws.

You need no more from me now. Go back.

Three sets of shoulders slumped. They knew when they were out of options, so the three did as the messenger suggested, and left, feeling empty-handed.

* * *

Janine was fed up. The guys had been gone for a while; she’d tried talking to Egon, but got nowhere...and that sickening presence of Reason was about to drive her mad. So she took the pocketknife, then the whetstone, and set them on the carpet. She cast a glance at Egon, who was sitting in a chair ignoring everything with a strange, uncanny calm. She frowned angrily and brought her rifle to bear. Looking back at the knife, she took careful aim and fired.

She wasn’t sure exactly what she expected to happen, or what the action would accomplish other than to relieve a modicum of her anger; but what did happen would have never occurred to her even in nightmares. The whetstone simply neutronized. The knife, however, absorbed a tiny bit of the proton energy before it first slagged then vaporized, but with the knife’s decomposition, all the blood it had absorbed exploded outward around the room, staining the walls and her face and her clothes. Janine blinked in abject horror, her jaw slack and hot blood dripping down her face.

It was everywhere.

Stumbling back, Janine open and closed her mouth, shuddering violently, her body torn as to whether it wanted to vomit or to scream. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that this at least had got Egon’s attention. He very slowly wiped some of his own blood from his deathly white face, looking at it with the same horror as did Janine.

Before the sight could really register as real and not some hellish nightmare vision, a deep sadness rolled in like a fog and all of the red gore smoked and dissolved into the air in blue wisps. Within seconds, the room was as clean as it had been, but for the swirling blue smoke that collected just above the melted carpet where the knife had been. Janine just stood in shock for some minutes, watching the smoke coalesce into a strange form.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Ray’s voice broke the horror-stricken trance Janine was in, startling her. "Huh? When did you get here?"

"Just a minute ago. Peter and Winston are on their way." The roundish doctor looked at the blue form floating above the carpet for a moment, then pointed his PKE meter at it. After a second of examining the readings, he proclaimed in a subdued voice, "It’s the shade...not Class One anymore, but it’s the same entity."

Janine gasped and took a closer look at the bluish smoke. It was Egon’s shade, the one he made in distress...but it was unlike anything she had ever seen. She hadn’t been on very many busts, not enough to become jaded to the truly weird shapes the paranormal came in, but she was pretty certain this was a unique one. The smoke resolved itself into a smallish, stooping shape with many arms, a pair for each of the shade’s sullen, hollow faces. The unfamiliar faces all looked inward, as if it were made of several transparent overlapping persons.

"What do we do with it?" Janine asked quietly, watching the smoky blue shade carefully. "We can’t bust it, can we?" All in all, the whole thing set her completely on edge. Knowing that the shade had influenced her strange dreams...and Peter’s.... The spirit remembered what Egon did, and it was a creature wholly given over to despair. It made her sick even thinking about it—sick, angry, and sad.

Ray knelt down and looked into one of the shade’s many in-turned faces. The sadness it exuded was thick enough to breathe, strong enough to push away anything but the faintest thought of Reason’s overpowering wickedness. "I don’t know, Janine." He glanced up at Egon, who sat in his chair with shaking hands and a very pale face. There was only the vaguest expressions coloring his face now: a faint, dull shock.

Janine wiped a slow tear off her face with one hand; the other still held the particle thrower limply. "I can’t stand it!" she sniffed loudly, "It remembers things that I remember just like they really happened...it made me dream things, made them my memories, they were all so sad! But Egon’s past couldn’t have been that awful! Not so bad that it could make the rocks cry...." She wiped more tears from her face as the gloom that clung to the room settled thickly upon her, dulling out anything but that all-pervasive sadness.

Ray also wiped away some of his own tears. He watched the shade with a sinking heart, trying hard not to succumb to the serious case of the creeps this thing gave him. Janine was right, the shade was some manifest part of Egon, but Ray couldn’t see any more than Janine how that part could be so dark. As he watched, the shade shifted its form, gathering up some of the oppressive darkness that blanketed the room. It resolved itself into the shape of a small child with dark, shifting features, as if seen through a dense fog. Its arms were thin and waif-like, and its eyes, the only feature really visible on its indistinct face, were large and glassy, of the deepest indigo. It raised its thin hands to Ray, sending a knife through his gut. It was so much like a lost and forlorn child...just as Janine had described the strange sensation she had from the knife before they knew for sure that it was haunted. Unable to help himself, as his heart was always warm and sympathetic, he reached out his own arms in a silent offer. The blue shade took the few steps and set its arms around Ray’s neck, clinging to him for dear life.

"We aren’t real. We are shadows. Don’t care for us. We aren’t real." It was the voice of the shade, every bit as distant and shadowy as it was.

Ray’s heart went out to the shade; no matter how creepy the situation was, he could not deny his compassion. He sniffed back tears as he lifted the shade up and held it like a little child. "You might be shadows," he whispered, "but you are real now." He suspected it was all too true; the shade was its own entity now, neither dependent on the knife, nor Reason, nor Egon for its existence. He was very sorry for that, for he thought it a cruel trick for anything, even a ghost, to be ‘born’ knowing only such darkness.

Janine wandered over to Ray’s side and looked into the shade’s navy eyes. She choked back more tears, asking, "What are you shadows of?"

The shade blinked its eyes and laid its head against Ray’s shoulder. "We are secrets, we are hidden. We are not known, we are cast off, we are forgotten. Forget us...."

Janine swallowed and continued. "I think we remember you...I think...I think I dreamed about you. No one just let you cry, did they?" she ventured.

The shade looked at her a little closer. "You let us. We remember. We know what we are...we know it would do no good to let the shadows cry."

Ray glanced over at Egon, knowing exactly what the shade was talking about. If a person was hurt, it certainly wouldn’t heal them to tend to their shadow. He gulped, realizing what must be happening. The shade must have grown in power because the real thing it was cast by must have as well. Reason must have done something supernatural to trap all of that unpleasantness, allowing Egon to go on as if it didn’t exist. That explained his sudden coolness over the last several days. He had seen the whole thing in action just today; the knife cut, Egon bled, and suddenly all warmth...even be it the heat of madness...fled out of him. Unfortunately, it appeared trapping the emotions just made them more virulent and powerful. He shook his head, wondering silently how much more shock he could handle.

After a long moment of consideration, he said to the shade, "It would do good for you, wouldn’t it?"

The shade shifted, turning its horribly sad eyes on Ray. "Raymond," it said in its smoke-shadow voice, "if you let us cry...if you give us that substance...what good would it do? We are forgotten."

Ray started a bit that the shade knew his given name, and used it as very few did; the only people to address him by his full name were strangers and Egon. He gathered himself up, willing himself not to break down into sobs from the sadness the shade exuded. "But you have substance now, there’s nothing we can do about that."

The shade nodded sadly. "Then...if you want, you can cry for us, because we cannot." At that, the shade set its head down, finding the crook of his neck, and Ray sat and began weeping for the shade, letting all of its sadness fall into him, and soon he was sobbing inconsolably.

Janine had trouble not crying at the sight of Ray wracked with sobs, but the unnatural sadness had left her for now; the shade seemed to be pouring it all into Ray. Darkly, she growled, "Three for the devil, zero for the Ghostbusters."

Egon finally stood up, slowly, with something akin to stark terror in his eyes, and walked toward Ray and the shade. Janine backed away, involuntarily; Egon seemed to be arrayed in shadows and evil, and she couldn’t force herself to stay near the dark aura. He lifted a hand to touch the blue shade, but he never quite did. It appeared that a force held back his hand.

"Mine...," Egon whispered, his voice cracking, "give it back...let me go...." Still, a force kept his hand away from the shade.

Still fighting back tears, Janine’s eyes snapped up to Egon. "It’s a shade, you know," she said quietly, but with some steel in her voice. "Your shade, or was. Didn’t you hear anything Ray said? Poor thing’s real now. It’s not yours, even if you made it."

Without turning his gaze, Egon replied softly, "I can’t have it. It won’t let me go."

"What won’t let you go?"

Peter and Winston had walked in a moment ago, just in time to hear Egon’s last statement. He exchanged a glance with Winston; Winston went over to Ray’s side and put an arm around the sobbing man. Peter would have gone as well, but Egon’s words struck a chord with him that he had to answer.

Peter stood next to Janine and said to Egon, "That’s not it at all. You won’t let it go...that’s the problem, isn’t it?"

This time Egon looked up at the one addressing him, his hand still a fine space from the shade. "It won’t let me go!" he said with heat. "I don’t want it...I want...escape...I want to escape, I want this back!" His gaze returned to the shade. "Give it back to me!"

Janine gasped. "Escape! A ‘suicide attempt’...an escape, from Reason, right? You’re here because you tried to escape Reason?"

"And what a way to do it," Peter said, "the same way he’s been digging his heels in, bleeding for him. Can’t get away from him that way. Now what do you want this ghost for?"

"It’s mine," Egon insisted with force.

Peter glanced at Janine. She quickly explained that she had destroyed the knife and that the shade was the Class One haunting it, the one that had caused their dreams. The dark haired man looked over at Ray, still wracked with sobs. Then he turned his gaze to Egon. "You want all of that back...everything Reason was hiding for you? Why now? When you wanted it gone before?" Peter was genuinely confused.

"It’s mine!" There was no calmness in him now. "To escape!"

Reason’s overshadowing presence flickered darkly, causing Peter and Janine to take a step back.

Egon shouted at the shadows. "I will! I will!"

Peter forced himself toward Egon and set his hand on the taller man’s shoulder. Egon flinched away, and Peter snatched his hand back, as if it had been burnt. "Do you think that shade’s memories will let you escape? But they’re yours already...is it because they’re stronger?" Peter bit his fingernail and spoke to himself. "Wait, locking it away cast this shadow...made it that much stronger." He looked back at Egon. "You want it for madness. That’s not happening on my watch, Spengs. You’re gonna have to find another way...if that’s what you really want."

"Let me go!" It was as if Egon hadn’t heard Peter at all. His voice held a note of hysteria now.

There was a sudden sigh, and Ray’s arms fell to his side. All attention turned to Dr. Stantz. The shade left his embrace, the deep blue of its form now changed to a pale, translucent mist. It smiled, and vanished. "Goodbye," Ray whispered. Then he glanced up at Egon, an expression of pity mixed with grief in his eyes.

Swift as a lion, Egon attacked Ray, wrapping long fingers around his throat. "Give it back!" he screamed, his voice cracking it was pitched so high.

Winston and Peter wrestled Egon off Ray quickly, fast enough that Ray wasn’t hurt, just surprised. He scooted back, while Winston and Peter held Egon. Janine, without even thinking, pulled her thrower and aimed it at Egon. "Back down, Egon," she hissed, and he backed down.

For a long moment, the five were motionless, breathing hard.

Then Winston spoke. "If you want out Egon, you want away from that monster...we gotta go to the source."

"What?" Peter asked, incredulous. "Hey You won’t let us by!"

"I think he will this time, Pete. That’s the whole thing...we can’t do it alone. You know who we’re dealing with?"

"Yeah...Ray told me. Reason is the Devil. I know that. What are you getting at, Winston?"

Egon flinched hard at that statement, and the oppressive shadow all five recognized as belonging to Reason deepened to an almost intolerable level.

"You stopped to consider who the other one might be?" Winston asked.

Ray stood up. "You have got to be kidding!"

"Ray, you’re the one who said the white pillar felt like heaven on earth," Winston pointed out.

Peter nearly had to scrape his jaw off the floor. "You’re saying what I think you’re saying?"

Winston nodded. "We can’t deal with Reason by ourselves." He turned to Egon and said, "You want escape? I know just where to take you."

For a long moment, Egon just stared at Winston. Unblinking, terrified, haunted and hunted, desperate and full of confusion, everything that he had not been over the past days...everything that no living person on Earth had ever seen in Egon’s eyes. He made an incoherent noise and jerked his arms away from Peter and Winston, making an obvious attempt to get at Janine’s proton rifle.

This time Ray joined in on keeping Egon under control. Janine dashed back and held her rifle as far away as she could. Peter hissed, his voice shaking, "What are you doing, Egon?" The question was no more than instinct; it was clear what was going on.

As sudden as he had tried for a rifle, Egon stopped, falling in the grasp of his friends nearly boneless. He looked at Ray and whispered, "You know." Then he hung his head in silence.

"Yeah," Ray answered quietly, "I know."

If any of the others could peek into Egon’s mind at that point, perhaps they might better understand his desperation. Reason had left his whole psyche in tatters, but in a point of direct cruelty, wouldn’t let him fall all the way into the absence of what the dark angel claimed to be. Despairing of ever returning to what he had once been, the only way Egon could see to repair the situation was to run and run hard. Now to know that Reason’s myriad lies and his own foolish belief in those lies had allowed more of what he wanted least...he had no secrets left. He had no idea what secrets of his Janine had learned from the shade. And worse yet, Ray knew everything; he could see it in his hazel eyes. Ray knew everything.

Everything.

In all the swirling confusion already scorching him, this little bit of knowledge had just gone and thrown everything even further out of his fast dwindling ability to control it.

It helped not at all that Reason had laughingly given him ‘permission’ to leave, even trying to help him. Egon could see and feel the dread in the hands of his friends; they shook and trembled, pale, ashen... Reason was trying to force them away, force them to slip, by its sheer overwhelming presence.

Confused and frightened as he was, Egon missed Reason’s own desperation...

"You’re sure about this, Winston?" Peter asked softly, his voice nearly drowned out by the darkness that came off Dr. Spengler in waves. His question was more rhetorical than anything however. With the force of power he felt just being in contact with Egon, he realized that Winston had to be right, if he had been right about anything through this entire nightmare.

The black man nodded silently.

"All right then. We should go...you willing, Egon?"

No response was forthcoming, so Peter shrugged and took that as a yes. He began moving in tandem with Winston toward the door, half-dragging Egon along. Ray moved to the front, while Janine followed behind.

It took surprisingly little explanation or cajoling on the parts of the Ghostbusters to get Egon out of the hospital. Only one doctor objected, and his objection lasted all of ten seconds. Peter simply said they would bring him back later, and the doctor gave way. Dr. Venkman was uncertain whether that was because of his promise or because of the increasingly unbearable presence of Reason.

In any event, the five exited the hospital with little effort. They climbed into Ecto-1, Ray last as he picked a parking ticket off the windshield. Then they were off, for the third and hopefully last time, to visit the abandoned subway tunnel.

The Absolute

As they approached the room wherein stood the pillars, Egon began struggling frantically to get away, and it wasn’t exactly difficult. The dread fear overshadowing him had made his friends weaker than they should have been. It was a testament to their tenacity and friendship for Egon that they could endure it at all.

Yet there came a time that even the strongest of friendships could not keep a friend’s hand from shaking too hard to hold on.

Egon backed up several steps, but went no further. He felt as though he had been speared through the gut, impaled, stuck in place by conflicting forces too powerful to ignore.

A similar sensation came over Peter as he slowly turned to face Egon. Pinned in place...but for him, it was by the sudden, lightning realization of just exactly what the messenger had meant in his dreams. He had caught a hint of it before when he said that Egon didn’t want to let go...now it was crystal clear.

The foothold is grasped in bleeding fingers, tightly held so as to break bone and strangle spirit. Fingers will slip, the hands will break, and the spirit will die. Help him let go.

There must be a fight...help him to fight.

There is one Inevitable, but be not deceived; what you have seen is not it.

Peter’s role was to help Egon fight his own deep-seated defenses.

Staggered slightly, Peter demanded, "I was right! You don’t want to let go of Reason! You want him there! The whole problem is right there," he punctuated his statement by pointing his index finger into his own palm, "right there. You don’t want Reason to leave."

Egon flinched and put a hand over his mouth, as if the idea sickened him, but he didn’t deny it.

Janine looked toward Peter, at Egon, then back. "What are you talking about, Dr. V?" she asked hotly. "I know he wouldn’t have tried killing himself twice just so he could stay buddy-buddy with Reason."

Peter wagged his finger slowly in Janine’s direction, without turning away from Egon. He stared hard at his friend, green on blue, and said to Janine, "You’re right, too, Janine. He hates it...you dreamed his dreams, so did I, and Ray, holy hell, Ray got the full dose of everything Reason had hid away for Egon. He hates Reason...but he doesn’t hate it enough, not enough to really let go. Even after all that...Egon, what is Reason giving you that is worth all of this? What did that monster promise you that you won’t fight him?"

"I want to be free!" Egon shouted, shivering.

"But you don’t want to fight! You want to run! You’re going to end up killing yourself over this, and that’s no way to fight!"

"I want to be free," Egon reiterated.

Peter wiped his face and glanced at their red headed secretary. "Janine, sorry, I’ll take all the Peter-pounding you have to dish out later, but I can’t keep my word." He looked back at Egon, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Ray nodding slowly and Winston observing. "I gotta be blunt with ya, Spengs. There’s no time left for beating around the bush. Is the ‘freedom’ you really want...I know what Reason promised you, because the bastard accidentally told me...is it worth losing out on how much you love her? Trust me, I know exactly where you stand on that point. Is it worth missing how much you love us? You really value your own intelligence that much?"

Egon ran his hands through his blond hair, dislodging his glasses in the process. He shook his head, mouthing words that wouldn’t form. Peter slowly inched forward, fighting against the darkness, and asked quietly, "Are you willing to fight? When you lost...or rather, when Reason took, your ability to think, I caught a glimpse of a man that would be a force to be reckoned with if he were whole." Peter choked back an unwilling tear, and added, "You know you mean more to me than a brother just the way you are...but that vision I saw...he’d be able to love us all back without thinking it was dangerous or feeling like he was losing something from it. I don’t think you can hide that man anymore. I’m seein’ a rock and a hard place here, and it’d be a hell of a hard place for us if you ran away and died."

Suddenly Winston Took Egon by the arm and bodily dragged him into the room with the pillars. The move startled Peter, who nearly fell. "What are you doing?" he shouted after his powder blue-clad colleague.

"I’m gettin’ help!" Winston called back. The rest followed quickly, and Winston was right about the messenger; he was nowhere to be seen.

"So what’s the big idea messing with my speech?" Peter snapped as soon as Winston stopped inside the room. Egon wandered farther in, then stooped, and seemed to be trying to disappear.

"I told you, we can’t do this without help," Winston said, nearly out of breath for some reason. It hadn’t exactly been a long dash, but it was likely the proximity of Reason had made it more difficult than it needed to be. "You were doin’ fine, but Pete, if you coulda talked him into it alone, you coulda done that anywhere."

Wiping his eyes, Peter nodded, conceding the point. Janine jabbed the dark-haired man in the ribs and said, "I’ll forgive you fer breakin’ yer word if it gets him back."

"That’s nice to hear," Peter grimaced.

A voice reverberated in the room, and Peter recognized it as belonging to Reason. He felt chills as the creature addressed him with a single word. "Vanity," he said.

Then Reason’s attention turned to Ray. "The Hidden."

To Janine. "Esteem."

To Winston. "Respect."

Lastly to Egon. "Reason." Then he laughed, and the sound was like knives in their flesh. All eyes turned to the dark pillar, and the darkness doubled, trebled in intensity. "I could have you all."

The messenger appeared next to Ray. He is correct; you must be wary. Not today, but tomorrow... The intensity of Reason’s blackness didn’t last long; in fact, it seemed less, less than they had felt in what seemed like ages. It was no longer something they had to fight against to move; in fact, it had reduced to mere anxiety and chills. Peter, go speak your last words. Your part is nearly run its course.

Peter nodded, then went and stood next to Egon. "So? What’ll it be?"

Egon looked up at Peter from his stooped position. With the lessening of Reason’s shadows, his mind became clearer, and it seemed to the physicist that a question he had not been able to answer came back to him, one that had Janine’s words earlier that day had suggested. A choice in the matter. He winced as he realized, finally, that he had, all along. He had a choice in the matter. Reason could do whatever it wanted, but it could never take away the choice...he could have let the thing do its worst and lost nothing more than he had by giving into it. He closed his eyes for a moment. Still uncertain there was another way out of the dark angel’s grasp, he at least had the choice to give up. Not give up his life, not to escape, not to the tricky ‘freedom’ Reason promised, but to give up his strangle-hold grip on everything Reason had helped him hide away. Give up pretending he didn’t enjoy Murray the Mantis...or pretending in regards to more weighty matters. Give up defending himself from his feelings, from other’s feelings...give up his long instilled pride in his thrice-damned reason. Eyes still closed, very faintly, he nodded.

And then the room filled with fire, driving all but Egon Spengler away from the pillar of white.

The two were swallowed up in a blinding flash of light so white and fiery it scorched the cavern floor. The bright light persisted, the rays of it so powerful they kicked up dust and it filled the noses of the remaining Ghostbusters and Janine with the smell of burnt ground and old rock. They all wiped their faces and covered their eyes and mouths as best they could, to block out the painfully bright light and the dust.

If they could have, all four would have covered their ears as well; the dark pillar of mind-blinding colors was howling in unholy anger. Its wings were flapping furiously, kicking up more dirt...but soon that slowed for it was losing its feathers. Reason’s flailing wings cast its dark quills in all directions and soon the whole room was full of them. Winston glanced out at the display, reached out and caught a feather, an extensor, nearly as long as his arm. The colors with which Reason infused its feathers had stilled, leaving beautiful green-gold streaks on the ebony pinion. Nothing of the foul sense of Reason’s presence was left in it...in fact, it felt strangely clean, so Winston held on to it.

The light filling the room was an holy fire, empyrea come down on earth...

Egon looked around, trying to clear the momentary confusion the light had caused. He saw still white walls, glowing softly with an ethereal light. There was no presence here, other than his own...for a moment, he was alone.

And that in itself was a relief so vast it shook him to the core. He hadn’t realized until then how powerful Reason’s presence had been in his own mind.

Before that brief sense of aloneness could become a deep loneliness, another appeared before his sight. It was something of the white pillar, the part which he had so much wanted the first time but had ignored.

He could not ignore it this time.

"Oh, my little one, what have you done?" It was soft, echoing audibly in his ears the voice he knew was the pillar’s true one, one very still and quiet speaking from very deep in him.

He didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t clearly know what he had done...what had been done to him, but he had a good sense of it...he was too lost in the utter confusion Reason left to have much more. If nothing else he saw that clearly...Reason promised clarity and left confusion—he had never been so lied to in all his life.

"My little one...." A silent sadness ran through the white one, extending into the ethereal walls, dimming the brightness in long streaks. "Come here."

"Why?" he asked, not wanting one of those things to hurt him again...yet he took a slight step toward the white one. There was still the supernatural hold on the raging blackness in him, the one he had bought with his blood, even if, for the moment, Reason was gone. The schism it produced was very deep, leaving him to want after his dark, rotting emotions as for water in a desert and to flee from them for the hurt he knew they held. Still he was trapped; he felt as though he were on the knife-edge of sanity, and he was very afraid.

"I have made it safe for you. Not that it was ever a danger...but I have made it safe for you."

Egon felt on his face the light touch of a few long feathers, and he knew that the owner of them wanted something much more than what Reason had wanted... The right words to express this thing he knew had fled his thoughts. He wasn’t sure there were words for it. But the quality of it was such that he somehow wanted it too...as the shade had wanted, so he wanted...

The white wings gathered him up and surrounded him. The feel of them was both deliciously warm as a down comforter and cool as clear water on a hot day. The pale feathers held him gently, softly as he knew his mother had when he was very new; yet even then the air was cold and he was afraid...here he wasn’t. There was nothing else in this world except him and the white one whose wings defined its existence.

And suddenly Reason’s supernatural schism vanished without a trace, leaving no separation between and no protection from the hurt that had been imprisoned. Egon grabbed two handfuls of white down and clenched them and tore them from the white one’s wings and cried for all the blackness he could not handle. He was far overwhelmed and he had no way of his own of sorting through it all. The shade Ray had helped disperse had held only a fraction of the depth of feeling and rottenness Egon felt he would drown in now.

But for every one of the white one’s quills Egon tore in his pain there grew up another, softer than the last and the wings held firm, firmer than the mountain’s roots. And it was safe for him; none but the white would ever know of his madness then.

In time uncounted, his raging abated and to the white one he whispered, "It hurt me..."

"I know. It twisted the gifts I gave you. I cannot say it will never hurt you again, but I trust you will be aware of it?"

Egon rested his head against the white feathered pillar, sighing. "I hope so."

"Let me tell you something. Should you leave here unchanged, you will continue as you are. The Relative, Reason so-called, will not compel you as he has. But do not think you will be free; no, you will ever be chained by your own violence. Reason did not do this unaided; he caused to be in you no new thing—merely an exaggeration of your own long habit.

"You will continue as you are. As time takes you forward, you will learn many things, your mind will grasp great things. Then you will die. You know, better than many can, that death is not the end.

"Yes, you will continue. You will come to know the deep secrets of the universe...you will by your own power understand things that hold such complexity and depth that their brightness will dim all things you now comprehend to the flicker of a dying candle’s flame. In this you will become a god...indeed, a god of reason.

"And as Reason has done to you, so you will continue to do. You will demand your own blood. And you will give it. You will demand your own soul. And you will give it. You will demand of yourself more than you can give and will never be satisfied. No violence will ever be enough.

"As you attempted to live and die on your own terms, so you will continue to do after. You will long for that escape you tried to take only days ago, but it will be far too late then. You will know that there is no such escape, not now, and not in the future. And as that is denied you, so will you revenge yourself upon yourself, for there will be no one else to take it out on. Reason so-called will be trapped by his own chains, as you will be.

"Then, and only then, will you come to know the final bit of knowledge that had thus escaped your power. Then you will fully grasp what you cannot begin to see now. What you have done to yourself in the past is but a shadow of the deeply buried truth. Do you not still deny many things and demand much to satisfy what you think is your reason? Reason so-called flayed away much of what concealed that truth, and you have tasted it, but it is such a little taste, hardly to be compared to the reality of it. For then, after all is accomplished, you will realize wholly what you have lost and can never have...outside, looking in on they that are whole."

Egon pushed away from the white pillar, horrified, but it held him firmly. "That isn’t right! Aren’t you supposed to be good? You would do such a thing?"

"I would not, no. But I have given you the choice. I tell you this to warn you. All of this, everything that has happened...Egon, you are a stubborn man and it takes a great deal to get your attention."

"You have it now," Egon deadpanned.

The whiteness laughed. "I should hope so. Let me keep your attention, when you leave. You have time yet, but not all the time in the world. I have given you both intellect and passion; do not in pride favor one over the other. It is your true nature to exercise them both. There are things in this world that intellect cannot fathom, but passion can...yet they are not what I am. You do have a choice, and it is life or death. I am the Absolute."

With those words, the wings of the Absolute unfolded, and the light faded. Soon, Egon stood in the dusty, scorched room, and the pillars were gone. He looked around, gathering in the sight of his thoroughly filthy friends and the ebony feathers plastered all over them as well as the floor and walls, clinging to every uneven surface.

The four, finally realizing the strange assault was over, lowered their arms and spat out dust and feathers. "Where does that fall on the ‘Wow-o-meter’, Tex?" Peter quipped, pulling black down out of his hair.

"Ah, that’s pretty high up there," Ray grinned.

Janine dusted herself off, which was a useless task. Then she looked over at Egon, and barely resisted the urge to run up and hug him. With the vanishing of the two pillars and the messenger as well, she felt as light as the feathers that littered the room. Instead, she satisfied herself simply to ask, "Are you OK?"

Egon looked over at Janine, then down at his hands. He opened them, revealing two handfuls of white feathers. They drifted to the floor to join the black. "I...think I will be. Reason is gone." He glanced at the other men in the room. "I need some time. Honestly, no lie. The Absolute gave me quite a bit to digest, as did you all, and it will take me some time to figure it all out. But...I will be OK, I hope...."

"Good to hear it, Egon. But you are letting us help this time!" Peter declared with a finality that could not be ignored. Every dirty face in the cavern echoed the sentiment.

"Yes, yes!" Egon replied, not quite cowering.

"OK, homes, as long as we’re clear on that point," Winston said as he walked over to Egon’s side and picked up one of the white feathers. He handed the two feathers to Egon, one white, and one multicolored black. "Thought you might want to keep them as remembrance. Not everyone gets a personal visit from God."

The taller man didn’t take them, but he stared at the feathers for a long time. He flicked the tip of the black extensor. "I suppose not. Are you the only one that Reason didn’t tell my secrets to?"

"’Fraid so."

"Then I guess I’ll have to tell you myself...," Egon answered quietly. "It won’t be easy...."

Winston nodded, putting the feathers in one hand and patting Egon’s shoulder with the other. "You don’t have to, y’know. But sometimes the harder road is the better one in the end. If you need to unload, you have my ear."

Egon just dipped his head in acknowledgement. Then he made a supremely annoyed face. "Now I have to go back to that hospital, don’t I?"

"Yeah, unfortunately," Peter said, his face mirroring Egon’s. "I think they expect me back, too."

"We’ll spring you two as soon as we can," Ray said, and the five began to walk out of the room.

Egon sighed as he walked. He saw ahead of him a long road; it would not be easy to come to terms with what had happened to him. But he made a vow then, a silent vow, that he would walk that road.

His mind in a manageable, if ghastly disordered state, knowing that his friends were there, and more than that, the whisper of white feathers in his heart restored hope. He quickly, softly set his hand on Ray’s shoulder and grasped Janine’s hand.

The End

Author’s notes:

This is hardly a treatise on theology, so please don’t take it as one. It’s fiction...set in a fictional world.

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