The crowd was tense, milling around in shock, fear and disbelief but no great panic yet. Families stood tightly together in unhappy clumps on the sidewalks encircling the grounds of their suddenly abandoned gothic church. Harassing them were New York's Press Corp, grubbing for eyewitnesses and photos. A few dozen police officers had cordoned off the area, out of their league and trying not to let it show. An eternity passed in the bright Spring sunshine. Everyone was waiting.

The unsettled horde began to notice a strange siren off in the distance. A harsh, guttural blare completely unlike the high-pitched squealing of modern American emergency vehicles, it sounded like something from a European War movie. It got louder and impossibly louder still as a classic ambulance shining with red and white paint and flashing gold emergency lights charged into view like the sun rising and all heads turned, pleased and relieved. Their wait was over.

"Well, they're not running." Winston Zeddemore observed as he eased Ecto through the throng congesting the courtyard. "Whatever crashed the church service can't be THAT bad."

"Or it's a stationary manifestation that can't go after them OR it might actually be FRIENDLY!" Ray Stantz leaned forward in his seat and beamed reassuringly at the pale faces peering in at him as Ecto slowly rolled past. Many of those faces showed obvious delight at the sight of him, and Ray was warmed and gratified by their reaction. Children managed to release their vise grips on their parents long enough to wave at the four men in their glorious white rescue monstrosity, and their heroes waved back. Ray had a silly thought. There Is No Need To Fear! The Ghostbusters Are Here!

"They're too scared, Ray." Peter Venkman disagreed, the seriousness of his tone clashing with the beaming handsomeness he was projecting to his fans. "Whatever they've got here, I'm certain it's gonna hurt. Hurt beyond hurting! And it'll probably be me."

"It usually is. Fortunately for us."

"Die, Spengler."

Egon Spengler smiled and activated his PKE meter. The church was fully in view. It was a dark, massive landmark, all leaded glass, bell towers and flying buttresses.

"Addams Family, eat your heart out." Peter observed.

Egon scanned through the crowd to detect what might be lurking inside. "I'm picking up strong readings but we're still too far away to..."

"It's a demon!"

"What, Ray?"

"I just saw it! It's glowing." Ray almost took Winston's head off as he frantically pointed at one of the upper belfry windows. "It's ugly and red, with a grotesque leer on its face." They all looked up in time to see a scarlet light fade away. Suddenly uneasy, Peter opted for the humorous route as he so often did.

"Ugly and red. You just described our own ever-lovin' Janine Melnitz, Ray." Peter cut his eyes at Egon, waiting. Baiting Janine, in person or in absentia, was one of his favorite pastimes.

"He most certainly did NOT!" Egon growled, defending the honor of the Ghostbuster's redheaded and volatile fifth member, holding down the fort back at headquarters, as was his prerogative when the object of his desire was not present to defend herself. He suddenly controlled a smile, thinking of Janine, and the rare occasions she wore her yellow polka-dot bikini to work when the weather was too hot.

Peter caught the hidden expression. "Thinking fun thoughts, Spengs? I don't blame you. She looked awful good in that blue miniskirt this morning..." Peter's face became dreamy. He remembered a certain mole...

Winston grinned wickedly, "Personally, I like the green miniskirt..."

Ray liked the low-cut summer shirts that displayed just a hint of cleavage and the bare skin of her shoulders but that was Too Much Information so he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Egon muttered something insulting under his breath but they all heard him clearly anyway.

"'Microphallic' is not a word..." Peter began.

"It's a state of mind, huh, Peter?" Ray snarked.

Peter licked the tip of an invisible pencil and mimed putting Ray and Egon's names onto his Black List.

Egon dragged his considerable intellect back to the problem at hand. "A demon taking over a church. Looks like we have another Theological Siege."

"Good." Winston parked Ecto in front of the old edifice with a smile. How he loved to kick demonic butt and make a grand religious point of it, too. I cast thee OUT you...you soul-guzzling piece of shit. Time to clean house.

All four men confidently swung wide their doors and burst out ready for anything. Hail the Conquering Heroes. They were rushed by their admirers but not surrounded. It seemed no one was willing to turn their backs on the church in order to face the Ghostbusters. A large crowd trying to hide behind four lone men was a sight to see. Everyone was talking, shouting, gesticulating and interrupting each other. "It's HORRIBLE..."

"It came crashing up through the floor...!"

"It's big...!"

"It's all red and smoky...!"

"It's HORRIBLE...!"

"It was cursing and growling...!"

"It's HORRIBLE...!"

Peter raised his hands for calm and silence. Flash bulbs popped from all directions. "Was anyone hurt? Is everyone out?"

A very tall, incredibly skinny and anxious looking woman stepped forward, nose to nose with Peter, unaware, in her fright, that she was a little TOO close. Peter held his ground and tried not to go cross-eyed. She stammered, "Uh...half of us were banged up and scared pretty good but no one has had to go to the hospital. We all got out OK and it...uh...it didn't follow us. It's still in there and it screams out at us and it's just...nasty." Egon scanned the church to verify her story. Yes, one Class Seven Demon and, he changed the settings and scanned again, no human life signs. He gave Peter the thumbs-up.

"Good, then." Peter patted the woman on the shoulder, surreptitiously putting her at a safe distance from himself. "Everything's going to be just fine. We already know what it is and what it wants. We've done this about a dozen times before. Who's in charge around here?"

A large man dressed in black pompously pushed his way forward, tapping a drum roll on Ecto in his enthusiasm. Out of respect for the clergyman's position, Winston didn't glare at him.

"I'm Philip Frank! I'm so glad you're here! You said...you said you already KNOW what it wants?"

A red light began to move with ominous intent from window to window within the church, heading towards the ground floor. Peter watched it in annoyance. Here it comes. Spotting the glow, the crowd nervously moved back again. Frank bravely stood his ground. Egon took a few more readings and, catching Peter's eye, nodded, confirming their earlier suspicions. A brain-sucker. A Feeder.

The light came to rest at an upper-story window, overlooking the entire crowd.

It was watching.

The Paranormal Eliminators moved towards the back of Ecto and began to help each other on with their gear. First and foremost, they affixed Psi-Scramblers to their wrists. A variation on the silver Dimensional Locater bracelets, the Scramblers were invaluable for creating an energy signature that made it very difficult for a telepath to settle into a Ghostbuster’s mind. They were not powerful enough to block a possession but Peter loved them dearly, anyway.

Then they shrugged the fifty-pound nuclear powered proton packs onto their backs. Then the Ecto-scopes and Psychokinetic Energy meters were shoved into belts. Watching their preparations Frank was reminded of Roman Warriors girding themselves for battle and, thrilled, was bouncing on his toes in excitement. "Are you ready?" he asked Egon. "What IS that thing?"

The crowd began to drift back as close as they dared, hoping to catch Egon's every phlegmatic word, but many made sure to keep Ecto between themselves and the monster inside their church. Egon gathered a couple of ghost traps and began calmly, "It's a Class Seven Semi-Corporeal Psionic Feeder. A 'demon' in layman's terms."

"A REAL demon? Oh, good God Almighty Damn...uh...dang! I was hoping it was just a really ugly ghost..."

"You, and your parishioners, are very fortunate. There are reports throughout the centuries of demons attacking religious gatherings and killing worshippers. There was an especially disturbing incident in 16th century England where a demon, in the form of a great black dog, swung down from the rafters of a Catholic Basilica and bit the head off a priest..."

"CoME FOrTh aNd DO BaTTle wiTh ME, I am LORD of LoCusTs, DrINker of The BLOOD of cHRist...coMe TO yOUr DEATHS for THy SoULs are MINE!"

"Hark. What dulcet tones are these?" Peter asked dramatically, sneering in the direction of the diabolical shouting. He was the only Ghostbuster that looked up; the rest were finishing their preparations and trying to appear blasé. A Feeder. No, no, no, no....

"ReVeROF YrolG Eht dNa RewoP ehT MOdGNIK..."

The chanting continued and Ray, shoving his hands into heavy black gloves, rolled his eyes. "The Lord's prayer, backwards. This thing's watched 'The Exorcist' once too often. I wonder where it's been hiding? We should have run across it before now."

Frank rubbed his scalp nervously. "It came out of a box. We're having a neighborhood garage sale this weekend and a lot of junk is being stored in the basement. During services some of the kids snuck down to poke around and broke into this weird stone box...the poor girls came running back up, screaming..."

"I bet it's been trapped for years, probably behind the times..." Ray pondered.

"I ShaLL HaVe THY OWN BLOOD to DrinK!!"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP?!" Frank shouted back, stomping his flat feet.

Peter put a hand on the broad man's shoulder. "Down, El Tigre." Secretly he wondered if 'Ol Frank would be so brave if he weren't backed by the big guns and if the demon wasn't so determined to stay inside.

Winston smiled smugly at his teammate, catching and silently agreeing with Peter's unvoiced opinion.

Raising his voice for the benefit of the mob and the press, (a battle of GOOD versus EVIL in a church being a big deal for a slow news week) Peter said, "Let me tell you exactly what's going on. We've labeled this sort of situation a Theological Siege. A demon storms into a church or temple or other place of worship and holds the sacred building hostage. This creates a lot of attention, a lot of religious turmoil, which is a hell of a strong vintage for a demon, and it feeds on the crowd's emotional fear and rage until it's driven away or the building is burned down or abandoned."

Frank looked at his historic church in terror.

Peter went on. "I mean why go hunting when you can just look ugly and have hundreds of the pious faithful come to you and be destroyed trying to exorcise you? Good eatin'."

"FoRNIcATOR!!"

"ME OR THE ZEDD-MAN, HERE?" Peter pointed at a mortified Winston.

"ThOU SInFUL LuSTFul FreaKFREakFREAK! DESpisED By aLL HOLY CREAtureS!!

"Oh, he means Egon. I apologize, Zed."

Peter watched expectently as Egon adjusted his eyeglasses and opened his mouth to deliver what would have been a memorable retort when all the windows in the church blazed red. The disgusting crimson light flowed through every dramatic curve and line of the gothic, haunted edifice. The bricks and mortar turned black against the unnatural light. Every upturned face, every inch of ground seemed drenched in blood. Children began to scream and panicked parents immediately scooped them up and rushed them away. As the wind blew over the faces of the crowd, chilled into silence, the terrible beam began to fade until red eyes glowed with fiery menace from one lone window above them. For an eternal moment Peter could feel his pulse beating in his neck. Red eyes. Red eyes pinning his soul right where he stood.

Recovering quickly, Peter began to sarcastically applaud. "Oh, that was BEAUTIFUL! I'm MOVED!" The spell was shattered. Relaxing, his teammates followed his lead. "ENCORE! AUTHOR!!" He turned to the gathering and gave them his warmest smile. "C'mon everybody!" Philip Frank reluctantly began to slap his hands together and soon the entire crowd was collectively thumbing its nose and cheering the demon's impressive display. Peter felt a surge of insulted rage flowing towards and through him. "Red-Eye's projecting. A mighty strong mind reader, this time." He whispered to his friends. "Scramblers on? Okay. Watch your asses, guys."

"Aw, Peter." Ray grinned, double-checking the small device that he and Egon had worked months to perfect. "We don't have any secrets!"

"You certainly don't." Not true, but Peter was Keeping Up Appearances. Peter wondered what nasty little memory or aspect of his own soul was going to be made public knowledge THIS time. Even with the Scrambler blocking most of his memories and emotions, a small bit always managed to seep through if the telepath was determined enough. How much had Red-Eye learned before they had turned the Scramblers on? They'd soon find out. His friends would not judge him or shun him - they never had before - but, damn, he desperately preferred to keep his latest secrets.

Secrets such as...the whereabouts of an autographed Agatha Christie novel that had once been Winston's but now belonged to one of Peter's ex-girlfriends. Also, the small matter of just who exactly put the plastic explosives in Egon's chess set. Most importantly he did not want it known that he knew of a heart-shaped mole on Janine's body, the location of which Peter had discovered when he accidentally spotted her in the shower...for ten minutes...

The newly designated Red-Eye felt a shock as he realized that the insufferable minds of his challengers were lost to him. He could still feel the turmoil of the people down below but these...Ghostbusters...their thoughts had become vague, shadowy. What the hell? He raked his claws across himself in sudden frustration. The talons did no harm; Red-Eye's body was not as physical as it appeared. What the HELL?!

Peter was still fretting. He did NOT want the secrets of his closest friends revealed to him either. Sneaking a glance at the three men beside him he knew they felt the same.

Still, this was not the first mind-sucking parasite they had busted and it wouldn't be the last. However, life in the firehouse was going to be difficult the next few days as all four men assimilated whatever new knowledge they had received.

Feeder Backlash. Also known as pure, distilled embarrassment.

They would walk on eggshells. They would avoid each other's eyes. Conversation would be kept to a minimum as each person dwelled unhealthily on how the others perceived him now. There would be flare-ups of anger and accusations. What were you THINKING when you did that?

After the explanations and the eventual recovery, heaven help them all, the teasing would begin. Janine would bat her eyes and worm every detail out of Egon. Peter would contemplate leaving the country. Then they'd all get over it.

Bottom line, they could and would recover from the attack of a telepath. They always had before. Suck on THAT thought, Red-Eye. Chew on THAT. Peter gestured for Frank and a few cops to come closer and addressed them with absolutely no nonsense in his tone.

"Listen up. We're going in but I want you people to stay OUT and to keep everyone else OUT. No matter what you see or hear, it's probably a trick. This sort of demon feeds on mental energy, pain and fear. The more victims it can lure in, the stronger it gets." Everyone in the vicinity shuddered. "It'll only try to leave the church when it feels it's in danger. We'll try to keep it busy but, meanwhile I want all these people kept way back."

No one questioned Peter's authority or his orders. The man had closed down City Hall itself more than once in the pursuit of various entities.

Peter fixed Frank with a hypnotic glare, "You're going to hear terrible things, you might even hear us screaming for help, but IT'S A TRICK. Don't come in. Don't come to our rescue. We eat nasties like this for breakfast so we don't need ANYONE stepping foot inside. DON'T OPEN THAT DOOR! Is that TOTALLY clear?"

Ray got a mental image of Gene Wilder in 'Young Frankenstein' issuing those same orders before he panicked at the sight of the Monster he had created. ("Open this goddamn door, you bastards, or I'll kick your rotten heads in! MOMMYYYY!!!") Ray turned completely around to hide his smile.

Frank and the members of the NYPD accepted their charge frantically, wide-eyed and excited. They were relieved to be doing SOMETHING. Philip Frank expanded his chest, determined not to fail. Peter turned back to his teammates.

"Let's go."

The Ghostbusters almost casually strode up the steps. More flash bulbs popped and the crowd, growing perceptibly larger, began to scream encouragement at them. All four men walked tall as they approached the huge double doors of enemy territory. Adrenaline surged through their bodies, making them strong and invincible. They were ready and smiling. The people were chanting their names. "Ghostbusters!!! Ghostbusters!! GhostbustersGhostbustersGhostbustersGhostbustersGhostbusters!!!"

"Pull 'em." Peter ordered. "And I do mean your THROWERS!"

"Peter!"

They unholstered their throwers in unison, slapping the weapons into the palms of their hands with a loud WHACK. Always a crowd-pleasing move. More shouts, more cheers. It was all so good. A powerful, almost subliminal electronic hum vibrated through the air as they charged up four nuclear accelerators, and the parishioners, press and the simply curious went wild, jumping. Coasting on the almost sexual thrill of their attention and acclaim the sudden, unwholesome thought that he was just as psionically hungry as the demon crossed Peter's mind but he buried it quickly. They weren't hurting anybody and their grandstanding helped erase the very palpable dread that the Seven had inspired.

The double doors began to slowly open and Red-Eye crouched in front of them, blocking their way. The form he had chosen was a stereotypical bipedal, crimson, horned hulk of a beast with a barbed tail and cloven hooves. Peter grinned at it and Red-Eye squinted at him with surprise. Why was this pitiful human smiling? Red-Eye began to suspect that his enemies now, like the sorcerers that had defeated him years ago, were too sophisticated to fear this shape. A bad sign.

Confirming that conclusion, Peter spoke, "What? No bat wings?"

Red-Eye exchanged his bestial theosophical yammerings for the deep Midwestern tones of Egon Spengler. "I DO so beg your pardon. How insensitive of me." With a hideously wet pop, enormous pustules on Red-Eye's back grew and erupted into sharp, taloned bat wings. He stretched them over his head and Peter could see pulsing veins among the thin, fleshy webbing before Red-Eye began to flap them, sending a hot nauseating stench to blow over the four men.

There was only one thing to say and Peter, fighting his gag reflex, said it. "Thank you. Accuracy is very important to us."

Red-Eye stopped. The human males were not amazed or even impressed. Why? He sensed only dormant magic and since magic was the only thing that could harm or dispel him he did not understand their surety. Perhaps they had other methods? They must, for their thoughts had become enigmatic. He could barely sense their mental presence. How? Their machines. Could human machines ACTUALLY hurt him? Would those weapons stop him? Kill him? Had so much changed in the fifty years he had been imprisoned? The Unknown was worrisome. Perhaps what little he had learned of them as their noisy vehicle appeared would be enough and Red-Eye was nothing if not resourceful.

His tail thrashed like a hungry cat as he and his opponents continued to size each other up. These human men were confident. Perhaps too confident. Well, Red-Eye was hungry and no slouch himself. However, this feeding might require a little...strategy.

"I will devour your minds whole," Red-Eye bluntly stated.

"OUR minds?" Winston inquired. "Man, you're gonna STARVE!"

Despite himself, Red-Eye was beginning to like them. He smiled. "I'll simply kill you, then. Make your peace with whatever harvest god you worship." He challenged in Ray's voice this time. Ray did not recognize his own voice but the others did and they scowled. Sacrilege. The pleasantries were over.

"Sorry, we're not religious men." Peter said.

"I'm a religious man." Winston corrected him.

"Oh, I apologize, Winston, you wanna take it then?"

"Hell, yeah."

Winston fired. Fierce, twined bands of red and blue energy struck Red-Eye square in the chest and he was blown off his hooves back inside the building, growling and clawing all the way. The Ghostbusters leapt in after it and the doors slammed closed behind them. Red-Eye's questions were answered and he was furious and amazed.

"YESSSS!! The EXPRESSION on his face! Love it!" Peter fired his thrower. The beams flashed like Thor's lightning bolts in the cavernous old structure. Unexpectedly pained, Red-Eye cast him one last look of shock, marking him, before vanishing, leaving only an enraged howl to echo behind him. Oh, great, Peter mentally groaned, a teleporter, too. The four moved back to back. Winston, Peter and Ray's throwers covered all points of the compass as Egon adjusted his PKE meter, tracking the Seven.

"Where is he?" Winston asked, never taking his eyes from the shadows.

"This is new. Raymond, look at these readings." Peter moved to cover Ray's quadrant as his teammate examined Egon's findings. "WOW! That's ODD!"

"Whhheerrrre issss heeeee?" Winston patiently asked again.

"He's back in the belfry..." Ray began.

"He's also in the basement." Egon finished.

"You mean there's TWO demons? Wonderful..." Winston looked around the landmark building with regret. There was going to be some serious structural damage done before the day was through.

"No. Listen to THIS!" Ray began to work his own meter, correlating Egon's results. "There's ONE demon in TWO different places."

"That's impossible."

"Hardly." Egon backed Ray up. "There are sub-atomic particles that have been proven to exist in space and time at two different locations."

"AND it's a COMMON thing! Even among humans." Ray was excited now. Teleporting, shapeshifting, telepathic, psionically vampiric demons that could exist in more than one place at a time was exactly Ray Stantz's cup of tea. He gave his thrower a caressing grip. "A French schoolteacher named Emilie Sagee lost nineteen teaching positions in sixteen years because she couldn't control her own psychic double. The poor lady."

Winston looked to Peter for confirmation of this and was not reassured when Peter nodded matter-of-factly. Wow, indeed. What a bizarre, wonderful thing. He would have to read up on that when he got back to the firehouse.

Egon continued Ray's tale while keeping a careful eye on the creature's movements. It was still in the basement and the belfry. "That same woman would exhibit a definite languor whenever her twin appeared. This 'doubling' of the self requires a great deal of energy and, luckily, our Seven is also so affected. He's weaker."

"Weaker and in the two farthest points of the building." Peter exclaimed. "Ooh, how TEMPTING for us to split up and go after it." He tried not to think of the myriad different ways a teleporting monster could exhaust them with a futile pursuit before killing them. In the deepest wells of Peter's mind he could feel Red-Eye patiently waiting for them to make the first move. The thing was still surprised by their initial successful attack and becoming impressed with the Ghostbusters' experience in dealing with...such as he. Peter's skin puckered into cold gooseflesh. Smart. This critter was smart. Peter jerked his head and quickly thought of something else, effectively shutting off his receptivity before Red-Eye could sense, and take advantage of, his fears or his ideas despite the Scrambler. Peter was easily 'readable.'

"He's above us and below us. Hmmm..." Ray examined the granite stone of the building. "The proton streams are totally antithetical to this thing. If we could run a positive charge through the entire building we should be able to trap it inside and keep it from merging again..."

"It TELEPORTS, Ray. It probably floats, too. There's no need for it to touch any surface unless it wants to." Peter's morbid imagination was working hard and he tried to curb it. Tried not to think about the circumstances wherein a demon would touch his friends. With claw and fang. "There's no trapping it that way." Ray didn't exactly pout but it was pretty close.

"How about if we diffuse a protonic pulse through the air?" Winston suggested with hope.

Egon reluctantly shot him down. "The energy necessary to hinder an entity this powerful would fry us and burn down the building."

"We haven't been in here FIVE MINUTES and we're already in a standoff?! I HATE this!" Peter had a sudden mental image of Janine pointing and laughing at him and he sighed. The decision was up to him, Fearless Leader extraordinaire. "Okay. It looks like we have to play the game."

"Split up?" Egon asked, scowling.

"HELL'S PECKERS NO! If Red-Eye wants his pound of flesh he'll have to play by our rules. We'll go to him and he'll attack us, following Standard Demon Procedure, and torture us. Then we'll get him. Question is, do we want to be tortured in the belfry or the basement?" Peter raised his hand, "I vote basement."

Winston shook his head, "Too good of a place to get trapped. I vote belfry."

"I hate heights. I hate stairs. Basement." Peter persisted.

"I want to see the bells!" Ray put in. "I vote belfry, too."

"BASEMENT!"

"Egon?"

Egon tried not to look TOO much the smartass. "We COULD wait for the demon here but I want to see the bells, too. Belfry."

Outnumbered, Peter made a disgusted hissing noise. "I hope you'll all remember me fondly when I fall out of the damn tower and go Spuh-LAT!"

"Don't worry, Peter..." Ray threw a brotherly arm around his friend and started to lead him towards the first of many flights of stairs. "...'til the day we die we'll never forget 'ol What's-His-Name."

His ready ploy to separate them had failed and Red-Eye brought all of himself to the belfry to wait and think. Pain. They had actually given him pain with their human machines. Those damned boxes of steel and wire had driven him back immediately and closed their minds to him. Red-Eye cursed the asinine over-confidence that had prevented him from delving deeper into their souls when he had the chance but the lusciously fearful crowd had distracted him. Well, he didn't know! They had no magic! How was he to know they could hurt him with MACHINES! Accursed human MACHINES!! He COULD leave but no, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. And he truly loved a challenge.

Think. What little did he know already? As their blatant, noisy vehicle arrived what had these 'Ghost Busters' been thinking of? They had been relaxed, and curious as to what manner of creature they would be fighting, insulting each other, thinking salacious thoughts of their red-headed woman and glorying in the acclaim of their people. Not much to work with.

Wait.

Their woman.

Janine.

Janine and machines.

At 'Ghostbuster Central.'

Machines.

Oh, yes.

YES!

An idea so pure and so simple appeared that Red-Eye considered it with awe and self-indulgent pride. It was almost...divine inspiration. He chuckled at his little witticism and split in two again. He was now in the belfry and roaming the lower stories in search of his OWN machine. An infernal little device that he knew the use of but had never needed, or wanted, to try before. He'd better hurry; the men were getting closer. Hilarious how they had underestimated his technological resources while overestimating their own. He found what he was looking for in a dank closet of an office. A terrible, horrible little machine.

Most commonly known as the telephone.

The phone rang and she answered it immediately. "Ghostbuster Central! Good morning!" Janine Melnitz was feeling expansive today.

"Good morning to you, too, Melshitz," Peter Venkman's familiar tenor drawled.

"Oh, it's you, Doctor Putzman. What's up?"

"We have here, in our hot little hands, one Class Seven, teleporting, shapeshifting, telepathic, psionically vampiric demon with a Christ Fixation, divorced, seeking someone 25 to 35, who's into sports and moonlit walks on the beach..."

"I'll be right down, Doctor V."

"Thanks, Janine. I know it's not easy being single..."

Janine Melnitz hung up on him and hurriedly went to change out of her stylish (blue) mini-skirt, blouse and high-heels and into durable coveralls and combat boots. The call to assist in a bust was not a rare occurrence but it wasn't a common one either and Janine peeled out of her nylons with excitement and some dread. There was little the guys couldn't handle on their own and almost all of her experience was with the more dangerous entities.

Pumping up her courage, Janine shouted to the empty firehouse. "LOOK OUT!! THE FIFTH GHOSTBUSTER COMIN' ATCHA!!"

The fact that the number of simple ghosts she had actually busted could be counted on the fingers of one hand, notwithstanding, Janine thought worriedly. But, hey! Give her soul-sucking demons, demi-gods and fierce Forces of Evil and she was in her element. Kinda ironic. At least the deadlier creatures didn't drip ectoplasmic slime so much. Icky, icky.

Five minutes later Janine was armed and dangerous and locking the doors behind her as she raced off to help her friends.

"STOP IT! PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE HELP MEEEE!!!"

Peter, Ray, Winston and Egon were exhausted. The constant back-to-back maneuvering as one demon came at them from all directions was tiresome. However, the heavy weight of their packs, the pursuit that led them to the top of the belfry and back down to the main floor, and the infrequent chances to shoot at Red-Eye were not a factor in their absolute wretchedness, their almost complete loss of morale.

“HELP ME, GUYS!! WHERE ARE YOU?!!”

Red-Eye had chosen Janine's voice to torment the Ghostbusters, wearing them down with deafening shrieks of pain. Red-Eye was imitating Janine's torture and murder.

Egon, desperately desiring to hold his hands over his ears, stumbled on the torn carpet. He viciously righted himself and kept going.

"EEGONNN!! Egon! Egon! Help me, PLEASE!!!" Janine's manic screams echoed in front of, around and even above the sweating and enraged men. The noise. The nightmarish SOUNDS. Janine being beaten, her heartbreaking sobs and pleas for help, mercy, even death echoing across cold stone corridors. Janine being shot. Janine being strangled, her voice and breath coming to an end as the crunch of her windpipe was heard. The terrible thud of her dead weight as her body was thrown to the floor. "Stop it." Ray was muttering, wiping sweat and grime out of his eyes. "Stop it. Just stop it. Stop it."

"It's not real, guys. It's not real. It's not her. It's not real." Peter was chanting.

The screams got louder and Egon was snarling as he adjusted his shaking meter. The others waited for his signal, waiting to be shown where to shoot. He suddenly thrust his finger up and to the left. They fired, ripping across the vaulted ceiling high above them. The terrible sound of Janine being whipped became a genuine yowl from Red-Eye. Stunned into visibility, it took him considerably longer to tear himself away this time but he managed it. Swirls of dust and glittering chips of stone coated the four men. Blessed silence descended for a moment. The Seven was getting slower and weaker. They all were.

"When I see Janine again..." Ray gasped, slumping against the wall. "I'm going to be so happy. Seeing her whole and well and pretty and smiling...God, I can't wait."

"Take a number, " Winston agreed. "Poor thing, she's going to be mighty surprised when we all jump over her desk to get to her..."

"Group hug! Group hug..." Ray clawed his hands through his hair and smiled. Winston settled his arm around Ray's shoulders and picked a bloody stone chip out of his neck. He flicked it to the floor.

"Group hug?" Peter also smiled, weakly. "More like a dogpile. And you know how much she hates those..." Egon said nothing. His skin was grey and dark smudges were under his haunted eyes. He was compulsively checking and rechecking his PKE meter to ensure that it was still just the four of them and the demon in the church. Peter put a hand on Egon's wrist. "Put it down, Spengs. She's not here. She's safe at the firehouse." Egon shuddered and reluctantly put the meter away.

"The worst human fear in the world is to see or hear someone you love in pain. That thing knows it and he's using it against us. We were talking about Janine when we drove up. Don't listen to him. Don't let it get to you..." Peter's own shaky demeanor undermined his reassurances. "She's not here." He repeated firmly. "She's safe at the firehouse." He fell silent and they drooped, resting for a few minutes.

The screaming began again, further away this time, in the direction of the basement. "GET OFF!! GET OFF!! EGON! PETER!! PETER! I'M HERE!! I'M HERE! THE DEMON'S HERE!!"

"Oh, God, please stop it. There's gotta be a way to shut that bastard up," Winston moaned.

Janine was thrown against the wall, hard. Gasping, she jumped up again. Her pack...her pack...it was gone. Philip Frank and his men had not thought twice about letting her into the church. She was a Ghostbuster, too, after all.

Alone, she had cautiously stepped inside and listened for sounds of a fight. Her radio was useless, thanks to the Scramblers she and the guys were wearing - a drawback of their design that Ray had promised to correct when he had the time.

Then Egon's voice had drawn her into the cavernous basement, "Janine, down here! We need you!"

Relieved, she went. Now, she was trapped. A trap. It had been a trap. She was caught in an enormous cave of a basement, almost a catacomb, full of dust and the collected debris of years.

She was alone, her pack was gone and red eyes the size of baseballs were staring out at her from the dark.

She faced them, her heart thrashing in fear inside her chest, but her voice was loud and clear. "Where are my guys?" She could feel Red-Eye probing at her mind unsuccessfully. "Where...are...my...guys?" she repeated, stopping herself from twisting the sleeve of her coverall down over her Scrambler. Ignore it, please ignore it. It's just a bracelet. Just a piece of jewelry.

Red-Eye savored the moment and sat on his haunches, scratching a smiley face on the stone floor. He continued to use Egon's voice; it seemed to disturb her the most. "They're up on the next floor, resting, quite nearby. If you...shouted...I guarantee they'd hear you." He looked at her, rather hopefully, and Janine elected to stay quiet. Red-Eye smiled, every fang properly sharp and straight. He gouged another smiley face and added eyelashes to this one. "I'm resting, too, you see." He went on. "As much as it hurts my considerable pride to admit it, their...machines...and their miserable persistence have exhausted me and I've grown tired of this fight. No food will come to face me so I am conceding the field to go find an easier meal. When I've learned more, about this place and time, I will be back for them..."

"And they will kick your ass then just as they have now." Janine was determined to be defiant.

Red-Eye grinned at that one, thrusting his head and shoulders forward as if he and Janine had just shared a lovely little joke. "We'll see. We'll see. It shall be a rather glorious War and losing this one battle, now, does not upset me very much. And now, at least I can leave them a little parting gift...a token of my esteem, you know..." He scraped two more, smaller, smileys into the floor. He had an entire nuclear family now.

Janine glanced around for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. She knew a physical fight with this thing would be hopeless but she was determined to go down swinging. Junk. She was surrounded by junk. Lamps, mounds of Reader's Digest Condensed Books, someone's old knitting, rickety furniture, a display of Wild West memorabilia complete with rusted antique guns and Bowie knives. There was a Wanted Poster for the notorious Clubfoot Joe and even Clubfoot Joe's clubfoot floating in a jar of alcohol. Peter would like that, she thought with some disgust. There was nothing she could use and she faced Red-Eye again. Janine became numb. She waited.

In answer, Red-Eye pointed a mischievous claw over her shoulder and she looked behind her.

Jesus.

Literally.

It was the largest Christ on a Cross she had ever seen. Life-size. The wood carver's religious and artistic zeal had gotten the better of him. Nailed to two enormous logs, Jesus' every wound was gapingly huge and stylized blood dripped in perfect teardrops down his bluish, dead skin. His loincloth was settled almost obscenely low on his wasted hips. Basset Hound eyes ogled heaven. It was too garish, too realistic, too MUCH to be seen in public so it had been stored in the lower depths.

Red-Eye leapt to the top of the sculpture and swatted at the great wooden figure. Breaking the legs and the torso, he pulled off every limb and threw them to the floor. The head bounced into a giant urn. Finally just the cross of logs remained and Janine turned and hopelessly ran, realizing, at last, what the plan was. Red-Eye appeared before her and clotheslined her in the chest, knocking her violently to the floor. He grabbed her hair and dragged her back into the darkness. Panicked and enraged, she gasped air into her pained lungs and finally started to scream.

"GET OFF!! GET OFF!! EGON! PETER!! PETER! I'M HERE!! I'M HERE! THE DEMON'S HERE!!"

"A way to shut the bastard up. You said it, Winston." Peter turned to the scientists of the team. "Egon? Ray? Can you two do anything to keep this thing still or at least confuse it so it SHUTS ITS DAMN MOUTH!!" Peter shouted.

"PETER? PETER, PLEASE!! I'M DOWN HERE!!"

Egon took his PKE meter out again and popped the back of it off. Plunging long, cautious fingers into the wires and circuitry he turned and asked Ray for a spare Scrambler. Ray pulled one out of a deep pocket and handed it over. Egon began to explain. "I'm going to boost..."

"PETER!! PETER!! I KNOW I HEARD YOU, I...AAAIIIIIIIHHHH!!!!!" A slow pounding was heard as if someone were nailing a board. "PEEETTERRRR!!!!"

Peter punched his fist into the wall. Winston restrained him and Ray furiously marched to the end of the hall. "WE KNOW IT'S YOU!! WE DON'T CARE!! SHUT THE HELL UP!!" Winston motioned him back and Ray returned, pulling his own hair again.

"RAYYY!! PLEASE, RAY!! PLEASE!! PLEASE! RAYYYYY!!!!” More hammering. "SSTOPP!!! WINSTONWINSTONWINAAAIIIHHHH!!!"

Peter took up his litany of, "It's not Janine. It's not her. She's safe..." Ray hid his face in his hands. Egon shook him to get his attention. "I'm going to boost this Scrambler with the power unit from my PKE meter. It will be anathema to a telepath and will disorient the Seven long enough to keep it from teleporting while all four of us get a bead on it. Or it may infuriate it."

"Why didn't you whip this up ahead of time?" Peter wearily inquired. 'Janine's' screams were getting weaker.

"I wanted to avoid the three-day migraine it will give US. We aren't exactly psi-blind ourselves." Egon adjusted his eyeglasses, dirty with sweat and dust.

"If we piss it off we better get ready for that, too." Winston pointed out.

Egon nodded, twisting wires and making the necessary connections. Ray leaned over his shoulder and assisted. Peter admired the way they worked without getting in each other's way and began to plan a trap with Winston.

"OH, EGON, PLEASE!! I'M HERE! I'M REALLY HERE!! PLEASE!! STOP IT!! STOP IT!! EGON, MAKE HIM STOP IT!!"

"DAMN YOU!!" Egon screamed back and worked faster.

"Darling, you can be louder than that! Like this! From the diaphragm! WINSTON!! OH, GOD HELP ME! WINSTON!!"

Janine understood. The guys wouldn't come. There would be no help. No last-minute rescue. Nothing. This...thing had been playing a 'Cry Wolf' game with the people she loved almost from the moment they entered the building. She would scream no more. The ropes binding her to the logs were impossibly tight and they made it hard to breathe but she was thankful they were there.

Without them her hands and feet would have pulled free from the green knitting needles that had been hammered through them and she would have fallen a long way to the ground, tendons torn, crippled. She counted herself lucky. He had wanted to use the Burlington Northern Railroad spikes but had decided that amount of mutilation would be aesthetically unpleasing. He didn't want her to bleed to death before he had a chance to destroy her properly. The needles were cold in her flesh. Red-Eye finished off her Five Wounds by slashing a deep cut just under her right breast with his fore-claw. Janine gasped and watched the blood well and flow down her ribs. Sucking his finger, Red-Eye moved away to find materials for the finishing touch.

She was exhausted. How odd. She never realized how...tiring...such pain could be. Her throat was raw. Her body shook with horror. Shock. She was going into shock. There was disbelief, too. Anger. Fear. A terrible loneliness. Her friends were so close. This old church echoed and she could occasionally hear a booted footstep. A low voice. The metallic clang of some tool being dropped on the floor. So close. They were so close.

"Phasma Regina." Red-Eye intoned softly, twirling samples of barbwire that had set off the Wild West Range Wars into a crown of thorns. "Or is it Idolarum Regina? Regina Idolarum? Mea culpa, my Latin is weak. Ghost Queen. The Fifth Ghostbuster." The crimson glow of his eyes reflected off the polished, sharpened steel barbs. Janine swallowed, waiting. "With all the respect in my being I crown thee the Queen of the Ghosts."

He jammed the terrible circlet onto her brow and gave it a small, vicious twist.

She remained silent.

Red-Eye returned to the Wild West display and picked up a three-foot bayonet that had been authenticated as coming direct from the Alamo. "They're entirely too quiet up there. Time for me to leave. Time for you to die."

He's going to pin me right through the heart, Janine realized. Pin me like a butterfly on display. Oh, guys. My guys will never get over it...when they find me…goodbye...I understand...I love you...

Red-Eye spun the bayonet through the air, making it give off a deep, bullroarer thrum. "Now might be a good time to start crying. Final confessions? I'm a good listener. "

Janine said nothing. A vein in her temple pulsed with hatred.

"Come ON now! You are going to die. Won't you cry a single tear, at least? Isn't your life worth a little tear?" He stepped close and drew a gentle claw from her eye to her chin, Egon's voice dripping with false sympathy. "Don't you have regrets? Won't you miss your men? No? You won't miss them? I don't blame you. The things they said about you!" He whispered in her ear, conspiratorially, being sure to send a breath of air down her neck. "The things they THOUGHT about you. Your naked body! The imagery! I was disgusted, I really was."

If Janine could have ripped his eyes out with her knitting needles she would have.

"Your 'Big Brother' Peter knows about your little valentine mole. I shudder to mention how he knows but I will, anyway. You were showering off a layer of ectoplasm in the 2nd floor firehouse bathroom, the one with the broken lock? And he wandered by and...well...since the door had come slightly OPEN...and the shower curtain is clear vinyl...he stayed for a while. Quite a long while wondering about that mole...what its texture might be like...on his tongue...not very brotherly of him, is it?"

"Shut up."

"Tossing you on that Four-Poster bed of his would be SUCH fun. He's sure of it. Then there's Ray. Dr. Stantz. Goodness, this should REALLY surprise you. He loves you. Loves you with all of his considerable soul. Oh, he wants you. He's been fighting a rather hopeless and desperate desire since Day One. Ray's favorite fantasy is the one where his hands roam down your shoulders to your breasts as he leans in for a long kiss...a real kiss...a deep kiss...one that warms a person up. Real Mouth-to-Mouth Salvation. Not the disappointing peck on the lips you gave him last New Year's...

"Be quiet."

"You break his heart every day. His enormous, loving heart..."

"Be QUIET!"

"Winston, simply and honestly, likes your legs..."

Janine pulled on the ropes, abrading her skin, "I SAID BE QUIET!!!"

"Since I love you so very much, I will." To hear those sincere words...in Egon's voice...Janine shivered with revulsion. Red-Eye put an ear to her chest and savored her heartbeat for a moment, then drew away and raised the bayonet again. "The longer I talk the longer you get to live but your wish is my command. Goodbye, Your Highness." He placed the rusty tip against the bloody slash. It was cold.

Janine was rigidly waiting, determined not to make a sound, not a single peep or a flinch or a wince. She was going to die well. If nothing else in her life she was going to do THIS very, very well.

A sudden shock of pain swept through her skull and she found enough energy to groan. The bayonet hit the floor with a clang. Red-Eye was...melting? Sudden dim hope fixed her attention on the demon. It was unable to hold its form. It became a blurry red column of flailing energy and inarticulate despair. Janine could feel it. She could feel Red-Eye losing cohesiveness. Janine laughed as loud as she could, bound as she was, right from the gut. "YESSSSS! GO! You GO, guys! Get him! Get him! GO!! Kill him!! Kill him!! Gethimgethimgethimgethim...!" Barely audible now, she rejoiced.

The pain in her head ceased and she let out a gasp of deep disappointment. "Don't stop! Don't stop NOW!"

Red-Eye writhed and formed again, staggering up. His limbs were out of proportion and he stumbled. He practically FLOPPED in confusion as he fought to regain his equilibrium. "Kill..." he croaked. Not in Egon's voice but the shattered tones of Janine's own. "I'm going to kill them..." Demented and unaware of a job undone he left Janine and fled the basement. "I'm going to kill them..." reverberated through the dusty air and Janine's own mind.

"No, you're not." Janine disagreed. Almost overwhelming relief and joy hit her and her pain momentarily vanished. She raised her head and shut her eyes, sending a silent Thank You in the direction of her guys and she smiled, somewhat ashamed.

She should have had faith.

"He's coming for us...ready?" Ray asked.

Peter nodded, his foot hovering over the pedal that activated his ghost trap that was extended towards one end of the hall. Egon was crouched over the trigger of his own trap stretched towards the other end, and Winston gripped his proton rifle beside him. Ray was scanning. This wouldn't work if the Seven was coherent enough to come at them from above or below. "C'mon, you shit," Peter snarled. "Follow the path of least resistance to dinner!"

"Pincer movement. Front and back of us..." Ray studied his PKE meter and raised his hand... "He's closest to yours, Peter..." Peter nodded again, ready, readier than he had ever been in his life. "Five...four...three...two...NOW!!" Peter stomped the pedal, just in time for Red-Eye to charge into the piercing white light of the trap. Peter fired, capturing the confused, weakened Seven and Ray joined him, their beams holding the creature in place as the trap, quickly, inexorably, sucked half of Red-Eye in. Winston and Egon ignored the battle directly next to them. Their half of Red-Eye had never even shown and both men were cursing a blue streak. They almost...harmonized, they were so angry.

"What happened?" Ray asked, dragging Peter's smoking trap by the cables towards them. Peter was deeply disappointed. All that damn pain and they'd only caught half?

"If the Seven had attacked us simultaneously we would have gotten all of it but it attacked you two first...and OUR half never even showed!" Winston explained. "A sacrifice tactic." He fought back the need to break something. Lord, give some strength.

Egon had swiped Winston's meter and was taking furious readings. It was a very bad habit of his but, deferring to the Meter Master, Winston said nothing. Too fast. It had all happened too fast.

Egon bared his teeth in a dreadful grin. "A sacrifice it will regret. It's lost half its substance. A Class Four ghost would be stronger. It's on the stairs, probably headed for the belfry again, on foot. It's definitely incapable of teleportation, or splitting, now."

"Crippled. Let's get it. Let's show it some REAL noise!" Re-energized, Peter sprinted for the stairs. "HAI-YAHHH!!!"

"YEEEOOWWWW!!!" Winston was beside him.

"AAAHHRRROOOOOO!!!" Ray howled, holding his proton rifle in the air like a battle sword. That was a great idea and all four men took up the howl like a pack of deranged werewolves. Heavy boots thundered up the stairs and the church positively echoed.

"AAAHHRRROOOOOOOO!!!!!"

"AARRRRRGGGHHHHH!!!!!"

"RRRAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!!"

"Yes. Growl. Snort. Snarl." Egon passed them on the steps and they all almost wet themselves laughing at that one. The fun was back. Ray bolted after Egon and the two of them quickly, and unwisely, left Peter and Winston behind.

Dimly hearing them, Janine licked her dry, bloody lips and smiled. All she had to do now was wait.

Red-Eye crashed into the belfry, reeling, terribly weakened. He should have left when he had the chance but noooo. He had to play. He had to make a point and leave a little present behind. That galled him more than anything. He hadn't even finished THAT. The woman was still alive. Now her men were howling like beasts for him and they were coming fast. Impossible. Those machines...those damned wretched machines...! He'd lost half of himself...

No matter.

Red-Eye staggered over to one of several ornate openings to the outside, cringing from the bright sunlight that poured in from all directions in the huge, circular chamber. He would leap from the tall tower and fly into the crowd. They would panic and scatter, covering his trail. Those...Ghostbusters....would be delayed as they sought a safer route down. By the time they reached the ground he would be long gone. But Red-Eye swore he'd be back. They had won the first battle but the demon would win the war. His strength would return after many feedings, his mind would clear and then....then....he would stalk them and kill them...one...at...a...time....slowly. Lovingly.

He jumped, shrieking, stretching his wings.

The people below had just enough time to throw their arms up and cower.

An entwined beam of scarlet and blue energy caught him. Red-Eye roared, he fought, claws, teeth and tail whipping at the air frantically as Egon shortened his proton stream and began to drag the former Seven back inside. Egon Spengler had arrived just in time and he was deadly.

Red-Eye grew a tentacle and wrapped it around a thin, metal spire, hanging on for all he was worth. A second beam joined Egon's and the spire broke. Ray was on the scene, too.

His claws left scrapes on the stone as they pulled him back inside.

"YOU WILL DIE! YOU WILL DIE!" The men could feel the Seven's desperation on their skin and in their souls.

Whipping his tendril around like a giant, medieval flail, he sent the sharp barb hurtling towards Egon.

"DOWN, EGON!!"

Egon stopped firing and dove out of the way, almost breaking his wrist on the hard floor. He rolled and rolled again as Red-Eye brought the wrecked metal spire crashing down again and again, his mobility increasing with just one beam around him.

"HANG ON, RAY!" Egon was forced to stay down.

Ray hung on like a rabid dog. The Seven turned on him next, throwing the twisted clump of wire with enough force to break bone. Ray turned and let his reinforced proton pack take the blow. The impact threw him against the granite wall and he bounced off, hurting and winded. "RAY!" Winston and Peter had arrived and they rushed the fallen man as Egon regained his feet and, anticipating, ran for the windows.

Red-Eye leapt from the belfry again, frantically pumping wings that were more ornamentation than substance in his desperate bid to reach the ground FAST. All he had to do was reach the ground! REACH THE GROUND! REACH THE GROUND!!

No. Egon snared him a second time in mid-air. A beautiful shot. Winston joined him, then Peter and Ray. They dragged the evil bastard inexorably, mercilessly back inside.

Trapped like a bloated, blood-sucking insect in their vital web of energy, Red-Eye struggled uselessly. The four men were almost overcome with justified fascination and joy as they watched Red-Eye frantically writhe. Caught, caught, caught, yes, yes, yes.

"YOU CAN'T!! YOU CAN'T!! YOU HAVE NO MAGIC TO HOLD ME!!"

"Yeah, we still got you, my pretty!" Winston crowed. "You and your little dog, too!"

They would have been content to let the thing fry in four proton streams all day but Winston unhooked a trap from his belt and threw it out. Stomping on the pedal, he opened the trap wide, sending an intolerable white light throughout the belfry. The people below covered their eyes from the glaring display of energy, but this light was clean. Clean and pure and strong and it sucked what was left of the Class Seven in.

"...BUT YOU CAN'T!! YOU CAN'T!!" Red-Eye screamed. Janine's voice. Janine's scream.

"Shut the bastard UP, Winston!" Ray was almost dancing. Winston took his foot off the pedal and the trap closed over the demon.

"MMAACHINES!" echoed in the air and then silence.

Egon checked Winston's PKE meter, attuned specifically for any and all demonic signals. Nothing. "No further trace of the Seven. We got all of it." They glared at the red 'full' light blinking on the ghost trap in deep satisfaction.

“YEEEEHAAAAA!!!” Peter crowed. Then all four of them gave a new meaning to the term 'fiendish glee' as they did a victory dance, bouncing like primeval hunters after an especially difficult and bloody hunt. “Boom Shakka Lakka Lakka BOOM!! Shakka Lakka Lakka BOOM!!”

So much for the War.

Egon, remembering his dignity, stopped first. The pain caused the rest to quickly follow suit. Peter rubbed his eyes. What a goddamn splitting headache. At least he didn't have to watch his thoughts anymore. At least the screaming was ended. Goddamn Feeders. "How long did you say these psi-migraines are going to last, Egon?"

"Around three days for us..." he indicated himself, Winston and Ray "...but...ah...I'm afraid it's going to be a little longer for you. Possibly five days..."

Peter groaned. "Oh, the joy of being 'gifted.'"

"I AM sorry, Peter..." The tall man sagged, weary.

Peter slapped an affectionate hand on the back of Egon's neck. "I'm not sorry. Anything to make some quiet around here."

"Speaking of quiet..." Winston was looking out, "...the folks out there are still nervous." A mass of upturned eyes faced the tower, waiting fearfully for any sign of life.

Peter adjusted his thrower to its lowest setting. "This is gonna kill my head but I can't pass this up." He aimed at the largest bell, an enormous Big Marie of a bell, and fired.

GONG!

The vibrations shook through their bodies. Hoping not to go deaf, the others followed Peter's example. With quick bursts of lightning they sent a joyous ringing into the air and the crowd went absolutely nuts. The bells! Victory bells! Breaking through the police barricade, they rushed the church and streamed inside.

"Ray! Quick! Where's the boiling oil?!" Peter exclaimed as he looked down at the wild throng.

"Peter!"

Peter made a leap and clamped his arms around his long-suffering but good-natured friend. "SANCTUARY!! SANCTUARY!!" Ray laughed, flying off balance. Both men crashed to the ground.

Winston scraped them up. Egon gathered the trap, slowly, so as not to jar his own head too much.

Peter dusted himself off and grabbed the smoking trap from Egon. "Let's go meet 'em." He sent one last, stronger, blast at Big Marie and the tones almost knocked him off his feet. He was laughing. His eyes were red and watering from the pain in his cranium and the nightmare of the last hour but he was laughing. They had won. Of course they had. Best of all, no secrets were known and no one was hurt. (Beyond a week-long headache.) Why can't all busts go so well?

"Don't grandstand for too long, Peter." Ray admonished him. "I want to get home and see Janine."

"Oh, god, me too." Winston shielded his pained eyes from the bright sunlight.

"Me three. Maybe she has some Demerol." Peter jumped down the stairs. Egon said nothing but his step was eager.

Philip Frank nearly knocked over three parishioners to get to them first. Peter swung his smoking trap in blessed circles as if it was a golden incense burner and the congregation adored him. Winston looked at them in amused disgust. Why don't you just kiss his feet while you're at it? Sheesh, people. Egon held the other trap discreetly by his side. There were a few flash bulbs going off but, for the most part, the press had already turned away. No blood. No carnage from anywhere. Not even a hangnail. Just another routine bust. At least they'd gotten some cool pictures from the light show in the belfry.

Frank shook their hands with enthusiasm. "Wonderful! Wonderful! Thank you so much!"

"Yes. Thank you!" The skinny woman was there and she hugged Ray. He happily squeezed her, too. Winston was joyfully pounded. Even Egon was politely patted on the arms and shoulders by a few souls brave enough to poke at his dignified intellectual exterior. Receiving lines at a wedding saw less action.

"Thank you!"

"Ya'll were GREAT!"

"Those LIGHTS! What were those lights?"

"Thank you!"

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Thank you!"

"Where's Janine?" Frank asked, looking over Peter's shoulders. Peter stared at him strangely.

"Janine's not here. You must have heard the Class Seven."

"Uh, no. We can't hear too much through these thick walls. Isn't she with you?"

"No. No, she's not. Janine’s safe at the firehouse." Peter quietly insisted. Egon, Winston and Ray became suddenly, ominously, quiet.

"I swear she's here. I...I let her in myself."

Silence. Black silence.

"You...what?" Peter calmly said. The Ghostbusters were staring at Frank and he began to sweat. His congregation tensed. Some began to back, very, very slowly, and discreetly, away.

"I...I let her in myself. She said you were having trouble and had called her for backup..." Frank looked at Ray for reassurance.

"No...no...she's not here. She's safe. She's not here..." Peter looked desperately at Egon. Face completely blanched of color, Egon set Winston's PKE meter for Janine's biorhythms. Ray ignored the clergyman and scraped his nails through his scalp. His eyes were clamped shut.

Winston was begging. "Man, don't tell us. Please don't tell us. Please don't tell us..."

"She's here." Egon said. "She's..." The meter dropped from his insensate grasp and shattered on the stone floor. Egon turned and ran, shoving people out of his way. "She's in the basement! SHE'S IN THE BASEMENT!!"

The basement.

The sounds from the basement. Those horrible, horrible sounds.

Ray hit the ground so fast, and so hard, Frank was left staring stupidly at the space he had been. Ray was on his knees, swaying, denying. Winston shot after Egon. And Peter...Frank looked around towards Peter.

Peter, forgetting he held the trap cables coiled around his fist, let fly. Frank's head rocked violently back and he was out before he even hit the floor. People screamed and two cops blocked Peter from reaching the downed clergyman. The press turned back.

"Call an ambulance!!" Peter snarled at the police officers and jerked away from them. He hauled Ray to his feet.

"Oh, Peter, no. Please Peter, no...no...please, she's not there..."

"Let's go, Ray." The two set off for the stairs leading down.

The lights had been broken and the dark was total.

Egon and Winston were standing just inside the door. "Raymond, your meter...quickly!" Ray handed his meter over and Egon scanned the cavernous space. "She's by the farthest wall. She's alive....Janine?" Egon decided he didn't need light and lurched in her direction. "JANINE?!" Only his echo answered, Janinejaninejanine-ine-ine...

"JANINE!!" Winston barked authoritively, as if she were a truant child that was hiding from him. "Answer me NOW!" He followed Egon.

Peter and Ray followed in their wake, breathing harshly. Ray was voicing low, desperate denials. Peter heard a crash as Egon ran into something. "We're all swimming in the dark. Where's a flashlight, Ray?"

"Right here." The beam was weak. Ray cursed himself. What the hell kind of person would equip the team with cutting-edge defensive technology but forget to pack a working flashlight? Ray Stantz was that person. Stupid, stupid idiot.... He spied something on the floor. "Peter!"

"What?" Peter answered and froze. Ray had picked up what Peter had dismissed as a rag. It was the remnants of Janine's torn coverall covered with wet blood. Ray clutched it to his chest. Egon strode back to the two men and jerked it away.

Winston grabbed him by the arm, hard enough to leave a handprint bruise. "Don't. We gotta find her. Come on." They picked their way towards the back wall.

Peter could dimly hear people milling around the doorway. Stay out, damn you. He thought savagely. I told you to keep everybody OUT and look what you did... Frank is dead. He is so dead. "Where IS she?!"

Egon had grabbed the flashlight and was searching the floor frantically. He released her coverall to better work the light and the meter. "She's here. The meter says we're right on top of her. " Winston was looking under and behind crates. Peter joined him and together they pitched heavy, bulky furniture and boxes out of the way with desperate strength.

"Janine...Janine, please answer me..." Egon pleaded. His fault...this was his fault...if only he hadn't been thinking of her...if only he had checked the meter...there were smears of blood on the floor...he was stepping in it...they were all stepping in it...leaving footprints...

"MELNITZ!! DAMN IT, WHERE ARE YOU?!" Peter bellowed.

"JANINE!" Winston shouted again.

"Yeah?" came a weak voice above their heads.

Egon turned the weak flashlight beam up towards the ceiling.

Ray opened his mouth in a silent scream. He shook his head. No. No. No. His throat closed. He couldn't breathe. He fell to his knees again.

Egon's vision swam with grey spots until the terrible sight had blacked out completely. He staggered and dropped his instruments. He did not notice. The flashlight cast fantastic and monstrous shadows as it rolled away, leaving Janine hidden in darkness again.

Winston was paralyzed, as useless and still as stone.

Peter sent a chair crashing into the wall. "JANINE! NO!" He scrambled for the light and trained it on her face. She blinked. Oh. The guys were here. She struggled to climb out of her grey haze.

She had been crucified. She was just above their heads, in the darkest corner of the basement, nailed to a cross of logs. Cruel ropes and extension cords lashed her tightly to the wood. She was naked, a brief strip of fabric slung low around her hips. What looked like large knitting needles pinned her hands and feet. A crown of barbwire was on her head. Scalp wounds bleed terribly and she was coated in a thin layer of blood, making the gash underneath her breast invisible, and her breasts themselves were pale islands in the dark streams of red. Above her head, written in ancient crimson script was "Regina Idolarum.' Those that could numbly translated it as The Queen of the Ghosts.

"Hi, guys."

Peter watched four glittering drops fall from her pierced hands before he lost control. "WAKE UP AND HELP ME!!" he barked. Dragging a heavy oak table beneath her, he, Winston and Egon leapt on top of it. Ray didn't trust himself to move. He stayed on the floor, dazed and motionless, wishing he were dead. Peter reached up and rested an unbelieving hand on her stomach. She was cold. "Janine? Oh, god..." Egon, the tallest man, was just able to reach her shoulder. Winston tapped her feet. She reveled in the gentle touches. She was alive and the cavalry had arrived. Her wait was over. Her eyes gleamed at them from her gruesome mask and she smiled. There was blood on her teeth, too.

Janine looked across at Ray huddled on the floor and raised what was left of her voice, "Hey, Peter..."

"Yeah?" he whispered.

"Ask me, 'How's it hanging?'"

"No!"

"Then GET ME DOWN OUTA HERE!" Janine was so happy. She wanted to laugh but the ropes were too tight. Ray shot off the floor, galvanized into action. "Here!" He jumped on the table and it creaked under their combined weight. Ray searched his copious pockets. "Here's a knife...cut the ropes!" He spoke as if he were going to hand the pocketknife over to someone else, but he didn't; he began to hack at the ropes tying her legs himself.

There was a thrilled "Wow!" followed by a flash of light. A reporter with a camera had followed them in. He adjusted his angle and took another picture. Had the film survived what followed next, the last picture on the roll would have shown Peter Venkman's furious face.

Jumping from the table with more dexterity than the reporter could have imagined a guy with a fifty-pound weight on his back could manage, Peter yanked the camera out of the idiot's grasp. He threw it to the floor and pulled his thrower. With a burst of light and heat the camera was reduced to atoms.

"That was mine! You can't DO that!" the photographer yelped. Winston had joined Peter on the ground and flicked his own thrower on with his thumb. It was the world's most intimidating electronic connection. The reporter screamed and ducked as Peter upped the power level and sent a blazing bolt into the air. The light revealed other people beginning to make the long trek across the basement, some with cameras, most without. They saw the brilliant proton stream and stopped dead.

Peter could taste blood in his mouth."Oh, looky Winston. Look there. Pre-Fours. Let's clean 'em out!"

Winston shouted "EVERYBODY OUT!" and both men charged. "OUT!" Another burst of protons hit the ceiling. "GET OUT!!" The two men moved by the light of the throwers and they ran the long length of the catacombs, rounding people up and throwing them out. Frightened, shocked, and confused, the reporters - and some few members of the congregation - abandoned their curiosity, turned and ran for their lives for the second time that day.

All but one.

The tall, skinny woman was there and she wasn't moving. She watched, terrified but determined, wringing her long fingers, as Peter took out his own PKE meter and scanned for further intruders. She was the only one left. Winston stood guard in the basement door, bristling, furious, agonized and shouting at the reporters on the main floor who happily took pictures of him instead. Ghostbusters Go Berserk! This was more like it!

An old man broke through the ring of cameras and firmly approached Winston. Ignoring the high-strung tenseness of the angry man, he leaned in and said something inaudible. Winston nodded and called back over his shoulder. "Pete! The paramedics are on the way!"

"Good! Keep everybody else out!"

The old man moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder beside Winston and scowled at the press. Peter peripherally heard Winston quietly explaining the situation to him as if he were giving a report to a commanding officer. "No, sir, we didn't call her. It was a trick. We didn't call her. No, sir, she's alive. She's hurt bad. I hope so, too, thank you..."

Peter walked up to Skinny and stood just a little too close out of fear and pain. Nose to nose. "I see you WANT to be neutronized! CAN DO, y'know..."

She stood her ground and deflected his venom by shouting, "I'm an emergency room nurse!"

"You're a nurse?" He was sweating and his eyes were black and almost demented.

Damn, he seemed so calm and nice and friendly and charming when he was outside. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, hard as a rock with tension, and carefully put a little distance between herself and the enraged man. If she could handle a strung-out gang leader with a gun in the middle of the emergency room, she could handle this, too. "I'm a nurse. I'm going to go back there and see what's wrong. I'll be able to help...."

"You didn't see what was wrong?" Peter looked up at Winston. He and the old man had been joined by what looked like a contingent of WWII veterans and they were defiantly blocking the door. Good.

"No. I didn't see." A glow appeared at the far wall. Aisles of flea market clutter, darkness and distance hid whatever was there. She was afraid but that was where she had to go. Skinny felt chills careen down her back as she turned it on the dangerous man and headed towards the scene, mentally bracing herself for what she might find. Peter followed her.

Ray, Egon and Janine watched the light show on the far side of the cavern as Peter and Winston drove the intruders out. Bound as tight as she was, Janine couldn't laugh but she could make amused "huff" noises. Their flashlight died and darkness returned. Egon heard the ropes creak as she sagged. "Janine! Wake up!"

"I'm awake. But I'm so pooped. So…just…pooped…"

Ray searched his pockets again and found his keys. He had a mini-mag light attached to his key chain and he switched it on. Ray leapt to the floor and found a sturdy chair. He threw it on top of the table and Egon stood on it bringing himself eye-level with Janine, at last. Ray rummaged around and found a set of home-crafted lavender candles and lit them. Dripping wax onto boxes and furniture and the floor, he stood the candles up and their gentle light soon surrounded Janine.

Egon took her face in his hands and she weakly looked into his eyes. She realized he was barely home. He found the almost hidden gash just above her ribs and he touched it, his fingers slipping into the deep slash. Unbelieving. Unbelieving. This was not real. This cannot be real. He had not allowed this to happen. He had not. He had.

He was unable to speak. She spoke for him. "Cry Wolf. It was a Cry Wolf thing. That's why you didn't come. I know. I know what he did."

"We caught him. All of him..." Egon breathed.

"I know. I felt it."

Egon quickly looked at her wrist and was relieved to note the Scrambler was still there. At least she had been spared...being without it. "Janine, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He stroked her face, fingers catching on the sticky surface of her skin.

"You still saved me. You saved me. He was going to kill me but you stopped him just in time. Even though you weren't here."

"I'm here now. I'm here..." Egon's hands moved up to Janine's barbwire crown. It was not too deeply embedded in her flesh and he gently pulled it off with a minimum of discomfort. He threw it down and it bounced, leaving a ring of blood on the floor. Ray looked at it and groaned in horror.

Janine heard him. "I'm okay, Ray. Just get me down. Just get me down and I'll be fine."

"Egon, take this." While fetching the chair and the candles, Ray had picked up Janine's coverall and he held it out. Egon looked at it, uncomprehending. Ray pointed at his own chest and then Janine's. Oh. Egon took it and shook it out. He could not wrap it around her so he tucked the stained shreds into a rope and let it drape down, covering her nudity.

She would have thanked him but her world went grey again. "Janine?!"

"Leave her alone, Egon. This is going to hurt and she doesn't need to be awake for it." Ray jumped onto the table again and his fingers curled around the slick metal spike pinning her feet to the wood. "Help me with this. It's been driven into the wood pretty deep." Egon stepped down and grabbed the top of the needle. "No, hold her feet in place." Ray corrected. "You brace her feet and I'll pull this out."

"All right."

Egon's large hands pressed down on Janine's petite feet, holding them firmly still. Blood welled from the base of the thin spike and he shook with horror and loathing. Ray wrapped a handkerchief around the needle for traction and gripped it firmly. "Okay, on three. Ready?"

"Yes." Both men were pale in the candlelight.

"One...two..."

"STOP!!" Peter had returned with the tall, thin woman and she looked up at them, at Janine, at the nightmarish parody of a shrine, and her face was twisting into a carnival mask of disgust and horror. "STOP!" She shouted again, "Don't do that!"

"We've got to get her DOWN!!" Egon shouted back.

"Let the people who know what they're DOING get her down! Do you want to sever a tendon? Get away!" She clumsily crawled on the table, swatting at them, and Egon and Ray, abashed, backed off.

Skinny took a good, close look at the situation, using her years of medical experience and professionalism to stomp the life out of her emotional reaction. "Hi, Janine, everything's going to be okay." She muttered mechanically as she examined Janine's feet and stood on the chair to examine her hands. "The ambulance is on its way...." She pushed back red hair spiky with dried blood and looked at the small lacerations there. She pulled aside the coverall to make sure she didn't miss anything and noticed the deep cut. "Everything is going to be just fine. Your friends are here."

Janine raised her head. "It was a Cry Wolf thing. They didn't know it was me!"

She drooped again. Egon realized with a suffocating shame that Janine was defending her friends, as if they were in danger of being arrested. Skinny patted her on the cheek and spoke more gentle reassurances. Finally the emergency room nurse squatted down and faced Peter.

"It...it LOOKS a lot worse than it is. Deep bruises, punctured feet and hands, small lacerations in the hairline, larger laceration above the ribs and some blood loss. There's been plenty of blood flow to her digits; no major vessels were cut so she won't lose any fingers or toes. She'll be in the hospital overnight and then you can take her home."

"You're kidding. Just overnight?"

"I'm not kidding. There are people in Brazil, grandmothers even, who do this to themselves every year at Easter. Some sort of tradition. Every year in Brazil. Grandmothers." Skinny swung her legs over and got off the table. "Here come the paramedics," she announced, looking over their shoulders. "Remember, physically she's going to be fine. I don't know about...the mental trauma..."

"Let me take care of that." Peter glanced around at Egon and Ray. Egon's eyes were fixated on Janine as if she would disappear if he looked away. Ray stared at the floor. There was a commotion. Winston had left the veterans in charge of the door and was himself urging the horrified ambulance crew forward. The man looked green. Peter stared at the blood on his own hands. This...this...this...was hell. He was in hell. He had failed.

As he had predicted in Ecto, he was hurt beyond hurting.

"Excuse me." Skinny said and calmly walked over to a large urn. A wooden Jesus head was in there, staring up at her with melodramatically suffering eyes. She carefully took it out and placed it to one side. Then she knelt and heaved, miserably vomiting her breakfast.

When Janine awoke, three hours later, from the heavy sedative, administered while she was 'up there,' she was still in mild shock. Barely conscious of her clean, pastel-colored and antiseptic environment she became agitated. It hurt to lie still and she shifted back and forth on the hospital bed. Confused, she decided she had been involved in a traffic accident. She asked Peter if that was what had happened and he said yes.

Were the guys hurt? No.
Was anybody else hurt? No.
Was she hurt bad? No.
Whose fault was it? Ours.
Oh, good. They had better insurance.

A lyric of an old song ‘Sally Go ‘Round the Roses’ went circling ‘round and ‘round in her head. Which was doubly torturous because she didn't know the full song and was reduced to mentally repeating the same line over and over again.

Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.
Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.

Why did Sally do that? Oh, yeah, because the worst thing in the whole wide world was to lose your boy to another girl. Made sense. A nurse came in with another shot and Janine went under again.

"Wow. She's out of it." Ray stroked the bridge of her nose, just about the only area of her face that wasn't covered by a bandage or a bruise. "A car wreck."

"She's shocky." Peter said. "Remember my last concussion? I was hit by a Class Two By Four but I thought I had an oxygen tank give out on me while I was scuba diving. Looking for sunken treasure."

"Don't touch her, Ray, you'll disturb her." Janine's mother, Leona, leaned possessively over her daughter and fussed with the blankets for the twelfth time since she had coldly stalked into the room. Those nurses hadn't done a very good job of sponging her daughter clean. There was still dried blood everywhere. Ray pulled away and Peter was offended for his sake. Ray subtly signed 'Be Right Back' and struggled out into the hall against the tide of Janine's family.

Janine's father, Mel, was next to his wife, looking down at his daughter with wet, helpless eyes. Next to him was Janine's sister Monica and her husband and their four children. Next to them was Monica's twin, Veronica, her husband, and THEIR four children. Both sets of paternal and maternal grandparents were present and various aunts, uncles, cousins and friends were trooping in and out. One of the aunts even smuggled in a DOG, a damn Yorkshire Terrier, in her enormous purse. With Leona's verification of their identities, the stupid hospital had let them all in as Janine was not in critical condition. They were all relieved but very watchful.

Winston, crowded against the wall with Egon, crossed his arms and sighed with frustration. Peter reached them, leaned in and whispered, "Now you know how WE feel when we manage to hospitalize YOU. All the Zeddemores in Christendom giving us the Evil Eye."

"Oh, come on."

"At least Janine doesn't have brothers bigger than we are wanting to kick our collective asses. Why can't you and Janine be as deprived as the rest of us? It'd make visitation a lot easier. I mean, damn!" Peter smiled bleakly. It was true. Within city limits Ray had an aunt. Egon had his mother. Peter had no one. Access to the three of THEM was easy.

Winston suddenly understood, fully, why relations between his family and the Ghostbusters were uneasy at best, especially from the Ghostbusters' standpoint. He himself wanted nothing more than to send a proton blast into the ceiling and clear out this room as easily as he and Peter had cleared out the basement of the church. He resented Janine's family's prior claim on her. The way they cut their eyes over at his team as if they were dangerous and unstable. As if the four of them had done this. As if they had no right to be present. Who the hell did those people think they were? Pushed to the side at this moment of crisis, Winston was resentful and jealous.

He appreciated Peter's sad attempt at levity. Let's all have a nice round of unreality before the time comes to face the truth. Winston shielded his eyes from the bright overhead lights and looked at the side of Peter's face. The man's skin was a stark white and his eyes were so red he looked as if he were going to cry tears of blood. Winston sighed again. Fearless Leader had said that the worst thing to happen to a human being was to hear someone they loved being hurt. That wasn't true. The worst thing was hearing someone you loved being hurt and not doing a damn thing about it. No. Wait. They HAD done something. They'd told her to shut up.

Winston closed his mind against that memory.

Egon was still and cold as ice. He stared at Janine as if only he and she were present. He heard no other voice and saw no other face. Egon, Egon, please help me she had screamed. And he had answered Damn You. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. Egon, please help me. Damn you. Please help. Damn you.

Damn you, Egon.

Ray appeared at the door and began to push his way towards them. God, it was like moving in a crowded elevator or that stateroom scene from 'A Night At The Opera.' The scene where Margaret Dumont opened the door of Groucho's room and a ton of people plus the Marx Brothers fell out into the hall.

The dog yipped at him in passing, and wagged its tail. He gave it a quick pet. His friends were glad to see him, too. "I just spoke to the doctor and he's going to do something about this horde... I mean there really ARE too many people in here. I also asked him for something for our heads..." He fought back a wave of nausea as his Scrambler-induced migraine became subtly worse.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" A very large Med-Tech stood in the doorway. "We have exceeded maximum occupancy! Very immediate family can stay but all the rest - especially that DOG - have to leave now." There was some disagreement over which family members were more immediate than others but the room was soon whittled down to Janine's parents, her two sisters, and the Ghostbusters. "It's still a little crowded in here..." the man in the door hinted pointedly.

The Melnitzes stared at the four Eliminators expectantly but were quickly intimidated by four pairs of bloodshot eyes, expressive with misery and anger.

The med-tech thought fast and decided on the diplomatic approach. "Ooookayyyy...Ghostbusters? The doctors need to look at all of you. You won't do Miss Melnitz any good if you crash to the floor."

Egon snapped to life, at last. "We're not leaving," he snarled. The four of them were unconsciously mimicking each other's defiant body posture, arms crossed, backs straight, feet firmly on the floor. Leona and her daughters glared at them. Mel simply looked sad.

"I'm not asking you to leave. We want to examine his face..." He pointed at Ray's developing bruises that he had won when he hit the granite wall. "...his arm..." Egon was obviously favoring his thrower hand, "...and all of your heads. Er...your headaches. It should take about an hour or so, and then you can come back. Janine's not going anywhere tonight." The big man was kindly sympathetic but determined.

Peter looked at his team. Yeah, they were injured. Let's see if he could do SOMETHING right today. "Let's go." Setting a good example, Peter ignored Leona's triumphant expression and followed the MT down the hall. The others immediately joined him.

They were fussed over and patched up. The doctors, left dazed by Egon's terse explanation of the psionic Scramblers and the Ghostbusters' adverse reaction to the increased level of energy, wound up shrugging their shoulders, prescribing pain medication and hoping for the best. The Ghostbusters rejoined Janine and her resentful family and soon a tiny nurse brought them four pills for their psi-migraine pain. Their headache problem was solved.

Unfortunately, the pills solved their pesky consciousness problem as well. The Melnitzes were essentially left alone at last as the four men slumped in chairs or against the walls, out for the count, the afternoon sun streaming onto their white bandages. Leona glared at them. They had her daughter's blood on them. She cursed them. She shared many creatively vile opinions concerning them and their ancestors with her husband and daughters. She studied their faces, their misery so obvious even in sleep.

Then she covered them with blankets.

Janine opened her eyes at midnight and Peter came awake at the same time. He watched her as her eyes curiously travelled over her sleeping friends and family. She inspected her hands, staring at the bandages, the IV tubes and the blood stains. Her fingernails were wrecked and she clumsily picked at them, grimacing at the pain.

And then she remembered.

Peter left his chair immediately and stood beside her bed, Leona's blanket still around his shoulders. Janine looked up at him and her eyes were haunted and terrified. She covered her mouth with her bandaged hand. "Oh, Peter..." she whispered and shuddered with horror. "Peter!"

"I know." Peter answered almost imperceptably. "I know." Careful of her IV tubes he threw his blanket over her and tucked it tightly around her body, securely binding her in the soft folds. Then he lowered the rail on her bed and gathered her as closely to his chest as he could. Janine clutched at him, desperate for warmth, for the reality of another human being, and shuddered again.

She did not cry.

They did not speak.

He held her for a long time.

The next morning Janine had been given a bath stool and she gratefully sat on it underneath a stream of wonderfully hot water. Her hair was covered with a shower cap and she wore waterproof gloves and booties on her hands and feet. It was 'the day after.' She would take her shower, washing off the remnants of the horribly itchy blood, dress in a hospital gown and a hospital robe and she'd be wheeled out the hospital door through the gauntlet of the New York press to her parents' home in the suburbs. She would finish out a three-day weekend there and she would rejoin her guys the following Monday.

But first...

No amount of damp sponging would get her hair clean so, against doctor's orders, she pulled her shower cap off and gently washed her hair with her fingertips. Tangled snarls, like dead spiders, slid down her skin and into the drain. Not wanting to damage her delicate scabs any further, she rinsed her cap out and put it back on. Washing her body, she watched the water turn a rusty red before it cleared again.

She was clean. Janine relaxed under the gentle spray and felt the throbbing ache throughout her body and mind with a weary disconnection. Everything was OK now. She'd heal. She'd be fine. The guys were fine, her family was fine. Everything was fine.

A sob violently shook her and she brought a washcloth to her mouth to muzzle it before anyone could hear. Another uncontrollable sob and then another pulsed through her body. She could hear a clinical voice in her head, sounding much like Peter, say, "Now, this is what is commonly known as a Delayed Reaction." She rocked and cried. Rocked and cried. Oh, god. Regina. Won't you cry a little tear, Regina Idolarum? Oh, god.

Half-smothered by the washcloth, she wept with all her being. It actually felt good.

She was soon exhausted. Janine felt as limp and pounded as the rag she was holding but she was free and in control now. Everything truly was fine and she gratefully accepted that fact with every atom in her sore body. Completely cleansed now, she carefully stepped out of the shower. She dried off slowly, cursing the limited use of her hands. She found a courtesy bag of toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, comb, skin cream and a tiny bottle of talcum powder sitting on a shelf. Brushing her teeth felt luxurious. She sprinkled the talcum powder liberally all over her body and breathed in its rich scent before dressing in her pastel blue hospital gear. Janine gently combed her hair.

There.

Much, much better.

Human again, at last, she stepped out of the bathroom and gladly rejoined her parents waiting to take her home. "OH!" Leona exclaimed. "You look so good!"

"Wow! Much better!" Mel beamed at her.

"Ready to come back to work today instead of Monday?" came a ragged voice from the floor. Janine looked down at the train wreck that had once been Peter Venkman and shook her head. "I don't have the strength. And neither do you. Everybody GET UP before I stomp on you!" Janine aimed a slow play kick in their general direction.

Ray, overjoyed by her transformation, jumped to his feet. And immediately regretted it. "Oh, hell. 'Scuse me." He ran into the bathroom and gave in to his nausea. Peter, Egon and Winston, taking a tip from Ray's reaction, got to their feet very slowly. It had been a long, drugged night. They inspected Janine with piercing, relieved eyes.

"Dad? Could you and Monica give the guys a ride home?"

Winston was touched. "My brothers are here. They're pulling Ecto around now and Big Mama Spengler is waiting for us at the firehouse." Janine nodded in relief and approval. Good. They were being taken care of.

"PLEASE don't call my mother 'Big Mama...'" The time had come to go. Too soon. Egon stepped up and gently hugged Janine.They were both a mass of bruises and Egon was dirty but they didn't care. He breathed her in. She smelled of life, soap and talcum powder. Life. She was alive.

Janine felt safe. Safe enough to almost fall asleep standing, there in his arms. She could hear his heart beating. She could feel it as if it were her own heart. And it was, really. They pulled away with great reluctance.

Winston nodded, almost overwhelmed. "No Big Mama. Okay. Can I call her Snugglebunny?" Winston stepped in for his hug. She felt strong and looked almost like herself again. Good.

"Hey! That's what I call her!" Peter pulled Janine away from Winston and gave her a squeeze. She returned it with enthusiasm, thank god. She didn't blame him. Them.

Janine wanted to give them all a healthy pat or a rub on the back but her hands hurt too much.

Ray stepped out of the bathroom, embarrassed and smelling of mouthwash. Watching his friends he toyed with the idea of calling for a group hug as he had threatened in the church. Nah. For now he wanted Janine to himself. She was pretty and smiling and alive, GOD he had needed to see this. He stepped up with enthusiasm and they hugged. He wearily dropped his head to her shoulder for a moment. Then he quickly pulled up a wheelchair so she could get off her feet and he could recover his composure. She sat with a sigh of relief, reached behind her and gave his hand a squeeze. She wanted to kiss it.

Peter leaned over her. "We told Winston's brothers to make a lot of noise as they drove Ecto up to the front door. With any luck, we'll draw most of the press and you and your folks can sneak out the back without too many problems."

"Oh, thanks Peter. I was dreading that." She realized, too late, that she should have made a crack about Peter being a Glory Hog instead of expressing sincere gratitude. Oh well. She was tired. It would be a while before things got back to normal.

"Everybody ready to go?" Leona was almost successful in keeping the pushiness out of her voice. Winston was thoroughly fed up and he snorted with disgust. She ignored him.

"See you on Monday, Janine. See if you can't bring us some donuts." Peter kissed her and straightened up. Another round of hugs followed, designed exclusively to annoy Janine's mother even further. Winston almost crawled up into the wheelchair. Leona practically hissed like a cat. Winston's sudden vindictive streak was surprising and very entertaining and Janine laughed. Even Mel was grinning behind his hand. Then Peter pointed towards the door and they were gone. Peter reappeared in the doorway, waved, kicked up his leg like a burlesque dancer, and was gone again. Janine wanted to wail.

Still, she smiled up at her family with genuine pleasure. Yes. A nice, three-day weekend in the suburbs. Plenty of sleep and plenty of food. She'd call the guys every day and check up on them and then she'd be back to work on Monday. Everything was fine.

'Your 'Big Brother' Peter knows about your little valentine mole.' whispered an unctuous voice in her mind. 'Ray wants...a real kiss...a deep kiss...one that warms a person up. Not the disappointing peck on the lips you gave him last New Year's...'

Janine shook her head sharply, "Give me a break." she muttered. Leona pretended not to notice Janine talking to herself. After all she'd been through, her daughter could sit in a corner and blow spit bubbles and Leona wouldn't say a word. She wheeled her baby out the door with enthusiasm. The poor thing had obviously been crying. But she seemed more alive than she had been. Janine MUST quit that job. She really must.

"PETER!! PETER!! I KNOW I HEARD YOU, I...AAAIIIIIIIHHHH!!!!!"

Peter was out of his four-poster bed and running for her before he woke up and realized where he was. The bunkroom at the firehouse. Janine was all right, he reminded himself. She was whole and safe at her parents' house. Of that, he was sure. Of course he had been sure the last time, too. Pain clawed through his eyes and into his brain and he dizzily sat down at the foot of Egon's bed. Egon wasn't there. Peter checked the other bunks. Ray was gone, too. Winston was sitting up and looking at him with concern.

"Where are they, Zed?"

"I don't know. I just got here myself." Winston rubbed at his tired face and got up. He put on a robe and Peter pulled on some sweat pants over his briefs. Barefoot and chilled, they headed for the stairs. "I had a nightmare, too, Pete."

"Yeah." There didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the firehouse. "Mine was the screaming. Again. What was yours?" Peter started for the second floor kitchen, then stopped, turned, and headed for the roof. Winston followed unquestioningly. Lost tools, lost keys, lost friends, Peter would find them.

"I dreamed of my old Sunday School. I was seven years old. Old Lady Baxter sat in front of us and explained exactly what happened to the human body during...crucifixion." Winston blew out a terrible sigh of stress. "Crushed feet. Crushed hands. Heat and thirst in the desert for days. Flies crawling over your face. Your body stretching and stretching until you die of suffocation."

"And WHY was this important for a seven year old to know?"

"So we'd have a better appreciation of what Jesus suffered for our sakes."

Peter frowned in disgust. "Damn."

"I dreamed..." Winston shook his head and went on. "I dreamed Mrs. Baxter used Janine as an example since we didn't find her fast enough. And...and there were flies."

Flies. Peter shuddered and dropped an arm around Winston's shoulders.

"That's not the worst part..." Winston forced himself to say. Peter stopped and turned to him. Winston kept his eyes on the stairs, ashamed and unhappy.

"C'mon, Zed." Peter prompted gently. "What's the worst part?"

Winston gritted the words out in a reluctant rush. "I actually DO have a greater appreciation for what Jesus suffered after seeing what happened to Janine. All the art of the crucifixion that I've seen in all the books that I've read or all the churches and museums I've visited might as well be of Bugs Bunny, they're so far from the TRUTH! God, poor Janine...I can't believe I'm thinking this way."

"You're only making a comparison, Zed. Truth as opposed to Art." Peter gave Winston a gentle shake. "Don't feel guilty; the Truth hurts but it's a valuable thing to have. And if you have a better understanding of the things you believe in, then that's valuable, too. You're not dehumanizing Janine, you're humanizing your religion."

Winston continued to stare at his feet. " I think..." he finally said, so quietly that Peter had to lean in to hear him. "...I think suffering makes people - will make Janine - divine."

"She always was divine." He suddenly waggled his eyebrows. "'Specially in the blue miniskirt!"

"No, the green miniskirt!" Winston corrected. His eyes were shining very bright. Peter started him moving up the stairs again.

"We'll see how divine you think she is when she loses another phone message from your girlfriend," Peter teased. Winston grinned and, having gotten what he needed, he continued on in silence.

They opened the door to the roof and gratefully breathed in the cold air. Ray and Egon were leaning against the roof ledge taking in the sights and the sensations of the night in New York. As fair colored as they both were, they were still practically invisible, two more shadows in a world without light. It was almost as if they willed themselves dark.

Winston and Peter joined them and the four men gazed out on the moonless, still blackness. Peter cooled his hands on the cold ledge and placed his palms against his forehead. It felt good. Sometimes the pain was so intense he felt he was burning. The roof seemed to sway like a ship on the blackest ocean.

"Peter, I AM so sorry," Egon began. Peter looked up and saw his friend watching him. "When I adjusted the Scrambler I thought only of the duration of the psi-pain, not the intensity."

"Only results count, Egon," Peter quietly insisted. "You pulled Red-Eye away from Janine just in time and I'll put up with any kind of hurt for that kind of outcome." He thought his comment would open up a necessary dialogue but Egon turned away, his face an impenetrable shadow.

Ray filled in the gap. "We were talking about the Scramblers before you two got here. Y'know, modify them so they won't block communication signals, increase their output and their effectiveness without causing neurological damage. Uh...streamlining our personal emergency supplies, flashlights, bandages, tools, so on and so forth without adding too much extra weight..."

"Having just you carry it all always worked before. I'm surprised you didn't pull out the kitchen sink on that last bust. You know, the church bust?" Peter said, beginning to sink his fangs into the necessary subject. He turned around and leaned his back and elbows against the low wall, stretching his legs. Winston crossed his arms on the bricks and laid his head down, resigned.

"Right!" Ray quickly stalled. "See, if we got separated that would be a problem. I was thinking something along the lines of Batman's utility belts for all of us..."

"I don't think she's going to come back." Egon interrupted. Ray fell silent.

"Why not?" Peter simply asked.

The light of the stars and the streetlights reflected off Egon's eyeglasses, making his eyes unseen and unreadable. "I...I don't think...how can she trust us anymore? How can she count on us to be there for her after this? The interruption from the modified Scrambler was an accident. A fluke. She has to know that."

"She knows it saved her, still."

Ray pinched a shard of brick between his thumb and forefinger until it began to hurt. "All she knows is that we told her to shut up when she needed us most."

Winston said nothing.

Peter breathed in the night air. "Well, we're all so certain of what Janine knows, let me tell you what I know. Judging by my headache you better believe that I know ALOT."

He faced them directly. "Janine came after us because she thought we were in trouble. She went in alone and, without the radio, she went in blind. Why? She thought we needed her. And, need I remind you, it wasn't the first time she's gone charging to our rescue."

"And look what happened. Trapped and tortured because of US!" Egon's voice was drained and bitter.

"No. This happened because she was tricked. We were tricked." Winston caught his eye and emphatically nodded his head. That was Truth. Peter felt a heavy weight slide off his shoulders as he, himself, finally realized it. It was no one's fault. They had all been tricked. He nodded back.

Oh, but that Red-Eyed bastard paid for it. Feeders in the savage prison-like Containment Unit, where the Ghostbusters stored their captured entities, liked to eat. For lack of their regular diet the various demons devoured each other. Red-Eye wasn't in the system for fifteen minutes before he was pulled apart and cannibalized, screaming of Machines the entire time. Peter was the only witness to this and he looked forward, very much, to telling Janine all about it. "It was no one's fault and she knows it. Even before she...got down from there she knew it. Cry Wolf, remember?"

Winston backed Peter up with the voice of complete conviction. "She loves us. She's suffered a LOT for us over the years and she's not going to ditch us now." As if that ended the argument he stood up and headed for the door.

Ray stopped him. "Winston, she's never suffered anything like THIS."

Winston rounded on him. "You want the entire LIST?! I know exactly what she's been through. She's been possessed, kidnapped, dragged through the streets, pounded, shocked and blasted, just to name a few. After all that, and after all this time, you think she's going to abandon us as if we were GARBAGE, now? Man, where is your FAITH?!" He turned to Egon. "Where is YOUR faith?"

Ray and Egon said nothing. Winston realized they were afraid. Fear went a long way towards obstructing what was in plain sight. Out of all of them, Winston realized this best. It was a matter of Truth, again.

Peter lurched away from the wall with a groan. "Would it help if you talked to Janine now? Instead of twisting yourselves in knots with your overactive imaginations?"

Egon scowled at him. "It is entirely too late at night to speak with Janine."

"Well, too bad, because in five...four...three...two...one..."

Nothing.

"Zero!"

Still nothing.

"HEYYY!!" Peter threw out his arms in exasperation.

The phone rang.

"She did that ON PURPOSE!!"

They could hear the ringing echoing dimly up the stairs from the third story bunkroom and, after staring at Peter incredulously, Ray rushed down to answer it. Winston followed, in vindicated triumph. Egon glared at Peter, furious. "Why couldn't you have done that in the church, damn you!" he shouted. He instantly regretted it. He even went so far as to slap his hand over his own mouth and Peter almost laughed at the sight. Almost.

Instead, Peter smiled tiredly and shoved Egon towards the stairs. "Good question, Spengs. I wish to hell I knew."

"No, Peter, I'm sorry. Please. I'm sorry." Egon grabbed Peter's arms with apologetic desperation.

"I know you are. You're the sorriest guy I've ever met." Peter reached up and gave Egon's hair a firm, painless yank. "I don't feel so well so I'm going to postpone your ass-kicking until next week. Meanwhile, it's okay, Egon. Come on." He pulled the tall man down the stairs.

Ray answered the phone on the fourth ring. "Janine?"

"How'd you know?"

"JANINE! Puh...Peter told us."

"That jerk wrecks all my surprises. No donuts for him. Where were you guys?"

"The roof." Ray twisted the phone cord. His teammates surrounded him, staring at the phone hungrily.

"Are they all here now?"

"Yeah, Janine, we're all here."

"Good. GO TO BED!! IT'S ONE IN THE MORNING!!" Her voice carried easily through the bunkroom and so did the dial tone as she slammed the phone down, hard. Ray stared at the receiver and slowly began to smile.

"Well, she don't have to tell ME twice." Peter's head was swimming and he fell back into bed with a sigh. Why couldn't he have known that it really was Janine in the church? Because he didn't. The Amazing Seer of Seers he was not. Oh, the joy of being 'gifted.' Good for nothing but parlor tricks and migraine pain. Egon lay down on his own bunk as rigid and cold as a steel beam.

Winston threw his robe onto a chair and crawled into his bed, silently praying for dreamless sleep. Ray was shaking with nervous laughter. Funny! The past five minutes had been funny! Winston and Peter companionably joined him in laughter until he covered his face with a pillow and stopped.

Peter got up and took a pain pill. God, he hated Vicodin. It gave him nightmares and paranoia. The night before, half-awake, he had become convinced that people were coming through the walls to get him. He had also been convinced the radiator was farting. Still, Vicodin stopped the agony and prevented him from thinking too much. He was very glad he had a prescription. He dropped back into bed. Winston, Peter and Ray slowly became still and calm as mercifully forgetful sleep claimed them totally.

Egon did not sleep. He got up and walked downstairs to the rec room's large bay windows. The firehouse was utterly dark. 'I can look out and see you but you can't see me,' he thought inanely as he watched a group of happy drunks reel down the sidewalk, bouncing off each other and laughing uproariously. Oh, shut up.

Shut up. Egon pressed his forehead to the cool glass. Janine's forehead...the punctures that ringed her head would heal to nothing, the nurse had reassured her mother. Leona was fastidious as a neurotic cat when it came to appearances, as was Janine, and she had been mollified. Egon had not. He could care less. A tiger could maul Janine beyond recognition and she would remain beautiful to him. He could see the Bengal tiger, licking its bloody chops. Egon shook his head, disgusted with himself for creating such a disturbing image. He blamed it on exhaustion. He blamed it on mild post-traumatic stress disorder. With shame he recalled blaming Peter.

Most of all, he simply blamed himself.

She had screamed and no one came. He had been unable to tell the difference between the voice of the woman he loved and the hateful voice of a demon and only a mindless accident had saved her. Why would Janine trust him to keep her safe when he could be so easily duped? There was no real future with a lack-wit man like him. Even from an evolutionary standpoint he was not a viable, or safe, option for any female to choose. He was a genetic dead-end. He was worthless. Incompetent. Useless. Impotent.

He lunged for the phone and listened for the dial tone.

"I told you to go to bed."

"GAH!" He dropped it as if he had absent-mindedly placed a snake against his ear. He snatched it up again just as quickly. "Janine?! I...was just going to call you."

"I'm glad you picked up before the ring woke anybody. Why were you going to call?"

"I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you were...resting well."

"I'm resting fine. Well, I'm not resting NOW of course..." She suddenly laughed.

"What's so funny?" Egon smiled despite himself.

"I'm in my old room in my parents' house and I feel like a teenager sneaking a call to my boyfriend in the middle of the night. You ever do that, Egon?"

"Call my boyfriend in the middle of the night?"

"HELL you say! Call your GIRLFRIEND in the middle of the night."

"I believe I just did."

"No, I called you."

"But I was GOING to call you!"

Janine laughed again. It was glorious to hear. Pure unrestrained joy. Egon fell to the couch and almost bent himself double with relief and surprise. Janine was giggling with him long distance. She was all right. She was truly all right. She would come home. She would come home to him.

Janine controlled herself before she woke up her parents. Didn't want to get grounded or anything. "The reason I called, Egon?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say, I love you."

Egon breathed out a heavy sigh of released anxiety. Darwin be damned. "I love you, too, Janine."

Janine fought back the emotion choking her throat, but Egon still heard the effort not to cry in her voice. "Go to bed and get some sleep, Egon. Dream of me. I'll see you soon."

"Yes. Soon."

"Goodnight."

There was so much he wanted to say but he simply didn't have the words. Janine had to wait a while before he was able to respond. "Goodnight." She gently replaced her parents' phone in its cradle. Egon followed suit.

When he woke up on the couch the next morning his hand was still on the telephone.

It was Monday, at last. Peter, looking very much like a debauched rock star, wearily cleaned his darkest sunglasses on his shirttail and put them back on. He leaned back in Janine's desk chair and listened to the hospital florist's on-hold music while he watched Ray and Egon hang a bright white and pink banner over his head with Winston supervising them. Winston looked like an orchestra conductor as he silently directed them to hang that end higher, then the other end lower until it was perfectly straight. Peter had suggested 'She Is Risen!' was more original than 'Welcome Back, Janine!' but he had been unanimously voted down. Egon carefully stepped down off his ladder while Ray vaulted onto the floor from his, landing with a resounding SLAM that echoed all through Peter's high-strung body. His sunglasses hid the pouting resentment in his eyes as he watched his pain-free teammates practically cavort, they were so damn healthy. They moved about, fussily making last-minute arrangements to the area.

"Doctor Venkman?" A young voice interrupted the hold Muzak. "Still there?"

"Yep, still here. What did you find?"

"It looks like the nicest flowers we have are the Ecuadorian roses, the orchids and the cherry branch blossoms."

"What are the Ecuadorian roses like?" Ecuador exports roses? Is Ecuador in Brazil?

"They're gorgeous! Almost as big as cabbages and they smell wonderful! They're my favorites!"

"Well, that's all I need to know, then. I'll take...three dozen of those, all different colors...you do have three dozen?"

"Oh, sure!" she assured him breathlessly. Peter grinned.

"Okay, all different colors and send them to the Emergency Room just as soon as that Skinny thang gets into work."

"She's going to have a cow, we'll never hear the end of it! What do you want on the card?"

Peter ran a hand through his thick hair, uncharacteristically stuck. "Just say...uh...'Thank you for your..."

There was a deliveryman poking a cautious head into the front door. Winston spotted him and went over.

"Just say 'Thank you for being so calm and perfect when the rest of us were freaking out...'"

"...freaking...out...okay." Her voice was neutral.

"And I'm sorry I threatened to neutronize her. If she ever needs anything she knows who to call."

"...neutronize...call...okay! Got it." Unseen by Dr. Venkman, she shook her head in horror. What a nightmare.

Winston came staggering back, gripping an enormous wicker basket full of food, fruit, jellies and Black-Eyed Susans. He carefully set it on the end of Janine's desk and began to root around for a card. The bulk of the fan gifts had been given over to a local nursing home, but they kept the cards in order to send out Thank You notes. Their mothers would have been proud.

Peter gave the florist his credit card information, thanked her flirtatiously and hung up. He joined in Winston's search and the card was located under a giant salami.

It was a copy of the most maudlin religious poem in the world, 'Footprints' and it was signed by Philip Frank along with several notations from the Book of Job and a mismatched proverb. "...In Christ all things are possible for he is the resurrection and the life, forever and ever, amen."

"Throw it in the garbage!" Peter spat.

Winston raised his hand for calm and shook his head. "Its Janine's. Let her decide what to do with it. And I'm surprised Frank's sending gifts instead of joining in with that reporters' group lawsuit against us."

"Frank knows he was at fault and he got off veeerrryyyyy easy. He also knows that lawsuit doesn't have a fudgesicle's chance in hell of succeeding. The 'group' is made up of exactly three paparazzi and all three have criminal records of trespassing, harassment and being dickheads. They won't win." Peter cleaned his shades again; it was becoming a habit with him. Winston studied him with strong and badly disguised sympathy.

"Janine's late!" Both men jumped and turned to Egon. "She should have been here thirty minutes ago."

Ray turned a crystal vase of bright yellow daffodils to their best advantage on the file cabinet that separated Janine and Peter's work areas. "Janine can't drive yet so her mother's bringing her in. Probably she drives like a little old lady. They really should have called, though." Ray frowned, echoing Egon's expression.

"Stop right there. I'm on it." Peter, hoping to stave off another Ray/Egon paranoia attack, quickly picked up the phone and called Janine's parents' house on the off chance that the two hadn't left yet. The others watched him, fretting.

Two rings..."Hello!" Leona snapped and Peter was instantly on his guard. He heard Janine in the background sounding frazzled. "That's THEM, Ma!"

"How do you know who it is?!" Leona shot back at her.

"Oh, she KNOWS!" Peter intoned with ominous, dark drama. Leona gasped and fumbled her receiver. She recovered quickly. "Look, you..." she snarled, "Janine isn't coming in today..."

"Yes, I am!" Peter barely heard Janine's answer. He was fending off Egon's grab for the phone. The man had the long arms of an octopus and Peter was losing.

"You are not! You're just not well enough!" Leona hollered back.

"Guys! Babe in Distress!' Peter heard Janine's shout for help before suddenly releasing his grip. Egon staggered back and Ray caught him. The tall man put the receiver to his ear in time to hear Leona slam it down. Then he gave it back to Peter.

Egon, a master of understatement if there ever was one, simply said, "She hung up."

Peter rubbed his hands together and turned to face his team with a beatific smile. This would not be borne. "We are Men with a Mission. Let's go."

In the suburbs the fight continued. "Just one more day! Is that so much for your own mother to ask? For you to stay just one more day?"

Janine rolled her eyes. At least Leona had kept the peace during the weekend but when it came down to the Zero Hour she just couldn't control it anymore. "Ma! Can you be any more manipulative?"

"I'm not manipulative! I love you!"

"I love you, too! But oh..." Janine put a melodramatic hand to her forehead and wilted across the living room couch. "...how can my own mother be so cruel to her poor, injured daughter?!"

"Oh, stop it!"

"The pain! The paaaiinnnnn!"

Mel Melnitz turned the page of his Dickens novel and stayed well out of it. He rather enjoyed the battle of wills that went on in his house. Janine really should visit more often when she was healthy and could work up a really impressive volume. She made things lively!

"You know its not safe working for THEM! THEY'LL get you killed someday!"

Janine pointed a well-manicured hand at the front door. It had been a challenge for Leona to lovingly fix the damage done to Janine's fingernails and the two women had genuinely savored every moment they had spent together. Janine had needed the comfort and unconditional support that only a good mother could provide but it was time to go back to her life and her job that meant so very much to her. Her dad understood; why couldn't her mother?

"Them? Ma, THEY are coming to get me and it's NOT GONNA BE PRETTY!"

Mel perked up. Did the camera have film in it? He snuck away to check. The way that Ray kid drove 'THEY' would be here any second...

"AVON CALLING!!!" a bullhorn announced.

Janine and Leona yelped and Mel jumped back into the room. Powerful golden emergency lights began to strobe through the living room curtains and a piercing siren made coherent thought nearly impossible. It was obnoxiously loud, blaring and terrible and every door on the block opened to see what the tumult was. How Ray had managed to sneak-drive Ecto into their front yard Janine couldn't begin to guess and she moved as fast as she was able for the front door and flung it wide. Her guys were making a statement and...

It was not pretty.

"MARS NEEDS WOMEN!!"

"SURRENDER DOROTHY!!"

A wild barbarian horde crashed into the room. Dressed in a kilt and body-painted blue, Ray blocked Leona from grabbing at Janine. Winston had white tribal zigzags covering his bare, brown chest and he held his Shima Buku souvenir spear on Mel. For his part, Mel was desperately intimidated. The older man laughed so hard he slid down the wall and Winston snickered as he held out a hand to help him back up. Peter covered the door, looking even more like a strung-out rock star in his black cowboy hat and boots, black jeans, black shirt, ragged black duster, black heart and blackest shades. He pointed the bullhorn as if it were a pearl handled six-shooter. "Get her, Spengs! I'll cover you!!"

Egon was dressed simply in jeans and a purple and yellow Minnesota Vikings football jersey but he still managed to look thirty times more imposing than the others. Janine opened her arms and Egon bodily grabbed her up, taking the pressure off her sore feet, and she laughed with sheer joy.

"GOT HER!! RETREAT!!" He carried her out the door, fast, and his vile band of heathens followed, only Peter stopping long enough to steal the TV Guide.

"RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!"

Leona was incensed. "You BAHSTIDS! Bring her back!" Mel was laughing and waving so-long. He didn't have any pictures but he did have Winston's spear.

Winston himself turned back. It was all he could do not to shake his hips and sing "Neener! Neener! Neener!" at Janine's mother but he did have something he wanted to say. He leapt towards Leona.

"Learn to love us!"

He ducked her left-hook, turned and threw himself into Ecto's back seat as Ray peeled out of the yard and past the laughing neighbors.

Leona shook her fists, stained blue from struggling with Ray, at the receding ghost-mobile. "Janine! Janine! I hope you have kids JUST LIKE YOU!!!"

Janine was seated comfortably on Egon's lap and she joyfully brought her lips up to his, reveling in his possessive grasp. They became happily unaware of the laughter, noise and tumult in the car. Peter looked at them and smiled. Excellent. A little pro-active violence and a dashing rescue was just what the doctor ordered to ease the depressed tension in the firehouse. He raised the bullhorn to his lips again. "Don't forget to pick up the donuts!!" Peter winced at all the resulting hoopla and covered his ears.

Two mornings later, afternoons actually, Peter raised his head and faced the sunshine bravely. He looked directly at the sun, then looked away. Nothing. He turned from the window and cranked the volume up on the TV. Nothing. This had been the longest week of his life and now, at last, no more pain. No more wincing when dust motes landed with a thud. No more living with all the curtains drawn. No more wandering around with dark sunglasses, listening to Janine tease him about looking like a Blues Brother gone Horribly Wrong. The Eternal Headache had left him. What a beautiful surprise to wake up to. Oh, yeah. He wanted to sing Disney songs. "A whole, new wooooorrrllldd!!!"

He took a shower, dressed, and ate breakfast. (A meal known as lunch to the other residents of the firehouse.) Then he stretched out on the floor of the second story Rec Room and peered over the edge of the firepole hole at his patient on the first floor.

Janine was slowly typing some data into the computer with her forefingers. It would be a long time before she regained her dexterity. Peter would have preferred she not type at all but Janine argued that it was good physical therapy. She made a mistake. "Agh!" Another mistake. "Gah!" Peter shook his head. Painkillers could bring such relief but still be a mind-numbing bother. Her computer beeped in a sanctimonious way. "Oh, hell, piss, frig, fire, fart!" Peter was pleased with her diatribe. No signs of depressed indifference.

He also noted her posture, clothes, make-up, skin tone and hairstyle. All were indicators of her mental state.

She was sitting up straight but relaxed. Her make-up was light and perfectly applied. Skin-tone was clear, not as pale as it had been, and her bruises were fading fast. Her red hair was clean and styled softly with little or no hair spray. She checked it constantly. He knew she obsessed over finding scab flakes in it. All in all, the signs pointed to a healthy recovery except for one thing.

Her clothes.

The miniskirts and sleeveless blouses were long gone. She wore loose dress pants, sweaters, and thigh-length jackets. Every inch of skin was covered in dim earth tones. Fortunately it was a cold spring and she could get away with it. Her extravagant jewelry was gone, too. No more gigantic brass and bone bracelets. No more hoop earrings big enough to swing a monkey from. Her wardrobe's one saving grace were the fluffy, pink bunny slippers she wore over her aching feet. They were the only items she wore that expressed her personality. This 'covering up' was consistent with victims of sexual attack or abuse but Red-Eye had done nothing like that. Peter had given her the third degree, bright lights and all, quite thoroughly on that suspicion before he was satisfied. He also ruled out embarrassment over her friends seeing her naked. Their volatile profession had placed them all in extreme situations before and they had all showed skin at some point. One of the perks of the job. It had simply been her turn this time. Why then? Why was she covering up?

Peter knew why. He sighed. Time to walk on eggshells. Time to avoid eye contact and spend hours on meaningless chitchat about the weather. Time to obsess over what the other guy knows. Damn brain-sucking telepaths.

Peter watched Janine scratch her scalp. Then she whipped out a compact mirror to make sure nothing was caught in her hair. It was funny, in a terrible sort of way, and Peter smiled down at her.

Winston wandered out of the library and noticed Peter was in Lurking Vulture Mode again. Putting down his book on Emilie Sagee, the French schoolteacher who lost nineteen jobs in sixteen years, he quietly joined his friend, and Peter scooted over to make room. Winston took a quick look. Janine put her compact away and turned up the volume on her radio.

Hoping the music masked his voice, Winston whispered, "She looks okay to me."

Peter shook his head. "Y'know what I used to be before I became a Ghostbuster?"

"A lap dancer?"

"No. Not for lack of trying, though." Peter pushed invisible glasses into place and looked intellectually smug. "I was a psychologist."

"No!" Winston's feigned astonishment was great.

"Yes! I even taught classes at some school. I still remember some of it." Peter pointed downwards. "That woman there is suffering from an awful case of Feeder Backlash."

Winston pulled a face and his good humor was cut off at the legs. "Oh, no Pete. Not that on top of everything else."

"Remember we were talking about her when we drove up to the church..."

"Oh, nooooo..." Winston covered his face. Pure, distilled embarrassment ahoy.

"Yep. The ol' miniskirt debate might be coming back to haunt us. Look. Watch."

Ray had left his basement lab and was approaching Janine.

Janine turned down her radio and listened. Was she hearing voices? She leaned back and peered suspiciously up at the firepole hole.

"Janine?"

"RAY!" She jumped a foot in all directions before she got a grip on herself. He was looking down on her with concern. She did not meet his eyes. Her fingers came down on her keyboard and her computer shrilly beeped again. "What's up, Ray?"

"I...uh...was wondering how much water to give to the philodendrons." He stepped a little closer.

"Oh, they're practically weeds. Just soak the soil and they'll be good for quite a while."

"Okay." He didn't move. Janine was looking at the floor. He rolled a guest chair over to her side and sat down.

"Ah...thank you for watering the office plants for me, Ray. I just can't lift the water yet." Was she leaning away from him? Yes, she certainly was. Her voice was still somewhat raspy. From the screaming, he knew, and that knowledge was awful.

"Janine..." He softly gripped her wrist. "...I've been talking to the side of your face ever since you came back. What's wrong?" A week ago he would have fretted that she harbored resentment over their accidental rescue of her but she had laid their worries to rest thoroughly.

"Nothing! Everything's fine!" To prove her point, she looked him full in the face. He gazed evenly back. She'd be damned if she was going to blink first. The staring contest went on until Ray gave her the victory and checked the time on his bare wrist. Janine breathed out and turned red. She turned back to her desktop again, hoping he'd get the hint.

Ray was far from stupid. He'd seen this before. Oh, noooooo...please no. Not Backlash. He fought back the urge to scream Demon's Lie!! Whatever Red-Eye said was an EGG-SUCKING LIE!! As a demon expert, however, Ray knew that, despite popular misconceptions, demons rarely lied. The truth always hurt so much worse than any fabrication. Being more cunning than creatively intelligent, demons worked with what they had. He had lectured all the residents of the firehall about it repeatedly. Well. The only cure for Feeder Backlash was to face the truth and talk it out. Get everything out into the open right now. He sat up, determined.

"Janine?"

"Hmm?"

".... um....I'm going to water the spider plants next!" He jumped up and walked away. Janine slumped with relief.

Egon came down from his third-floor lab to the rec-room and was faced with an odd sight--Peter and Winston sprawled on the floor with their heads down a hole. "What are you two doing?" They jerked around like guilty children. "It's really too soon in Janine's recovery to be...plotting whatever it is you two are plotting," Egon whispered firmly, crossing his arms.

"We're not plotting," Peter defended himself.

"Yeah, we're just spying," Winston confirmed with a 'what? You've got a problem with that?' sort of tone. Peter looked at him sharply as if the word 'spying' meant more than Winston ever suspected.

Egon crawled in between them and looked down.

Janine was picking her nose. No, she was just scratching it. She turned the radio up again but she didn't go back to her typing. She just...sat there. Egon glanced up at Peter with a silent question that was answered with a single word.

"Backlash."

Egon blanched and he covered his mouth with his hand. He wanted to keep his secrets. He did not want her to know of the darker aspects and happenings of his life. Most of all, considering it was Janine, he would MUCH rather she was unaware of the more...prurient...aspects of his mind at this point in their relationship. "What do we do?"

"Nothing. I don't think it's a bad case. She just needs to...think things out." I hope, Peter finished silently. Time to leave the country? Maybe. "I wouldn't be too worried, we're all adults here."

Winston laughed at that one. Janine glanced back at the firepole again and all three men craned, expertly, out of her range of vision.

Janine stared upwards for a long time before she relaxed again. The guys couldn't be planning something now? She had at least another week to go before it was declared Open Season on Janine again. She'd better take advantage of her downtime and plan her retaliations now but she was unable to concentrate. Ignoring her work, she stared at the wood grain on her desk, imagining all sorts of fantastic beasts there.

She picked up a pencil and rolled it back and forth between her bandaged hands. It was great to be back and things were winding down, more or less, towards normalcy... if you considered constant nightmares and cringing away from one of your best friends 'normal.'

Janine sighed. The guys had all been so great. The Wild Heathen Raid on her mother's house had been spectacular. Leona was still scandalized but Janine was sure she'd look back and laugh about it. Someday.

Then there had been Peter's Third Degree Debriefing. He'd taken her aside for a psychological examination that involved shining his desk lamp into her face until he was satisfied she wasn't blocking or hiding any account of sexual abuse from the demon. His relief was so palpable it brought tears to her eyes. Thank God for Peter. She had told him everything, and releasing that poison from her system helped her so much.

Egon became her shadow as he continually reassured himself that she was there, whole and alive. He lightly touched her arms and shoulders and was free with his kisses. She relished the attention but continuously had to stop herself from taking advantage of him and pressing for more. The ol' sympathy ploy, but no. She could wait. Decency and self-control was no fun. She loved him. Oh, she loved him. He was her air, her soul, her all. When she was properly healed she'd prove it.

Winston was taking a cue from his own mother and was comforting Janine, and everyone else, with food. She had gained five pounds from the home cooked desserts alone. Oh, spice cake. Homemade strawberry ice cream. Fudge brownies. Peanut butter cookies. Winston Zeddemore was going to make a very fine wife for some lucky woman, someday.

Ray was, well, he was killing her plants but he was TRYING to be helpful.

God, they care, she thought wonderingly. They care. It tore them apart to have this happen. God, what did she ever do right to deserve people like this in her life? She was handling it much better than they were. It had happened to HER. She was as right as the falling rain as long as nothing hurt her guys. Don't touch them, don't even LOOK at them funny.

'You break his heart every day. His enormous, loving heart...'

"I do NOT!" Janine threw the pencil, point first, into the floor. It quivered there like an arrow. "I do not. I do not. I never have and I never will hurt Ray. He knows I'm his friend."

She recalled pulling away from him as if he were a leper and bit her lip with shame. If Red-Eye was right about her valentine mole, and he could only have been right if Peter had indeed been spying on her, the perv, then he was probably right about Ray, too. Or was he? Ray had never given any INDICATION...!

She leaned down and savagely yanked the pencil out of the floor. It was her clothes' fault. The mini-skirts, the heels, the jewelry - it all cheered them up when her guys got slammed into the hospital or overworked in the winter or were facing the end of the world. Janine never thought it would all backfire so horribly, though.

No. It hasn't backfired! Ray just...he doesn't...he...DAMN YOU, RED-EYE! Janine thought furiously. I'm second-guessing my friends; I hope that makes you happy, you bastard. As if the nightmares and the pain weren't bad enough, now she had doubt.

Janine put her head down on her desk.

'The things they THOUGHT about you. Your naked body! The imagery! I was disgusted, I really was.'

She sighed, and suddenly smiled as a revelatory thought occurred to her.

Naked?

Naked imagery, huh?

It wasn't as if she never spared a thought towards THEM! Their own naked bodies. Heaven help them all if a feeder ever looked into her mind. "Ooooooohh..." Janine blushed but it was the truth. She was human, too. Four good looking, decent, intelligent and heroic men were impossible to overlook. It probably WOULD be a lot of fun for Peter to toss her on that four-poster. He liked the mole, huh? If she had known he was there she'd have given him a memory BEYOND some spot on her skin, by God.

She raised her head and smiled wickedly, happily delving into fantasy to combat despair. Yeah, watch THIS, Peter! Let this sight be a warm memory! Oh, brother, did he have some terrible hurt coming to him. The revenge she had in mind shouldn't happen.

And Winston liked her legs? Of course he did; they were excellent. Winston was no fool.

Now, why didn't Red-Eye mention what Egon liked?! DAMN! Was there no end to that talkative bastard's cruelty? That was the worst. That was purest evil. She suddenly felt like a thwarted kid straight out of Junior High.

And Ray...

He didn't deserve this sort of treatment. Janine came to a decision and got up, hissing at her stinging feet. She slowly went downstairs towards Ray's lab. She was tired of the awkwardness. Time to have it out.

Peter, Winston and Egon watched her walk away. "She's going to apologize to Ray," Winston deduced and got up. He reached out his hands and easily pulled Egon and Peter to their feet. "Are you sure we should let her work this out alone?" Winston asked Peter.

"I really think she'll get over it. No reason to make a huge, humiliating Federal Case out of it unless it impacts her life or work." Peter chewed on his thumbnail.

"If you say so." Winston thought a moment. "But excuse me if I start to watch my back."

"Hey..." Peter leaned in hopefully with stark pseudo-fear on his face. "I've got your back if you've got mine!"

"DEAL!"

Egon casually glanced at the two men over the top of his eyeglasses and a derisive laugh sounded in his mind. Though they guarded themselves vigilantly, both men were still doomed. He and Janine would get them. When they least expected it. And their proverbial little dog, too.

Janine opened the basement door slowly. The hum of the Containment Unit and the warm rumble of the washer and dryer masked her entrance. Ray was standing next to a seven-foot palm tree that had nearly killed Janine when she tripped on the stairs while carrying it down two years before. Luckily it had only been a three-foot palm tree then and, even more luckily, no one had witnessed that graceless spectacle. The tree flourished under a large natural light lamp that Ray had rigged to the ceiling, and he was standing in that lovely beam reading the instructions on a box of plant food. He looked pinpointed by a loving God.

"Ray."

It was his turn to jump and he did, scattering blue Miracle-Gro crystals all over the floor. "OH! Hi...Janine...um."

"Hi, Ray. Again." She carefully navigated the steps down and Ray came closer in case she needed assistance or fell. When she reached the floor safely he retreated back to the tree. Janine bypassed the spilled plant food and stepped to his side. The palm was a vibrant green, healthy and luxurious.

"Ah...how much food should I give it?"

"It doesn't need any. I just..." Janine drew in a deep breath and looked up at him beseechingly. "I just want to say I'm sorry, Ray."

"Oh, sure! It's okay. No problem!" He smiled at her with relief.

"Don't you want to know why I'm sorry?"

"I know why. I do." Ray nodded and wiped a non-existent speck of dust from a green leaf. "Telepaths bite. They dive into your head and bring up all sorts of terrible things. Bad memories and secrets or just wild events are suddenly public knowledge and then you..." He looked down at her, then quickly focused on the tree again. "You worry your friends will think less of you. I mean...Janine, whatever I did, I'm sorry, too."

Janine wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. "Please, don't be. I'd never think less of you, Ray. Even if you turned out to be like PETER or worse..." Ray carefully returned her hug. She continued, "Just so you know, there was nothing terrible in what Red-Eye had to say about you. He didn't have enough time to really dig up the awful stuff..."

"Really?!" His hug finally became tight and genuine. "Wow, I was so worried!"

"YOU were worried?" She looked up at him. "What deep, dark secrets do you HAVE, Dr. Stantz?"

Ray's mouth quirked to the side. "Well, I stepped on a daisy once..." Janine laughed. "Seriously, Janine, for my own peace of mind...and you'll know I'll obsess over it for weeks otherwise...I want to know...what you know. Please?"

Janine studied his shirt buttons and wondered if he was going to let her go anytime soon. Probably not until she told all. After that, what would he do? Was he enjoying this? Damn you, Red-Eye. She strangled her paranoid thoughts and put a haughty, pissed expression on her face. She glared up at the scientist. "Humph!"

"What?!"

"I couldn't believe it..."

"WHAT?!" He was holding her tighter.

"You didn't like my New Year's kiss, you jerk." Ray burst out laughing and rested his head on her shoulder. She was just the perfect height for it.

"I did too!"

"You did NOT. You thought it was disappointing!"

"I did not! I mean..."

"Tell the truth! If you CAN!" She snarled at him.

"Well, it was an AIR KISS. I didn't even feel it!"

"Oh, poor BABY!" They exploded with mirth together. It felt wonderful. "EGON was standing right there, what was I supposed to do?"

"If he WEREN'T standing right there, would you have given me a decent kiss?"

"Ray, if it weren't for Egon you wouldn't BELIEVE what I'd do to you!"

Ray blushed and backed away, smiling with that 'Aw, Shucks' expression that was so endearing to Janine. "I'm just so glad you're okay. Alive and pretty and okay...you've no idea..."

"I'm glad, too. Here." Janine stepped forward and pulled his head down to hers. The sudden heat of her mouth burned on his and all conscious thought left his mind. He automatically returned a strong pressure on her lips, the fastest response she'd ever received in her life. A lovely rose flush spread over her body and, surprised, she released him. Terribly warmed, Ray stepped back, stunned, directly into the arms of the palm tree. "AGH!" He struck at the innocent plant as if it were attacking him and ducked away.

Janine swallowed. Well, gosh. "There. I don't wanna hear any more complaints out of you. Understand?"

Ray held his palms up in apology and surrender. "Yes! I'll...never again, I swear."

"Good." Janine, aware that all pain had left her body, quickly walked to the steps. "If you ever come near me again I'll break your arms," she threatened over her shoulder.

"Okay." He watched her walk away and fought back a near-uncontrollable impulse to overtake her.

She reached the door and stopped. She had only meant to apologize! She had to say something, anything. "Think of it this way, Ray." She looked down at him gazing up at her. You think you know a guy...

"What way?"

"We just gave the next Feeder something to work with. Wasn't that nice of us?" Janine pulled an exaggerated face of wide-eyed dread and Ray matched it, grinning. She lunged out of the door, back to the Upper World and Egon. She made a mental note: Stay Out of the Ray Zone, and covered an incredulous giggle with her hand.

Normalcy had returned to the firehouse. Yes. Situation Normal. All Effed Up.

Very far along the road to recovery now, and feeling more alive than she had ever expected, Janine slowly walked back to her desk with her head held high, stretching and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

End

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