Payment Due
By Christina Kamnikar
Copyright 1993

The 747 was making its final descent. Lia buckled her seatbelt, humming to herself almost inaudibly. She felt like a cat about to get a special treat, happy and anticipatory. She was going to see Justin again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please observe that the captain has turned on the no-smoking sign and the seatbelt sign in preparation for our landing at John F. Kennedy Airport. Please extinguish all smoking materials and bring your chair to the full upright position..."

Lia looked out the window at the Manhattan skyline, still dark, although dawn was less than an hour away. Lights shimmered along the coast, illuminating buildings and the Statue of Liberty in the distance. Soon, very soon, she would be holding her baby in her arms.

She smiled to herself, trying to calm down. Of course, he's not really your baby. But he was, in everything that mattered. Maybe he wasn't the child of her flesh, but he was the child of her blood, child of her love. Hijo de mi corazon, she thought with love. Child of my heart.

He was the youngest of her initiates, the last one she had made, one of the few to survive the cruelties of the world. Of all the other young vampires, he was her favorite. There were so few of them anyway, the ones who lived became all the more precious to her. When the initiation took place, a choice was made: death, or undeath. Many did not have the strength of character to survive the change, and died. Some became pitiful zombies which she destroyed. A very few others joined her in the vampiric life. They were so rare, those ones, so priceless.

A pity she would have to discipline him when she arrived, but it was necessary. He simply couldn't be allowed to make the mistake he was going to.

He'd written her two months ago, the letter was still in her purse. He was in love. Or in lust, for him it was the same thing. It had happened before. But this time, this time he was actually contemplating initiating the young woman in question. Never mind that he was far from ready to be responsible for a fledgling vampire, never mind he hadn't even told her yet what he was, never mind he wouldn't be able to take proper care of her. He would do what he would do. Lia shook her head. So arrogant, so confident. That had always been his besetting sin. Forget anything else about Justin, any other mistakes he had made; his belief that he was equal to a vampire three times his age and experience, and deserved the same privileges and powers, was always responsible for their disagreements.

She sighed, leaning her head against the window. Much as she looked forward to seeing him, she was not looking forward to the coming confrontation. Lia hated arguing with him, because she loved him so much. He was her sweetheart, her baby. The vampire smiled, stretching, remembering. Her lover. Once she was through convincing him he should not convert the girl--Janine, was it?--there would be ample time to enjoy each other's company. Vampire to vampire. With him, as with other vampires, she would not have to hold anything back. It would be a relief. Sometimes it was hard to restrain herself with humans, hard to remember how fragile they were.

"Thank you for flying Continental Airlines Paris to New York non-stop. Please choose us again. Passengers should remain in their seats until the plane has come to a complete stop..."

Lia put on her sunglasses and wrapped her cloak around herself, just in case the first rays of light were hitting New York City. With any luck, she would be in her limousine and on her way to Justin's long before it came over the horizon, but it was always wise to be prepared where the sun was concerned.

She disembarked, looking around the terminal for a familiar face, and spotted one almost immediately. "Murphy! How good to see you!" Lia embraced a fiftyish, heavyset man in a chauffeur's uniform, his hair gold with a touch of gray.

"Always a pleasure to see you again, madam. Shall we collect your luggage, or would you prefer that Matthew and Robert fetch it?" He smiled, looking down at his employer. Even though he knew why she never changed, it always amazed him that she remained the same. Black, black hair, spilling down her back, with no trace of gray; black eyes under straight brows; high, sharp cheekbones over a pointed chin; tall (almost 5'10") patrician body with no weakness, strong as steel; same husky voice, with just a trace of Spanish accent. Unchanging, eternal, immortal. Beautiful.

"Let them fetch it. I want to see Justin before sunrise. "

Murphy passed the claim ticket to two young men in their twenties who could have posed for World Wrestling Federation posters, then fell into step with Lia. "As to that, madam, there is a slight problem... "

"Problem?" Lia asked, when they reached the car. Murphy held the door to the limousine open for her. "What kind of problem?"

"He seems to have disappeared, madam. Do you wish to be taken to his apartment anyway?"

"Yes," Lia said, settling into the back seat of the limo. "And quickly, it is almost sunrise." As the limousine rolled through the streets of Manhattan, she asked with growing concern, "Fill me in on what has happened, Murphy. When did he disappear? What happened?"

Murphy pursed his lips, not bothering to look in the rear-view mirror. She never showed up in it anyway. "About three weeks ago, Mr. Tremaine's agent became concerned when he didn't return her calls and missed an important deadline for one of his artworks. She and his manager went over to his apartment and, upon entering, found him not at home. No one has heard from him in over a month, he left no messages for any of his associates, and none of his belongings are missing. His bank account is intact, and there is no reason to believe he simply left on a trip. " Murphy took a breath, then said hesitantly, "The police suspect foul play."

Lia let her breath out in a hiss. "Fools," she said softly. Then: "What do you believe has become of him?"

"I don't know, madam. If I didn't know better, I would say he was hiding. But if that were the case he certainly would have gotten in touch with us, since he knew you were coming to New York this April. He would have asked for our help. Frankly, I'm worried."

Lia looked out the window. The sky was just beginning to turn gold. "Hurry, Murphy. I must know what has happened to Justin."

Lia climbed out of the limo and strode to the elevator in the underground parking garage. She pressed the button for Justin's floor, holding her breath, praying he was all right, that he had left some sign for her in his apartment. The police were occasionally incompetent but, more than that, if Justin were hiding he would not have left any clues for the police to follow up.

The doors to the elevator opened and Lia stalked down the hall, the key to Justin's apartment in her hand. She stopped short at his apartment door.

POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS...

Lia bit her lip. Justin was all right. The police were wrong. The vampire tore at the tape across his door, angrily letting it flutter to the hallway floor, and put her key in the lock. She opened the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind her, then turned around. At first glance, nothing was amiss. None of his artworks were missing, and nothing was disarranged or broken. Then she saw the window.

Hurrying across, Lia stared at it. Plywood covered the space where there had once been a huge picture window, through which Justin had loved to look out over the city. Shards of broken glass still littered the floor Remembering what Murphy had said in the car about foul play, her breath caught in her throat. As she swallowed, her eyes tearing, she studied the statue in front of the window, the statue he had done of her almost two centuries ago. Then she looked again, her attention caught.

Another statue was standing next to hers, side by side. It was the same size, and it was definitely Justin's work, but it was extremely dissimilar to the statue of herself. Hers was ebony, a study of her facing into the wind; this one was done in alabaster of another young woman, sheltering herself from the wind in a cloak. She had a fragile, breakable air to her, but the lines of the statue hinted at unexpected strength in the model. Lia recognized the subject as the woman Justin had thought of initiating - Janine Melnitz. He'd sent a Polaroid of her with the letter he'd written. She suddenly felt afraid for Justin, more afraid than she had felt in years. Why wasn't he here? What had happened to him?

Lia walked over the couch on shaky legs, sitting down carefully. She took a breath, closed her eyes and concentrated on Justin.

Nothing. Stifling a sob, she got a grip on herself and put her entire soul into a mental call to him. Justin. Justin, where are you, mi querido? There was no trace of him.

Lia opened her eyes, feeling barren and bleak. The tie between herself and the vampires she had created was strong enough that if he had been in New York, or even anywhere on the Eastern Seaboard, he would have answered. Even if he could not have answered she would have felt his presence, his essence, somewhere in the world. Instead, there was nothing but emptiness where Justin had once been.

The vampire felt as if some part of her soul had been ripped out of her, leaving a pulsing ache. Something had happened to Justin. He was truly gone. But how? When? How could something have happened to him?

She opened her purse, taking out the letter he had written to her two months ago, smoothing it out, reading it once again.

Lia m'love,

As usual, New York is too cold to be enjoyed this time of year. I'm trying to ignore it by immersing myself in my work and my involvement with a new young woman. She is passionate, lively, fun to be with, and practically perfect. Her name is Janine Melnitz, and she is secretary to the Ghostbusters. I know, I know, I can hear you complaining right now that it's too big a risk, but I think she's worth the possibility I will be discovered. She has such life, such vitality... a real relief after Violet. What a mistake she was.

I'm currently working on a companion piece to the one I did of you, this one in alabaster, with Janine as the model. It should be quite something when it's finished. As will Janine be, after I've transformed her into one of us. I'm sure she'll be willing. I want you to meet her as soon as possible, I should be ready to initiate her in April when you're visiting. I'm confident she will join us; after all given a choice between mortality, death, and boredom, and immortality, eternal youth, and my love, which would any sane woman choose?

I recently heard from Therese, and she wondered if you had heard anything about Jean-Pierre. Myself, I've heard several wild rumors to the effect that he's a) become a police officer b) become a male prostitute in Detroit (!!) c) killed himself jumping in the Thames last fall. I can't say I care much either way. Aside from you, m'love, I have little use for our brethren. So many of them seem unable or unwilling to fully indulge in their natures, drinking bottled blood, trying to see the sun, whining for mortality... madness. They live in the shadows, instead of stepping into the night. The happiest day of my life was the day I died. I wouldn't change a thing.

Come back soon, my love. I want you to meet our newest sister. As ever, Justin

Lia looked up from the letter, tears rolling unchecked down her face. Something had happened to him between the time he wrote the letter, and three weeks later when the police examined his apartment. Someone had killed him.

She stared across the room at the statue of Janine, then rose to look at it again. Her. She would know, she thought. He loved her so much, he was so involved with her... if anyone would know anything, it would be Janine Melnitz.

I'll find her. I'll find out what happened to my baby. She'll be able to tell me something. And then... Lia smiled grimly. And then I will make those responsible pay. And pay. And pay.

Janine Melnitz was studying an old newspaper. She was planning on taking it along to her group therapy meeting that night. The tabloid heading read "Ghostbuster Secretary in Sex Scandal." Below the headline was a picture of herself in a hospital chair, being wheeled out of St. Vincent's by Peter. What it didn't show was Egon punching out the photographer two seconds later.

Expressionlessly, Janine folded up the tabloid and put it in her purse. It had been six weeks since the events on Valentine's Day, and a week since the police had returned to ask some hard questions of the Ghostbusters. Sidney Price had been by Justin Tremaine's apartment the week after the attack, and upon seeing the mess there had realized Justin was definitely missing. The police hadn't taken it seriously until a week ago, his continued absence had finally killed any speculation that Justin was just temporarily gone. Now they suspected foul play.

Ray came bouncing down the staircase, whistling happily until he saw the non-expression on Janine's face. He and the other guys had seen it often enough in the past few weeks to be able to easily interpret it as something to do with Justin. "You okay, Janine?" he asked, walking toward the receptionist's desk.

Janine raised an eyebrow, then rearranged the papers on her desk. "How did your interview with Sergeant Brainard go?" she asked quietly.

Ray's face cleared of concern. "Fine. No problems. You've really got to quit worrying about it. The police are never going to connect his disappearance with us."

"They already have, Ray," Janine snapped. "They just don't have any proof. Thanks to Sidney's blabbing, they know he was involved with me. If they had anything solid to tie it to you guys we'd all be in jail!"

Ray looked distressed, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Has one of those reporters been bothering you again? Look, they're just fishing. They don't know anything. Most of them think he disappeared on his own."

"And the rest wonder if we had something to do with it." Janine's face crumpled. She took a shaky breath. "I wish I hadn't gotten you guys into so much trouble."

Ray took her hand, trying to comfort her. Things really weren't all that bad, there was no evidence they'd ever been in Justin's apartment or were in any way responsible for his disappearance. "It'll be okay. It will. Pretty soon they'll give up. Things will go back to normal."

"I wish we could tell them the truth," Janine said quietly. Glimpsing the disbelieving look on Ray's face, she said remorsefully, "Not really, Ray. Of course I don't want to get you in trouble, or the others. But all this lying is taking its toll."

"All we have to do is keep our stories straight. You left Justin's apartment and you were attacked in the park. You don't remember what happened after you were hit on the head. Winston found you there, because we were looking for you when you didn't show up at work for a late shift. Simple!" Ray smiled.

Unwillingly, Janine smiled back. For Ray, it was simple. But for Janine the lingering guilt of having involved the guys in her problems with Justin Tremaine made the lying difficult. She wanted to confess everything and get it over with. Except, she reminded herself, you won't be the one to pay if that happens. Ray and Egon and Winston and Peter will. The police are having a hard enough time believing they didn't make Justin 'disappear' already. Imagine their reaction if you brought 200-year-old vampires into the discussion.

"All right, Ray. I'll look on the bright side. I'll believe that tomorrow is another day. The police won't arrest anyone, Justin will rest in peace, and we'll get on with our lives. Right?"

"Right!" Ray said exuberantly, going down the stairs toward the basement. "Don't worry, Janine. It'll work out."

Nothing will ever be the same again though, Janine thought. Nothing.

The next evening Lia sat in her office in the penthouse she rented in New York City, looking over a folder of clippings and fax sheets Murphy had obtained for her. Most of them were dated around the middle of February to the beginning of March, dealing with the disappearance of Justin Tremaine and the hospitalization of Janine Melnitz.

That had shaken Lia. On Valentine's Day, around midnight, Janine Melnitz had been checked into St. Vincent's hospital with massive blood loss and hypothermia. The doctor's report had stated she looked like a wild animal had ripped at her throat, draining her of blood. A tabloid from around the same time made some sleazy allegation about "Ghostbuster Secretary in Sex Scandal", but there were no follow-up articles.

An article dated March 9 boasted the headline "Famous Sculptor Does Vanishing Act." It went on to speculate the disappearance was a hoax cooked up by Justin and his agent, Sidney Price, to raise the prices on Tremaine's artwork. Another newspaper piece, dated two weeks later (a week ago, Lia thought) stated the police now suspected foul play and were pursuing their investigations, and anyone with information pertaining to the case should contact the police immediately.

Lia paged back to the information on Janine Melnitz. Justin must have tried to initiate her and failed, she guessed. That he had then gone on to nearly kill the girl disturbed her. What could have made him try to hurt someone he had grown to love? What had she done? Threatened to expose him? Provoked him beyond endurance? What?

The picture in the tabloid bore little resemblance to the Polaroid Justin had sent. Janine Melnitz lay pale and weak on a hospital stretcher, her neck swathed in bandages, extremely unlike the vivacious girl in Justin's photo. The article said she was the receptionist and secretary to the Ghostbusters, New York's Paranormal Removal Professionals.

Lia's lips tightened. She had been worried when Justin had written to her about that. Not that he couldn't take care of himself, but that they would discover Justin was a vampire. Perhaps, she thought with a shiver, they did find out. Perhaps they 'dealt' with him the same way they deal with harmless specters. . . with technology and violence.

Slamming the file shut, Lia drummed her fingers on the cover, thinking, then she pushed her intercom button. "Murphy, will you please come in here? I need you."

Murphy entered with alacrity. Lia smiled at him. It was so rare to find a human you could count on. He reminded her of her father's retainers, when she had been young, when she had been alive. A loyal servant. There weren't many humans that could be relied on in this world. Too many would serve strictly out of fear, or for gain - it was so rare to find one who understood the give and take between lord and servant, the complex relationship and dependence between the nobility and their people. She was lucky to have Murphy. He was as loyal, unquestioning, bright and obedient as his father had been.

"I need you to find out whatever you can about Janine Melnitz. Who her friends are, where she goes, what she does in her off hours, anything. I am going to have to get close to this young woman and see if she knows what became of Justin."

"Very good, madam. I'll put Matthew and Robert on it right away. Will there be anything else?"

"Yes. See if you can find out anything of value about the Ghostbusters. Something tells me they may know more than the police think they do about Justin and Janine, and what happened last Valentine's Day."

Janine Melnitz hurried into the 5th Street clinic as the very last rays of sunlight were hitting the lobby, unbuttoning her coat as she walked through the door. "Sorry I'm late," she said as she entered the back room, sitting down in an empty chair. "I got hung up at work."

"No problem, Janine." Rae, the group leader, smiled her wide smile at Janine as she got settled. "I was just about to introduce our newest member. Ladies, this is Lia Escobar."

"Hello," said the young woman shyly, ducking her head. Janine sized her up. Semi-rich, because her clothes weren't flashy, but they were well-cut; attractive, and knew it - she had that kind of self-confidence; and nervous. This was probably the first time she had come to a group therapy session.

"Lia, you don't have to share anything your first night here, we just want you to know you're not alone and that other people are going through the same thing. But if you feel like speaking up, go right ahead, that's what we're here for," Rae continued, gesturing to the rest of the group.

"Thanks," said Lia, smiling softly around at the assembled women. She had gone to a great deal of trouble to get here, the precautions she had taken to avoid sunlight in daytime alone were out of the ordinary. But if this risk paid off, the reward might be Justin's killer.

"Is there anything in particular anyone wants to share this week?" Rae asked. Janine shifted uncomfortably. There had been something she'd wanted to bring up, but she didn't know how. She hated to report anything that might not be considered progress, but if she was going to get the opinions and help she needed she was going to have to tell about her latest date.

"Janine?" Rae asked, cocking her head. "What's on your mind?"

Janine let out a breath, and twisted her hands together. "Welll... I had a date last night."

"How'd it go?" asked Sharon, one of the other members who'd been in group for about three months.

Janine grimaced. "Not good. I mean, nothing bad happened, but... Look, I'll tell you about it, and you tell me if I handled it right, okay?" Nods all around the group. "I met this guy through a friend of mine, Denise, she works at a law office. He's one of their clients and he got divorced recently. So, anyway, Denise introduced him to me at the office when I went by there a week ago and he asked me out." Janine shifted her weight, trying to get a feel for how to go on. "It was okay. The date, I mean. He paid for dinner and then we went to a movie. He seemed nice. Just nice, nothing else. After the movie, he made a pass at me. I turned him down, nicely, I might add. Then he starts getting insulting. He started going on about how I owed him something, like dinner was such a treat I ought to go to bed with him just because of that. I kinda lost it." She looked sheepish. Janine wasn't real proud of the next part. On the other hand, it was a lot better than going along with the jerk, like I might have with Justin...

"Lost it how?" Rae asked.

"I called him a sleazoid jerk. Then I started on about how no woman in the 20th century had to do something she didn't want to, and his attitude was absolutely scummy, and if he thought that dinner entitled him to anything more than a thank-you he had a lot of growing up to do, and then I threatened to kick his teeth in."

"All right!" Helen and Wanda were cheering and grinning.

Janine looked a little surprised. "You don't think I was overreacting? I mean, I know he had it coming but I thought maybe threatening to kick his teeth in was a bit much..." But I couldn't take someone telling me what to do! Who did that guy think he was, anyway?

Rae shook her head. "Janine, anything that makes you feel uncomfortable is something you have a right to protect yourself from. If you were feeling threatened and the guy was acting like a jerk, then you had the right to express yourself. Maybe threatening him was too much. I wasn't there, you were. But by the same token, you had to judge what was appropriate. How did this make you feel?"

Janine thought. "Really, really angry. And upset."

"How did he react to what you said?" asked Rae.

"He looked..." Janine paused a moment, trying to remember. "Upset. With himself, I think. He did apologize. He said the divorce was making him mad, and he was sorry he took it out on me. I was way too angry to accept his apology, though."

"Why do you think that was, Janine?" asked Sharon with curiosity.

"Because... I felt like I'd been had. I mean, he'd seemed nice, and then..." Janine trailed off. It was miles easier to talk about last night's encounter now than it had been to talk about Justin's attack eight weeks earlier. Partly because this was nowhere near as serious, but also because expressing the emotions connected with situations where someone had hurt her was much less difficult after weeks of therapy.

"And then he turned out to be a jerk. Boy, do I know how that feels," said Wanda. "I couldn't believe it when my boss started harassing me in private. He'd be so considerate in front of other people, and then be so gross when no one else was around. I felt betrayed, or something."

"Yeah!" said Janine. "That's it. I felt like he betrayed me, that I should have been able to tell he was a sleaze. It hurt, when he turned out to be like Justin." I was sure I'd learned something from that creep. I thought no one could ever fool me like that again, that I couldn't be taken in.

Lia's head came up sharply, looking at Janine with intensity. Rae was talking. "You shouldn't blame yourself, or feel angry because you misjudged someone. It sounds like that guy had his own problems and maybe next time he won't push them off on someone else. But you've got to realize, all of you, that you'll make mistakes about people in the future, too. That doesn't mean you shouldn't trust anyone; it just means you have to put it in perspective and realize it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you, or that the entire world is like that. Can anyone think of any ways we can handle this better?"

As the meeting went on, Lia listened but contributed nothing to the discussion until near the end, when Rae turned to her. "Lia, is there anything you want to tell us about yourself, now that you've gotten to know us better?"

Lia seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "What happened to me... happened a long time ago." Janine noticed that her voice was very precise, as if English wasn't her first language. The new member went on quietly, "I'm a computer programmer and I've just moved to Manhattan. I've been having nightmares lately and a friend recommended this therapy group. I want to be able to forget what happened, but I can't. Maybe next week, or the week after that, I'll be able to talk about it. Until then I need to know I'm not alone, and I need to know," she bit her lip, took a breath, "I need to know how other women cope with being hurt or raped by men."

Rae put a hand on her shoulder, and looked around the group. "Welcome to group, Lia. I hope we can help."

You already have, Lia thought, looking across at Janine.

Janine regarded Lia with sympathy. I wonder what happened to Lia?

It was two weeks later that Lia described to the group what had happened to her. She had carefully prepared a story to tell, which had not been difficult. Seven centuries of vampirism had brought her in close contact with the worst of human males all over the world. What she had decided to tell had actually happened to her. She was not, however, prepared for the group's reaction to her story, or her reaction to their concern.

"I was seventeen," Lia said, staring into her cup of coffee. "I told you this happened a long time ago, and it did. But recently I broke up with someone because I felt... trapped. He accused me of using my past as an excuse not to get involved with people. And then the nightmares started. So I thought perhaps I ought to explore that possibility when I came to New York."

"It doesn't matter how long ago it happened, Lia. If it's making you unhappy in the present, it's something you need to talk about. Just because it happened a long time ago doesn't mean you should be 'over it' already," Rae said.

Lia smiled at her gratefully, then went on. "It was at a party. A large party, a get-together between people in my father's company, some relatives, and some younger people in our community. In Italy. My family traveled a great deal." She took a sip of her coffee. "There was a man there, an older man. He was a friend of a friend of my father's. I thought he was romantic, exciting. Very handsome. His wife had died recently, and I thought he was so fascinating. I felt sorry for him."

She sighed, looked up at the group. "The party was at a very large villa in Florence. You could get lost in it. There were gardens and small pools outside. He asked me to go for a walk with him. We went outside, in the moonlight, and I was thinking how wonderful it was, how grown-up. He started to talk about his wife. How much he missed her, how he needed someone, how lonely he was." Her mouth twisted. She sneered, "Lonely. Oh, how lonely. He kissed me. I kissed him back, feeling sorry for him, and intrigued, and flattered. I didn't take it seriously, I thought he was so much older he couldn't possibly be truly interested in me. We walked a little farther." Lia found her hands were shaking, but she went on, caught up in the memory. "When we were out of sight of the house, when no one could hear me, he raped me. I was seventeen years old, he was friends with my father, and he raped me. He made me do things..." Lia dropped the coffee, unable to hold onto the cup any longer.

Janine was sitting next to her and grabbed her hands. Lia was still talking, a little calmer now. "What made it unbearable was that my parents blamed me. If I hadn't gone off with him, if I had stayed at the party, if I hadn't kissed him... My fault. A man like that would never, not without my saying something to make him think it was all right, why was I lying..."

Rae shook her head. "I am so sorry, Lia. We know exactly what you're talking about though, don't we, ladies? It's so much easier to believe it wouldn't have happened without the victim's cooperation, that it can't "just happen", and the person who was hurt gets blamed for something that was not their fault."

Wanda spoke up. "Like my mom, she asked me why I didn't just quit when it started, and said I had to have done something that made my boss think it was okay." The blonde turned in sympathy to Lia. "It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

Lia took a breath and glanced down to find Janine was still holding onto her hands. She looked the secretary in the face. "Thanks."

Janine let go of her hands, a little abashed, and then spoke. "I was lucky that way. My friends knew it wasn't my fault, and never said anything to make me think it was. They were great. Peter pointed something out to me. He said there was no way I could have known what was going to happen, the guy was stronger than I was, and it wasn't my fault the guy was a sleaze. You didn't do anything to make it happen, Lia. It might have happened anyway, or maybe it wouldn't have. You'll never know. But it wasn't your fault. The guy who hurt you is responsible for how hurt you were, not you."

Lia took a breath, looking around the group. "It is good to hear that. Even after all this time. I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner."

After the meeting, Lia stopped Janine at the door. "Janine..." she said hesitantly.

"Yeah?" Janine said, tugging on her coat.

"Could we go for a cup of coffee? I seem," gesturing to her stained skirt, "to have used up my allowance here. "

Janine grinned. "Sure. There's a place around the corner that's got great cherry-chocolate-cheesecake."

Lia rolled her eyes. "For cheesecake, I would walk through fire. Lead on, MacDuff."

Janine and Lia sat in a booth at the Bluebell Xpress, gulping down cups of extra-strong coffee. Lia regretfully declined the cheesecake, "On second thought, I'm on a diet." She smiled at Janine over her cup. "I want to thank you for what you said during group; I didn't think what had happened could hurt so much anymore, but it pained me enormously to remember it. I appreciate your saying what you did about it not being my fault."

"No problem. That's why we're in group, to help each other, right? You'd do the same for me," Janine replied easily. She changed the subject, a little uncomfortable with Lia's gratitude. "You said you were a computer programmer. Where do you work?"

"At Hunt & Evers, over on Washington. It's quiet, and I like the work. We do different kinds of programs. Some are accounting, some are computer disinfectant programs, and right now we have a major database project. What do you do for a living?" Lia asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"I'm secretary to the Ghostbusters." Janine grinned at the disbelieving expression on Lia's face. "That's right, those crazies on the TV. They're for real, though."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Lia asked, looking skeptical.

"Probably because they come on like con-artists. I swear it's on the up-and-up, though. You should come by some time, I'll show you," Janine offered.

"Maybe," Lia said doubtfully. "You mentioned your friends during the session. These are the men you work for, correct? Peter, and..."

"Egon, and Ray, and Winston. Yeah. They're great. They don't pay me enough, but other than that it's a kick. They were really terrific when the whole thing with Justin happened."

"Justin," repeated Lia thoughtfully. "He hurt you, and you trusted him. This was, what? Six months ago, a week ago?"

"Eight weeks ago," Janine said abruptly. She smiled to take the sting out of her answer. "I'm pretty much okay now, but I still go to group. It gives me people to talk to about it other than the guys. They're too close to me, and I don't want to dump on them all the time. I hope group helps you as much as it's helped me."

"Oh, it has helped," Lia said. "Just talking about it..." She remembered how it had been. Vincenzo biting her, forcing her to drink from his veins, forcing her to do other things, and then leaving her with a kiss. Waking in her cousins' crypt in Florence, confused, terrified, and so very, very hungry. Making her way out of the crypt, to the palazzo where her family was staying after the funeral. Her mother's scream of terror upon seeing her, the endless recriminations, the bloodlust. It had been beyond horror. It had been an almost endless nightmare for months afterward. It wasn't until much later that she learned her wish to live had been translated into the death-in-life that was being a vampire. The hunger and strength in her had not allowed her to die, even though she longed to, then and other times.

Janine tapped her hand. "Hey, you all right?" she asked, looking concerned.

Lia started. "I'm sorry, I was remembering. For the longest time I believed it was my fault. I thought I had come to terms with it. But now, to have told people about it and to be believed, it is, well," she took a breath, smiled ruefully. "It takes getting used to. "

"You're telling me," Janine said in understanding. "You'll get used to it, though. And things will get better once you start believing it wasn't your fault. Honest."

Lia smiled. "Things are already looking up. I have made a new friend, and that is always something to be glad of."

A week later, Lia steeled herself and opened the door to Ghostbuster's Central in one push. Ready or not, here I come. Lia walked over to Janine's desk smiling as Janine looked up from her computer screen, and was about to say something when she was distracted by a sound to her left.

"Takin' care of business, everyday! Takin' care of business, every way! I said Takin' care of business! That's all right! Takin' care of business, and workin' overtime! Look out!" A young man with brown hair flopping over his forehead came up the stairs that must have led to the basement, singing at the top of his lungs, eyes closed, fingers snapping, bopping away to the sounds of the Walkman on his head. He wore a jumpsuit with the name VENKMAN stenciled on the front, with various bits of unidentifiable green goo sticking to it at various places. As yet, he hadn't seen Lia.

Lia smiled at Janine, who was looking professional, hip and very smart. She was beginning to truly like Janine, and was hoping the secretary had nothing to do with Justin's death. The younger woman was very lively and fun, just as Justin had described her. Like now, when she was rolling her eyes at Lia to express her opinion of her employer's antics. He had to be... Peter, yes, Peter Venkman. If he lived up to everything Janine had said about him, he would probably ask her for a date as soon as he was aware she was in the room.

"Yeah!" Peter went into a air-guitar solo, which broke off, one leg and one arm in the air, when he noticed Lia. Janine smirked behind him.

"Hi, Lia. Glad you came by. I wanted to show you around the place before we went to the movies." Janine grinned. Peter was trying to look debonair, giving little nods to Janine to introduce him to her, but Lia could see that Janine wasn't about to make it easy on him. She smiled, amused.

"Janine, why don't you introduce me to - Dr. Venkman?" Lia asked, holding out her hand to Peter. To her surprise, he actually kissed her hand as a younger man with auburn hair came down the stairs, fiddling with a hand-held electronic device.

Peter turned his best smile on Lia as Janine smiled sardonically. "Don't believe anything Janine's said about me. I am Dr. Peter Venkman, Ghostbuster, psychologist, parapsychologist, and famous guy. I don't believe I caught your name, Ms...?"

"Escobar. Lia Escobar," Lia replied, freeing her hand with difficulty, and smiling at the man standing behind Peter. Ray smiled back, holding out his hand as Janine introduced them.

"Lia, this is Ray. Ray Stantz, this is my friend Lia Escobar. You don't have to worry about Ray, Lia. He's a nice guy," said Janine, sticking out her tongue at Peter, who looked wounded.

"Hey! I'm a nice guy. Ask any of my ex-girlfriends. I'm very nice, and kind, and considerate..." Peter argued.

"...and modest, and humble, and self-effacing," Janine continued, glaring. "And generous, don't forget generous, Dr. Venkman. "

"Aw, Janine..."

Lia was laughing by now, and turned to Ray. "Are they always like this?" she asked, gesturing to the still-arguing Peter and Janine.

Ray smiled peacefully. "They enjoy it. Janine says we don't pay her enough, Peter says paying her anything is overpaying her, and they argue until they're both sick of the subject. But Janine's really the best secretary we'll ever have."

Janine overheard this, and turned to Lia. "Ha! You're my witness! They admitted it! Now they have to give me a raise!"

Peter interrupted. "Ray admitted it, not me, Janine. And I'm still financial manager."

Lia bit her lip to stifle the laugh in her throat. They were such children, like now: Peter was looking at her with pathetic basset-hound eyes, saying, "Ms. Escobar, you have to believe we really only have Janine's best interests at heart, don't we, Ray?"

Janine snorted. "Give it up, Peter. I warned her all about you. She's not gonna believe a word you say. C'mon, Lia, I'll show you the containment unit." With a toss of her head, she headed toward the basement staircase.

Lia smiled at the two scientists, nodding her head. "It was a pleasure to have met both of you."

Peter leaned back against Janine's desk as Lia walked downstairs. She could hear him saying, "She's crazy about me, you know. She just doesn't know it yet." Lia was laughing by the time she was in the basement.

Ray shook his head at Peter, fiddling with the PKE meter in his hand. "Peter, why do you always hit on Janine's friends? You know she's told them all sorts of awful things about you. I'm surprised any of them ever accept your invitations to go on dates."

Peter grinned, tipping his head back, looking like a well-fed cat. "Half of them go out with me because of what Janine's said about me, Ray. They can't believe one person can be so wonderful, so classy, so sophisticated." Ray mock-gagged. Peter sat up straight, feet dangling off Janine's desk. "What have you got there?"

"This meter has been on the fritz since we went after that Class 7 last week. I think it got an overdose of electricity when it hit that power converter, but I'm almost positive I've got it fixed. Here, stand in front of it, over there." Peter obligingly moved ten feet in front of Ray. Ray pointed the meter at him, adjusted the controls, and said, "You read as an ordinary human being."

Peter grinned. "Obviously it's still broken. Or maybe it just doesn't have a setting for extraordinary human beings." Ray groaned.

Janine re-entered from the basement, talking to Lia as they climbed the stairs. "It's only blown up twice, but believe me, twice was enough. Life around here is never dull."

Lia shook her head. "I could never stick at a job like this. I'm beginning to believe you, Janine, that this is not a hoax. I can't imagine anyone going to all the trouble of arranging something like this and have it not be genuine." Lia smiled at Ray and Peter as they approached Janine's desk, Janine gathering up her things. Ray casually pointed the PKE meter in Lia's direction, frowned, and smacked it.

Lia tensed, and smiled a little more carefully. "What is that device you're holding, Dr. Stantz?"

Ray looked up. "It's a psycho-kinetic energy meter. It detects certain types of paranormal activity and etheric presence. Right now it's broken, though. It's not detecting anything where you're standing, and it should be reading..." Ray frowned, fiddled with the knobs, and shook his head perplexedly. "Well, it's working again. Now it says there's a human being where you're standing."

Lia laughed. "I am relieved to hear that. After observing all the equipment you have downstairs to back you up, if experts such as yourselves were to tell me I didn't exist, I might begin to believe it."

Peter turned a killer smile on her. "I would never say you don't exist. You're certainly registering as present on my radar."

Janine rolled her eyes again, tugging at Lia's coat. "C'mon, Lia, let's get out of here and leave the geniuses to their work."

"Good-bye, gentlemen. " Lia nodded to Ray, then smiled at Peter, looking at him a little bit longer than absolutely necessary.

"Good-bye, Janine. Good evening, Lia," Peter singsonged, ushering them out the door, giving Lia the benefit of the Venkman charm for as long as possible. Ray waved good-bye distractedly, recalibrating the meter.

Peter grinned as the door shut behind the two women. "Crazy about me. You just wait and see, Ray. Lia Escobar and I have a future together."

Ray raised an eyebrow. "I'll believe it when I see it. Right now, I'd be willing to bet the only future you've got together is the one where she ignores you completely."

Peter waved his hand unconcernedly. "Oh ye of little faith. Just wait, Ray." He smiled to himself. "Lia... Escobar. "

Lia Raquella Sophia de Quintana y Villa, a.k.a. Lia Escobar, contemplated the city through the windows of her limousine. It was beautiful, in a unique way. She had seen cities come and go, empires rise and fall, but in the twentieth century New York City epitomized everything about America, the best and worst, and because of that it was alive in a way other cities, older cities, were not. It had a life of its own, separate from its denizens. Sometimes Lia felt that if everyone in New York City were to die, the energy loss from the area would suck in life from as far away as Pennsylvania and Montreal. It was like a black hole, drawing in energy, creativity, ambition. It had drawn in Justin and herself. It had drawn the Ghostbusters from their academic ivory towers and safe lives to a new life of danger and purpose.

"Stop here," she commanded, as Murphy brought the car close to an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn. The vampire got out of the limo before he could open the door, pacing the sidewalk. "Yes," Lia said quietly. She looked up at the building, smiling in remembrance, then turned to Murphy.

"Wait here. I'll be back in a few minutes. If everything is as I remember it, I'll need you to contact Matthew and Robert, and some of their friends." Without explaining further, Lia entered the warehouse.

It looked like an ordinary warehouse except, perhaps, for being older and a bit more run down. Lia confidently walked into the darkness, searching the floor for what she knew was there. Far in the southern corner was a loose floorboard. Walking over to it, she chuckled to herself. Quietly, Lia tapped it three times with her foot, paused, and then whispered, "Uncle Bob sent me." She bent to the loose paneling.

Lifting the paneling exposed a stairway leading into darkness. Cautiously, Lia descended. The stairs were rickety but they held her weight. When she reached the bottom step, she looked around. Old roulette wheels, a pool table, card tables, a bar done in mahogany and leather - all old and decrepit, but still with an air of debauchery and glitter clinging to them.

The Black Diamond still shone at night. Lia laughed aloud.

In the Twenties and Thirties, during Prohibition and after, the heyday of the gangster era, Lia had 'investments' in New York City. The gentlemen she had paid to take care of those concerns had been as likely to solve problems with a gun or a jab to the jaw as they were to look at you. But they had respected her and looked after her money, and in her honor they had named the underground casino the Black Diamond. She hadn't been back here in years.

Lia walked the perimeter of the ex-gin joint, remembering the parties that had been held there, and the people. The dancing, the clothes, and the drinking. The vampire shook off the memories, and then strode to the back of the club. Pushing a picture slightly to the left, a panel opened in the wall. Lia went through.

It was all there. Her bedroom, her playroom, the underground pool... all of it. Just waiting for her to return. Lia looked at it all, considering her next course of action. Turning, she stepped back through the secret passage, through the club, back into the warehouse.

Murphy was waiting for her outside, patiently stoic. He held the limo door open for Lia, then got behind the wheel. "Do you want me to call Robert and Matthew?" he asked.

Lia settled herself into the leather. "Yes. I need them to repair a speakeasy located under that warehouse. I don't want them to know where it's located, though. Bring them and their friends here sometime tomorrow, but blindfold them or confuse them so they don't know exactly where it is."

Murphy grinned. "The Black Diamond, madam?"

Lia laughed. "Yes. It's still there." She leaned back, remembering. Abruptly, she asked, "Did your father tell you how it got the name?"

"No, madam, he did not. Although it's not hard to guess, now that I know, well, now that I know other things, so to speak," Murphy replied, driving back toward Manhattan. "It's a lovely name, like the lady it honors. "

"Thank you, Murphy." She remembered the night it opened in 1921, her standing at the top of the staircase as Murphy's father toasted the opening of the club with "Our lovely benefactress, who is responsible for our being here tonight. Liana Marquez, a diamond of the night!"

So many memories. It would be the perfect place to deal with whomever killed Justin. After all, there were so many other ghosts there. Rudy Callahan had died of a gunshot wound, bleeding his life out over the bar in 1926. Gwenneth Pike had sipped one cocktail too many and broke her neck on the stairs. Of course, there were the three traitorous businessmen she'd had to kill in the pool. After biting them, naturally.

Justin's killer would be very comfortable, very safe, and very, very hard to find in an abandoned speakeasy in Brooklyn.

Egon Spengler was leaving the basement after dumping some ghosts in the containment unit, extremely tired and worn out after a long day of busting, when he heard Peter sing out, "Hellooooo, Lia! I'm so glad you could grace us with your presence tonight."

The mating call of the Venkman, Egon thought. He'd heard all about Janine's new friend from Peter, and knew his friend was infatuated again. Janine had been irritated earlier that day when Peter had tried to pump her for information about her friend. "Peter, I like her, but I hardly know her. I just met her a month ago. Will you quit acting like a teenager and leave her alone?"

"Janine, she's gorgeous. She knows she's gorgeous. And a gorgeous woman like her deserves-"

"To be left alone, if she wants to be, Venkman," Janine had scowled.

"If she wants to be, Melnitz. All I'm asking is what kind of music does she like, does she like sports, is she married, how does she feel about being the mother of my children, stuff like that. I don't see what your problem is," Peter had protested.

Janine had thrown up her hands in disgust. "I give up." Then she grinned. "Besides, I think I'll let Lia deal with you. She thought you were amusing" Peter preened. "but childish." Peter then glared at Janine, who smiled sweetly, kindly back at him. "You're out of your league, Venkman."

"Never! I'm in a class by myself, how could I possibly be out of my league?" Peter had looked smugly satisfied, very confident, and completely sure of himself.

Egon reached the top of the stairs and turned to see Peter's new dream girl, then stopped. She really was spectacularly pretty. She also seemed completely unimpressed by the Venkman charm. Score one for Janine, thought Egon. Lia was looking over Ray's shoulder at one of the traps, listening to Ray explain how it worked with one ear and Peter trying to flirt with her with the other. She appeared to be handling the situation with ease.

"So, would you like to go to the Dire Straits concert Saturday night?" Peter was wrapping up his pitch. "Or maybe you want to go directly to Reno, I can get us reservations, just say the word."

Lia smiled at Peter, raising an eyebrow at Egon as she noticed him for the first time. "I'm not very fond of rock music, Peter. My tastes are more classical." She tilted her head, brushing hair out of her face, and looked rueful. "And I hate Reno."

Peter was looking a little desperate - not very, just nervous. Janine made a face behind Lia's back, obviously not about to let Peter forget what he'd said before, and clearly finding the situation very funny. Lia turned to Ray. "Thank you for explaining the trap mechanism to me, Ray. I'm not sure I understood the physics of it, but I think I can comprehend why ghosts don't escape every day, now."

Ray blushed. "No problem, Lia. Hey, if you want a better explanation of the physics, ask Egon here. He designed them and he's giving a lecture on how they work next week." Lia turned an inquiring face to Egon.

"Egon, this is Lia Escobar. Lia, this is Egon Spengler, I think he's the only one you haven't met yet, right?" Janine frowned, trying to remember.

"Yes, you introduced me to Winston the day before yesterday. It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Spengler, Janine and Ray have told me so much about you." Egon shook her hand, seeing why Peter was currently obsessed with this woman. Of course, next week it would be someone else, but Lia was extremely lovely, very charming, and she didn't seem to be falling for Peter as easily as some women did. All of which would make Peter try that much harder.

"Peter didn't mention me?" he asked, getting a dig in at his colleague's expense.

Lia grinned suddenly, looking mischievous. "Peter has mentioned so many things, how can I keep track of one physicist in the middle of all of his information?"

"Hey," Peter protested, "I don't think you're taking my offers of love and companionship as seriously as you could be, Lia."

"I am taking them as seriously as they deserve to be taken, Peter," Lia responded. "Honestly, I don't enjoy rock music. I wouldn't have a good time at any of the concerts you've suggested. I'm much more partial to opera, or to Baroque music."

"You like opera?" Egon asked interestedly.

"I adore it. Unfortunately, I haven't attended any concerts this season. I haven't been able to get tickets yet, I've been so busy."

"What's your favorite opera?" Egon asked. He had tickets to the Met for next Tuesday night, and if she answered the next question correctly he might not have to go by himself.

"TOSCA. It's ridiculously romantic, of course. But I love the music and the passion. I cry at the end every time." Lia looked wistful. "I haven't seen it for a very long time. It's playing at the Met next week. With any luck, I might be able to get tickets before they're sold out."

"I've got tickets." Lia looked surprised as Egon went on, "I was planning on taking a friend, but she had to cancel. I hate going by myself, you're welcome to join me..."

"I'd love to!" Lia laughed. Peter looked pained. "What day?"

"Tuesday. I could pick you up at your apartment, if you like," Egon said.

"No, that's all right, I'll meet you there. Really, this is very generous of you, Dr. Spengler."

"Egon."

Lia blushed and glanced up at Egon. "Egon. Thank you very much." She took a look at her watch. "Janine, we should probably leave now, the others won't wait for us long and if the traffic's bad we'll miss the first act."

Lia and Janine hurried out of the firehouse, Janine calling, "Bye, guys. Bye, Peter. See you tomorrow," over her shoulder. Peter waited until they were gone, then turned to Egon in annoyance.

"Egon, why did you do that? You know I've been trying to get her to go out with me. Why'd you step in like that?"

"Trying is for wimps, Peter." Egon evaded the paper ball Peter quickly crumpled from Janine's notepad and threw at him, and said, "I just had the extra ticket, and it seemed like a shame to waste it. Besides, I don't think she's your type."

"Oh, yeah?" Peter was looking for a snappy comeback, and couldn't think of one. "Let me tell you something, big guy. All women are my type, including Lia. She's crazy about me, really."

Ray laughed. "How long do you think it will be before she wakes up to it?" Ray ducked the wad of paper Peter threw at him and ran laughing upstairs.

Lia listened to Winston talking about the Ghostbusters' work as Ray twiddled with something under Ecto's hood. "If I'd known half of what we'd get into in this job, I never would have taken it. I got hired by Ray after two minutes of interviewing, the next day Egon explains the Twinkie theory of psychokinetic energy, and the EPA was investigating us at the same time. I should have quit right then."

"Why didn't you?" Lia asked. She was a dinner guest that night, Janine and she had had spaghetti and smalresh at Egon's invitation. TOSCA had been enjoyable, she and Egon had gone out twice since that first date. At first she had seemed hesitant to go out with him again, but she and Egon seemed to enjoy each other's company and things were progressing. Winston was pleased. Egon needs to get out more, he thought. And it's not as if Peter doesn't have enough to keep him occupied, I think he's going out with a female mud wrestling team tonight. Lia and Egon have more in common, anyway.

"I don't know, maybe I just couldn't believe it was real so I wasn't as scared as I should have been. And after a couple of days it seemed important, like we were really accomplishing something. I used to be in the construction business and maybe watching buildings go up is someone else's idea of making something, leaving your mark, but it didn't do much for me." Winston grinned, studying Lia. "Maybe I just like to be a hero, you know? Defending the innocent, making the world a safe place?"

Lia laughed. "The Four Musketeers, defending the realm."

"Something like that. " Winston stretched, and got up from Janine's chair. "I'm gonna go watch Peter do the dishes. I think this is the first time this week he hasn't been able to get out of them. "

Lia watched him walk upstairs, started to return to Ray, and then stopped for a moment when Slimer strayed into the room. Deliberately, carefully, she reached out with her mind. "Hi, Slimer," she said softly.

Slimer stopped, and looked at her. She hadn't been sure of how to deal with him when Janine had first mentioned him, but she had stumbled onto a nearly foolproof method of getting him out of the way. His stomach.

"Hi, Lia. Gotta go. Hungry. See you!" Slimer called, following Winston upstairs. Lia smiled to herself. Nether entities were so suggestible. You just had to find the right trigger. She had considered having him fixate on Peter but had decided that would be noticed, even though Slimer did usually pester him according to Janine's tales. The first time they had been introduced Slimer hadn't paid much attention to her, more concerned with his next meal than with a new person. Her psychic shields were good enough to fool the Ghostbusters' instrumentation, but extended examination by a psychokinetic creature might have put them under undue stress. So, Slimer was never allowed to stick around long enough to become suspicious. Simple.

Lia strolled over to Ecto and leaned against the car, watching Ray fix a broken wire. The youngest Ghostbuster was so earnest, so sweet. So trusting. Which made what she was about to do feel rather contemptible. But it is necessary, she thought. I have to know. I have to be sure. I can't let Justin's murderers go unpunished.

"Ray?" she asked, putting her hand over one of his. Ray looked up, surprised. Lia knew he had a little bit of a crush on her, it would make what she was going to do easier.

"What?" he asked, wiping his hands on a rag.

"I need to ask you something. Something personal, about Janine."

Ray looked wary. "Lia, I don't know. I mean, if you want to know something why don't you ask her about it?"

Lia sighed, and looked directly into his face. "Because I don't want to hurt her, Ray. And I need to ask about something so I won't hurt her unintentionally."

Ray went back to messing with the wiring in the car. "I can't promise I'll tell you anything, Lia. But if you're trying to help Janine, I'll probably tell you. "

"What happened to Janine on Valentine's Day?"

Ray dropped a wrench. "What?" he asked, to give himself time. He liked Lia, he really did, but telling her about the events surrounding Janine's attack was too much.

"I already know some of it. I know she trusted a man named Justin Tremaine, and that he hurt her. I know she ended up in the hospital because of him. I know it happened on Valentine's Day, that you guys saved her life, and that she was in love with Justin. Ray, I need to know exactly what happened. I mention things, and I watch Janine's face close up because I've said something that hurts her. There was something... odd about the attack, wasn't there?" Lia was watching Ray's face intently. Now or never, she thought.

Ray looked down at his hands, then back at Lia. She seemed really concerned, and he knew she and Janine had become good friends. She needed to know so she could help Janine. He knew Janine still thought about Justin sometimes. It hadn't really been that long since it happened. Maybe, if Lia knew, she could help Janine get completely over it, woman-to-woman.

"Okay," he said suddenly. "But this is in confidence, understand?"

"Of course."

"Justin Tremaine," Ray took a breath, "was a vampire."

Lia stared at him, a disappointed look on her face. "Ray, if you're not going to tell me, just say so. "

"I'm serious, Lia," Ray said, grabbing her arm when it looked like she was going to walk away. "Justin Tremaine was a vampire. He was in love with Janine, not the other way around. He tried her to make her into one."

Lia stood stock-still, forgetting to breathe. Oh, Justin, what did you do? She kept her thoughts off her face. "A vampire," she said in an even voice. "A vampire attacked Janine?"

"Yeah. He was obsessed with her. When she changed her mind and decided not to become a vampire, he tried to kill her. He dumped her in Central Park, left her to bleed to death." Ray got upset remembering it, remembering how close Janine had come to dying that night.

"I see." Lia paused, considering. "I believe you, Ray. I don't know why, but I do. Tell me, what became of the vampire?"

Ray looked away. "We had to kill him."

Lia's world stopped. She had known it, had suspected the Ghostbusters were the ones who killed him, had even prepared herself for the knowledge, but it still hit her with the force of a blow. Justin, querido, cara mia, she moaned in her heart. Why?

"How?" she whispered, looking at Ray.

"Egon and I rigged up these ultra-violet lamps. Vampires are vulnerable to sunlight because of the UV rays. We followed Justin and Janine to Tremaine's apartment, but when we got there he'd already hurt Janine and left her for dead. We were trying to get him to tell us what he'd done with her when he tried to get away, saying that he'd come back for us all. I fired the lamp..." Ray looked at her, a bleak expression on his face. "He died instantly."

"Ray, I'm so sorry," said Lia quietly. "Having to kill someone - it must be very difficult." I am sorry it was you. I was beginning to like you, Ray.

"Thanks," Ray responded. "Just try to help Janine, all right? We've tried to help her but I know it sometimes still bothers her a lot. But if you can help her come to terms with it, it'd be enormously appreciated. We care about Janine a lot."

"I am going to give Janine all the help she deserves," said Lia aloud, and thought to herself, which is precisely nothing. Justin, Justin, why couldn't you have listened to me?

Lia stood at the window of Justin's apartment, looking at the two statues. She had walked there from Central, needing the time to think after she had called Murphy and told him to pick her up a half-hour before sunrise. He had sounded concerned about her, worried, wondering if she was well. Usually his care would have made her happy, but now she felt so removed from normal emotions, so completely distant, that she felt nothing about his concerns.

She felt rage.

There was no way to deny it anymore. She had felt it from the moment she had first entered Justin's apartment and realized he was dead. Part of the mourning process, a part of her mind stated. After loss, denial of loss. After denial, anger. After anger, bargaining. Peter Venkman no doubt could give an extended analysis of her probable emotional state, citing chapter and verse on its causes and inevitable outcomes. For mortals, at any rate. But I am not mortal, and neither was Justin. He need never have died.

The vampire paced around the apartment, feeling the place in her mind where Justin had been and was no more. Gone. Forever. To sleep the true death. Lia had never reconciled herself to death, she had beaten it. Dragged kicking and screaming into the world of the undead, she had adjusted and made her peace with it. Had been compensated, by never having to die. She had children, children of her soul.

Whenever one died, Lia hurt. Mostly they died by accident, staying out 'til the sunrise, going too long without feeding and then being unable to find sustenance, being careless. Some had died at the hands of lynch mobs in the Middle Ages. None had died in the last century.

Justin. I will miss you so much. Lia remembered his beauty, his strength, his talent. She thought of his joy in vampirism. He had loved the power of it, and the freedom; the responsibilities were never something he accepted, but he might have, he might have, if he had been allowed to live. He would have outgrown his arrogance. He would have learned control, he would have been one of the great ones. But they KILLED HIM!

Lia dropped to her knees by the couch, sobbing, her grief almost as great as her anger. He was too young to die! It's not fair! I cherished him, I taught him, I loved him. He shouldn't have died before me. I was going to show him so much, and now, now I'll never get to. Why? WHY?

She caught her breath, choked, and stood up in one moment, then walked over to her statue. Janine's was next to it. Lia felt an overpowering urge it smash it, break it, grind it to powder. To kill Janine.

Her fault. Janine's fault. He loved her, and she rejected him, my darling, my love. How dare she?

Her hand closed on the statue, stopped. The vampire contemplated the fragile figurine---it was too beautiful to break, and it was Justin's last work. Lia couldn't destroy it. But she could destroy Janine. Not by breaking her neck, that would be too easy. She wanted to see Janine crawl. To see her in torment. How could she hurt Janine the way she had been hurt? How could she avenge Justin?

The idea came slowly, creeping into her mind. Lia looked at the statue in amazement. It was simple, but it was perfect. Janine would break because of the pain caused to her friends, the friends who had killed Justin. Murderers. They had no right.

Something irrevocable must be done. Something irreversible. Justin's death was irreversible. Nothing could bring him back, no power on Earth. Maybe in Hell, but nowhere else. She would take something from those murderers, those killers, those liars, the way they had stolen Justin from her.

Lia let go of the statue, wiped the tears off her face, and walked back to the door. Murphy would be waiting. All she felt now was very, very tired. There would be no action taken now. After all, she had all the time in the world to figure out exactly how to break them. Subtly, irrevocably, finally and completely. Liana knew how to avenge her honor - with care and cunning.

Peter was adjusting his tie in the mirror, humming "Jump" and trying to decide if he wanted to put on a different suit. Naah. Kate was crazy about red; the tie was just the right touch to the Versace. Plus she loved silk. She'd said something on their last date about loving to wear men's silk shirts - maybe she'd get a chance to. Tomorrow morning.

"Peter, will you hurry up?" Egon asked from outside the bathroom. "Some of us also have dates, you know. "

Peter opened the door to the exasperated physicist, who immediately started looking for his shaving kit. "Where are you going this time, Spengs? I don't have to ask with who. Lia and you are getting cozier and cozier. "

Egon looked up, distracted. "Have you been using my aftershave? I can't find it."

"I wouldn't use it if you paid me. It smells like one of your experiments."

Egon found the bottle in the medicine cabinet and sniffed it cautiously, sending Peter a dirty look when he caught his colleague's amused grin. "Peter..."

"Just yanking your chain, Egon. Seriously, what did you have planned for tonight? Candlelight? Dancing? A little bit of recreational research into the body and soul of Miss Lia Escobar?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but we're going to the planetarium. They've got a laser show set to Bach that Lia said she wanted to catch." Egon rubbed on some shaving cream, and glanced over at his colleague leaning in the doorway, looking impeccable. As usual, when Peter prepared for a date he went loaded for bear. "You look like you've got big plans."

"Kate. A show at the Palladium, dinner at Sardi's, dancing at the Paradise, and then maybe a trip to the real thing in person, who knows?" Peter grinned. "Bach, huh? You know, Egon, there are times I am seriously relieved you're dating her and I'm not. Gorgeous as she is, we wouldn't have anything to say to one another during a date. Except maybe 'your place or mine?'" Peter dodged the washcloth Egon threw at him. "You really like her, don't you?"

Egon took out his razor. "I like her. She's intelligent and interesting. Why shouldn't I?"

Peter held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm not saying you shouldn't. I just like to get things straight." Peter backed out the door. "Give the lady my regards."

Egon contemplated his reflection in the mirror, thinking. He did like Lia, but that was all. They had a lot in common and he enjoyed her company. Peter's comment got him thinking about how much time he had been spending with her lately. Not that he'd done anything to give her the impression he was interested in more than friendship, but maybe it would be a good idea to get that out in the open. If Peter was starting to think he might be getting involved with Lia (for lack of a better phrase, Egon thought with irritation) then maybe she thought so, too. Peter was usually a pretty good barometer of other people's reactions. Being a good psychologist was only part of it; Egon knew Peter's ability to see all the angles was a skill you had to be born with, but also that Peter had refined the gift into an art with time and practice.

I probably should talk to Lia, Egon decided reluctantly. After all, it wouldn't be fair to Lia if she was expecting more than friendship. After dealing with Janine's semi-infatuation for so long the last thing he wanted was to have to deal with another woman whose feelings he didn't return. He wouldn't enjoy it but it was something he ought to bring up. Lia probably wasn't thinking they were anything more than friends but he'd feel better after he'd talked to her about it.

Egon took a cab to Lia's office, a huge, semi-gothic edifice that looked like Escher and Frank Lloyd Wright had gotten drunk together and decided they wanted to play a joke on the architectural world. Egon knew from experience that the inside was a labyrinth of fluorescent-lighted corridors and dark alcoves, occasionally leading to dead-ends with doors that led into painted-over walls. Lia had joked that it was like working in a dungeon, or a bad fairy tale, "where all the peasants labor in the bowels of the castle." It was a good thing he was meeting her in the lobby, if he had to find her office again in that maze he'd be there all night.

Lia came out of the elevator looking fresh and energetic. "Hello, have you been waiting long?" she asked, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Egon was a little surprised at the kiss. Usually she wasn't so demonstrative. Maybe it was a good thing he'd decided to talk to her tonight. "No, I just got here. I was admiring the architecture. This building is fascinating."

"You're the only one who thinks so. Personally, it gives me nightmares," Lia said as they got into a cab. "Honestly, Egon, you find the oddest things interesting. I really admire that about you."

"Thanks," Egon said, feeling uncomfortable, studying her. His feeling of discomfort dissipated as he looked into her eyes, which were wide and frankly appreciative. Strangely, he enjoyed having her look at him like that.

Throughout the light show Egon felt uneasy, but couldn't say why. It had something to do with Lia, about how he felt about her. He was relieved when the show ended and they left the planetarium for a late dinner. Lia only drank some coffee while Egon ate, and throughout dinner he tried to think of how to say what he needed to.

Over dessert, Egon decided to get it over with. Putting it off wouldn't make it any easier. "Lia, we have to talk," he said, toying with his rhubarb pie.

"So serious." Lia raised an eyebrow at him, looking lovely in the candlelight. "You look as if you swallowed something bitter. Spit it out."

"It's about... us," Egon said, forcing the words out, feeling incredibly awkward. He stared her in the face, determined to be straightforward. Suddenly, he felt a little dizzy.

"Egon, are you all right?" Lia asked in concern, touching his hand. "You don't look well. Here, drink some water."

"No, I'm okay," Egon said, sounding surprised. He took a sip of the water, noticing the warmth of the restaurant for the first time. "Odd. For a moment there I thought I was going to pass out."

"Well, if this is what talking about 'us' does to you, maybe we shouldn't," Lia said, still studying him carefully. "If it upsets you we can always talk about whatever it is later."

"No, I'm okay, I just wanted to say..." Egon faced her again, stared deep into her eyes, and heard the words come out of his mouth seemingly without his control. "How much I like you. And how close I feel to you."

"Egon, that's so sweet," Lia smiled warmly, leaning across the table toward him. "I really, really like you, too. "

Egon leaned closer to her, not actually conscious of what he was doing until they were kissing. Not that it was unpleasant, just unexpected. As was the way he was currently feeling. He'd thought he was going to say something about not getting too close or how he valued her as a friend, but now he didn't feel that way. He didn't want to give her the impression he wasn't interested in her, or that he only liked her. Everything he'd planned to say earlier that evening flew out the window with their first kiss.

Lia pulled back, looking flustered. "Well," she said, obviously breathing a little heavier. "Well. This is sort of surprising. I mean-"

"I know what you mean," Egon interrupted, taking a breath himself. "I didn't see this coming. At all. So," he said, trying to think of something to say, "You really like me?"

"Egon," Lia laughed, shaking her head, her eyes shining. He felt ridiculously happy.

Lia wasn't feeling bad either, watching the now-infatuated scientist. One down, four to go, she thought. It was almost too easy. The power to cloud men's minds, she said to herself in dark amusement. When you knew what you were doing, mortals could be made to believe anything was real, even to mistake illusory emotions for the genuine article.

It was around 4 AM and everyone in Ghostbuster Central was fast asleep. Slimer drifted above Ray's head, each of them clutching their favorite stuffed dolls closely as they slept. Egon was sacked out on his bed, a strange smile playing about his face. Winston was completely out for the night, exhausted by the busy day. Peter was gone - Kate had really liked his shirt and hadn't been able to turn down an offer to wear it the next morning.

Lia quietly materialized in the middle of the room, her body slowly forming itself out of mist. An easy trick, one of the first she'd learned. She'd had to, to get out of that damned crypt. Unlike what she was about to do tonight it didn't require a whole lot of effort.

She scanned the room, slightly disappointed Peter wasn't there. Oh, well. She'd get him tomorrow night. Maybe that wasn't a bad thing - she was particularly looking forward to what she had planned for him and if she took a whole night to accomplish it instead of just part of one, it would go that much easier. Lia smiled to herself. Peter and Janine had a lot in common, though they'd both probably rather die than admit it. Both were smart, mouthy, attractive, confident people who had a great deal of, well, passion was the best word that came to mind. Liveliness, vitality, life, whatever you called it, it was the quality that made both of them stand out in a room full of people. Especially if you were a vampire.

Lia moved over to Winston's bedside and stood staring down at him a moment. He was a stable, calm personality. To completely break down his psyche would take a great deal of work; tonight she was just going to lay the foundations, get a toehold, so to speak, in his mind. She glanced over at Ray. What she had planned for Ray would accomplish the rest. Lia had something very special in mind for Ray, something that would only take place after the rest of the Ghostbusters were sufficiently prepared for it.

She knelt next to Winston, lightly placing her fingers on his neck, getting a feel for the rhythm of his breathing and the flow of his blood. No drinking tonight, what she was doing was much more sophisticated. Young, immature vampires such as Justin needed to bite their victims to be able to influence their thoughts and dreams. Lia just needed to touch them or engage their gaze, and then she would be able to influence their conscious thoughts and actions through subconscious directions. They would still know something was wrong, the human mind was a convoluted place and humans never truly forgot anything. But they would have less control over what they thought once she had established a link.

Lia closed her eyes, and entered Winston's dream.

Winston was walking down a deserted back street, a neon sign flashing on and off somewhere above him. His footsteps echoed in the darkness, and somehow he knew that although he couldn't see them, other eyes were watching him. He reached inside his trench coat for his gun.

A doorway opened up ahead along the alley, a flash of light and music momentarily slicing through the darkness. "And stay out, you silly bitch! When Tony Malone is finished with someone, he's finished, got that?" A woman's form was pushed out the door into the alley, stumbling on high heels and falling into one of the puddles of rain. Winston hurried forward to help her as the door slammed shut again. She lifted her head, black hair falling across her back, tears streaking her makeup. It was Lia.

"Lia! What are you doing here?" he asked, supporting her as she hobbled to her feet, her progress impeded by her very short skirt. There was a bruise mark beginning to show on her cheek.

She looked at him without recognition. "Do I know you?" she asked, her voice thick with tears. Reaching down for her purse, she gave Winston a good look at very long legs. Winston realized she wasn't Lia, she was part of the dream. The woman looked like Lia, but hey, why not, Egon's girlfriend was a knockout.

"Guess not. My name's Jonson, Will Jonson. I'm a private eye. Anything I can do to help?" he asked.

Lia stumbled into his arms, leaning against him, the tears starting again. "You can help me kill Tony Malone. That rat. Dumps me for some blond chorus girl. Tell me, what's she got that I ain't got?"

"Nothing I can see, lady," Winston responded. A damsel in distress. A beautiful damsel in distress, just like in the Bogart movies. Lia didn't make a bad Lauren Bacall. She stared into his eyes, suddenly spellbound.

Winston thought about it for approximately one-tenth of a second. Why not, it's only a dream, he concluded. He lowered his lips to hers. The kiss went on for some time, and it inevitably led to other things...

Lia took her hand away from Winston's neck, opening her eyes. Really, what an imagination. And it was perfectly set up for her to enter his dreams again and again, with the scenario he had running right now. After tonight she wouldn't have to be physically near him to participate, of course. Tomorrow he would remember the dream, and he would feel a little tired because of the energy she'd drained, but nothing noticeable. When he and Peter had both been drained of enough energy, and Egon was distracted enough, then she would make her move on Ray. Of course, biting them would be more fool-proof but if I did that, one of them would be bound to catch on too fast. This will do.

But before she dealt with Ray she had a great many other things to do. She had to start getting things ready to send to Janine, she had to make sure the Black Diamond would be ready... so many details. Go slow, she reminded herself. You've got lots of time. Nothing was ever lost by being cautious.

She looked back at Winston, smiled, and dissolved into mist.

"Duck!!" Ray shouted to Peter, giving him an enthusiastic push away from the red ghost dive-bombing them.

"Aaaaighh!!" Peter responded, sliding into the lily-pond. Luckily it was a shallow pool, only two feet deep. The spook they were after had been terrorizing Central Park residents around sundown for the past two days, stealing purses and hanging them from trees, chasing joggers across the park, and generally being a royal pain. The Ghostbusters had put themselves on-call today in hopes the red menace would strike again. It had.

"Ray, will you watch it, I nearly ended up swimming in that muck!" Peter yelled over Egon and Winston's shouts. Peter's legs were covered in slimy gray-green mud up to his knees.

"Sorry, Peter, I didn't realize it was so slippery here. Get over by that park bench, he's making another pass this way!!" Ray called as he ran toward the zooming bullet-shaped ghost, throwing out a trap.

Peter sloshed his way out of the lily pond as Winston shot a containment stream from behind a stand of trees toward the fleeing specter. He opened fire, joining his beam to Winston's, yelling, "Now, Ray! Hit it!"

The trap opened, sending fiery energy around the purse-snatching ghost, who screamed, made rude faces, and was finally sucked into the trap. The light on the little box blinked happily at Peter. "Gotcha, ya little slimeball," he muttered. The ghost deserved to be trapped just for the slip in the pool he'd taken. Egon joined them, collapsing on the park bench.

"Was it me, or did that seem harder than usual?" Winston asked him, leaning against the back of the bench to catch his breath. He'd been feeling sluggish all day, and the unusually hot July evening hadn't helped matters.

Egon closed his eyes. "The ghost was faster than most specters, Winston. I'd say he was feeding off emotional vibrations such as excitement, and our chasing him only made him faster." He opened his eyes, seeing the mess Peter had gotten himself into, and grinned. "Ray, did you push Peter in the pond? That wasn't very nice. "

Ray looked distressed. "I didn't have to, really, he fell in all by himself." He picked up the trap, and started heading for the car.

Peter shot him a dirty look, regarding his soaked and smelly jumpsuit with disgust. "Thanks a lot, Ray. I didn't exactly see you helping me there." He sighed heavily, wiping the sweat from his forehead. A two-hour workout chasing an energetic phantom across Central Park was not his idea of how to spend a hot evening in New York. "Can we go home now? Please? Pretty please? With chocolate whipped cream on top?"

"Yes, Peter, we can go home now," Egon said in a long-suffering voice.

As the exhausted Ghostbusters drove into the firehouse, Winston announced "Man, I am beat. I'm going straight to bed, I don't care how early it is."

"I second that emotion," Peter groaned. "Right after I take a shower."

Egon opened the car door, and gave a guilty start. Lia was standing in front of Janine's desk looking at him expectantly. "Lia," he said. "I'm sorry, I forgot we were going to go out tonight. Would you mind taking a rain check? We just came off a really tough job."

Lia surveyed the sweat-soaked and weary Ghostbusters sympathetically. "Of course. Janine said it was a routine bust so I thought you'd be back soon, and then we started talking and I didn't notice the time. I don't expect you to take me out after a long job like that, Egon." She got her first look at Peter, and laughed.

Peter grinned, stowing his proton pack, and peeled out of the jumpsuit to reveal a sweaty undershirt and underwear with little pink hearts on it. "Now you know the truth, Lia. Sometimes busting ghosts is a dirty job. It's sweaty, grinding, demanding work. But we do it because we care." Lia dissolved into laughter as Peter added, "Of course, the outrageous fees we charge are an added inspiration. Speaking of inspiration, wanta help me clean up?"

Egon was shooting jealous looks at Peter, plainly annoyed that he'd stripped to his underwear, while Venkman was smiling guilelessly back. Lia got control of herself, feeling triumphant at the way Egon was responding to her suggestions. "No, thank you, Peter. While I'm sure someone as heroic as you deserves a reward, it isn't something I feel worthy of bestowing on you. I'll see you all later," she said, swinging her purse over her shoulder and kissing Egon on the mouth. "Bye. "

"Bye, Lia," Egon said. When she was out of sight, he swung around to Peter. "Do you have to hit on her every time she walks in?"

Janine had been listening to Ray and Winston explain how Peter had gotten so messy, and gathering up her stuff, but she, Ray and Winston now turned their attention to the other two Ghostbusters. Peter was halfway up the stairs. He stopped and grinned down at the irritated physicist, who was running a hand through his hair and shooting Peter an angry look. "Lighten up, Spengs. Neither one of us takes it seriously. You know, you are getting really possessive in your old age." Egon was fuming as Peter sauntered out of earshot. Venkman shook his head, amused. Who'd'a thought detached Egon could get so hyper about a little flirtation? Maybe it really was love.

Egon growled, and stomped over to the storage cabinet. He hated feeling jealous, but lately he didn't seem to be able to stop himself. Janine watched him thoughtfully. "Lia likes you a lot, Egon," she said, shutting down her computer. The physicist turned to her, surprised.

Janine was watching him with clear, quiet eyes. "She's a good friend, she talks to me."

Spengler shut the cabinet and leaned against it. "This is new for me, Janine. I'm not... used to this."

Janine smiled, a little sadly. "I know."

Egon immediately felt like a jerk. "I'm sorry, forget I said anything."

"No, it's okay," Janine said. Egon looked at her closely. She was fine, she didn't look upset. Janine went on, "It's a little awkward, but I'll get over that. And if I can handle it, you can handle Peter's flirting. You know half the reason he does it is to get to you. He likes her but he's not really interested, and she's certainly not. Stay cool, Egon."

Grimacing, he shook his head. "Act like a grown-up, you mean?"

Janine laughed, halfway out the door. "Exactly, Dr. Spengler. G'night." Very good, Janine, she congratulated herself ironically, walking to the subway. No one will ever guess that cost you something big in the self-control and self-sacrifice department. You martyr. Not that she was still in love with Egon. No, she wasn't. It was just... difficult. Watching Egon fall for another woman so easily when he'd resisted her overtures on such a long-term basis was not good for her ego. Oh well, it could be worse, she comforted herself. You could hate Lia's guts, and that would only make you look like a jealous twerp. Which you're not. But if he'd ever fallen for me half as easily as he did for Lia... things would be real different.

Back at the firehouse, Egon was considering Janine's words. But I don't feel like a grown-up, he thought. He sighed mentally. Being around Peter and Ray so much was evidently rubbing off. He'd just have to get used to his feelings for Lia, like an adult, and learn to handle them like an adult, or Peter was going to keep on having fun at his expense. He headed for the kitchen for a snack, feeling tired.

The shower felt terrific. Peter wished he could fall asleep on his feet, just staying in there, but he finally turned the water off and got out. Wrapping himself in a towel, he staggered into the bedroom, too tired to put on his pajamas. Winston was already in bed, almost asleep. Peter put some underwear on - hey, Janine might try to get cute and wake them up for an early call - and collapsed on his bed with an "oomph." About ten seconds later he was asleep.

Egon entered the bedroom intending to apologize to Peter, but found he was too late. He shook his head ruefully. Winston and Peter were out like lights, totally drained. He'd have to apologize tomorrow. Really, he didn't know what had gotten into him.

It was midnight when Lia re-entered the firehouse, checking around before softly moving into the bedroom. All four Ghostbusters were there this time, worn out from their recent job. Lia knelt by Peter's bed, brushing the hair out of his face. He looked so vulnerable, so sweet. Remember why you're doing this, she said to herself sternly. This man and his friends killed Justin. Remember that.

She cupped Peter's cheek, closed her eyes, and slid into his dream.

"Fire forward phasers, Mr. Sulu!"

Pow! Pow! Pow! "Direct hit, Keptin!" crowed Mr. Chekov.

Captain "Venkman" Kirk narrowed his eyes, swiveling around in his chair, surveying his bridge. It's good to be Captain, he thought, then said, "Open hailing frequencies, Lieutenant Uhura."

"Aye, Captain," said the communications officer. "Communication on-screen."

The screen filled up with the image of a beautiful familiar-but-alien face. Lia was wearing a low-cut, form-fitting, red catsuit, antennae rising from her head, a strange tattoo on her chest. Peter did a double-take. "Haven't we met somewhere before?" he said.

McCoy looked over at Spock, grinning. "Pay up," he whispered. "I told you we'd meet another old flame this week."

"Later," Spock hissed back.

Peter cleared his throat significantly. "Alien vessel, you have fired on a Federation starship. Give up or we'll blast you to protons. Got it?" he asked.

The alien-commander-who-was-a-double-of-Lia looked haggard. "Federation, we are in horrible trouble. We desperately need supplies for our dying planet. I apologize for firing on you, but we are in dire straits. We need all the help we can beg, borrow or steal. If we could meet in person, perhaps I could make amends somehow..." she pleaded, her eyes wide and hopeless.

Peter tried to look thoughtful. After all, he had appearances to keep up. He was the captain of a starship. You couldn't just let things like this slip by.

"Please," Lia said, leaning forward on the screen, pulling her uniform even tighter across her body.

Peter gulped. "Oh, hey, forgive and forget. No problem. Tell you what, why don't you meet me on that little space station right there, we'll talk about what we can do for your people, how we can help them. By the way, who'd you say you were?"

"Does it matter?" Lia breathed.

"Not really. See you soon," Peter said, heading for the turbolift.

Spock stopped him before he got on it. "Sir, it may be a trap. This could be a ruse, designed to kidnap you and breach the Enterprise's defenses," he said pedantically.

Peter became solemn, considering. "You may be right. That's why if I'm not back in three hours, I don't want you to do anything. If I'm lost, I'm lost. No rescue attempts, no search parties, okay?" The turbolift doors closed in Spock's face.

The transporter beam shimmer stopped. Peter looked around him at the space station he'd never considered until this moment. Lucite and neon gleamed around him as a soft piano played in the background. Evidently, he'd ended up in the bar.

Standing by the baby grand was the alien commander. Funny, how she looked like Lia. Hey, go with it, Peter thought. You're never going to get this close to her in real life. She looked up, her face full of sadness as he walked over to her. "Of all the gin joints..." he muttered to himself.

"Captain, my apologies for attacking your ship. My people have been forced to turn to piracy because of the famine on our planet." Lia gazed at him soulfully, obviously really heartbroken about the situation.

Poor kid, Peter thought. "Hey, it's all right, I understand. Why don't we work out some sort of treaty here, where the Federation helps your people out and we all live happily ever after?"

"That sounds wonderful. But I don't believe you." Lia whipped out a phaser, shot the piano player, and then turned the weapon on Peter. Before he slid into unconsciousness, he thought, Spock was right again, dammit. I hate it when Spock's right!

Peter woke up to find himself in a lushly appointed bedroom, tied to the bed. Naked. Lia hovered over him with concern. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine. Why did you shoot me?" he snarled, trying to get his arms free. He didn't care how cute she was, nobody shoots Captain Kirk!

"I have to know if you can be trusted," she said, sitting on the bed next to him. She'd changed into an electric-green satin nightgown that clung as tightly as the catsuit had. "I'm going to have to torture you. "

Peter ogled. "What?" he squeaked. This was not fun.

"I'm going to have to kiss you until you tell me the troop strength of your Federation," Lia said earnestly.

Peter choked, then got a hold of himself. He sneered his defiance. "Starship Captains are made of stern stuff. We don't break after a few kisses. You'll find that out," he said as Lia bent over him, her hair brushing his bare chest.

The kiss was intense, and long, and hard. For a dream, this is pretty real, Peter thought. Lia finally let him up for air. "That your best shot?" he croaked.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Give up now, while you still can," she pleaded with him. "I have to do this. I know you don't enjoy it, but we can't trust you. Please tell me the truth. "

"Never!" Captain Kirk yelled.

The interrogation session lasted the rest of the night and got quite involved, and Peter was right, it took a lot more than kissing before he finally told her where the Federation's troops were deployed.

Lia pulled her hand back from Peter's sleeping form. Her hand was shaking, and part of her wanted to laugh. She loved Peter's sense of humor. Captain Kirk. Lia could just see him, conquering the galaxy. "Fire at will, Mr. Chekov! Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!" Venkman to the core.

Another part of her was aghast. How had she let herself get so involved in his fantasy? It hadn't happened with Winston the night before. That time she'd kept control, observing events. But tonight Lia had been unable to keep her objectivity, instead becoming enthralled with the game. Something she'd have to guard against in the future. Lia glanced at Peter again.

He was smiling that sweet smile, the bad boy smile. Without warning she felt herself go hot, just looking at him. In some ways he reminded her of Justin. So cocky, so sexy, so exquisite. If he was that good asleep...

Get a hold of yourself! she screamed mentally. Lia staggered to her feet, backed up a few paces, and stared at Peter coldly. They killed Justin. Nothing can change that. Nothing will change what has to be done. You will destroy them, and no matter how much you like them, they are lying, killing, murderous fiends. Remember that.

Closing her eyes, she faded to fog, not letting herself look at Peter again.

Lia materialized in Justin's apartment. Opening her eyes, she moved over to the couch, unseeing. I have to remember why I'm doing this. I have to think of Justin.

She looked across the room at the two statues. Lia and Janine, darkness and light, age and youth. Diametric opposites embodied in stone and wood. Justin had been very talented. His genius had been obvious two centuries ago, during the War of 1812. Lia laid back on the couch and remembered that night.

It had been at a party in Boston. The war had been going on for a month and Justin, like many young men his age, was in the military. The navy, in fact. She'd been introduced to him at dinner and had been struck by his confidence, his sense of surety. Among all the young men there he alone seemed to have a purpose, a sense of self that overshadowed men decades his senior. Intrigued, she'd struck up an acquaintance that had grown to friendship.

She remembered the first time she had seen his statues. "I'm an artist, it's all I've ever wanted to be," he said. Justin was showing her some of his latest work, his face coming alive with his inner vision. He swung around. "I'd like you to pose for me."

Lia opened her eyes, swung her legs off the couch and sat up, then walked to the statue. She'd agreed to pose for him. Even now, she couldn't say why, what impulse had guided her. It wasn't something respectable widows did and Liana Caudwell was supposed to be very respectable. Maybe she'd sensed his potential. A year later when he was lying near death from wounds received in battle, she had brought him into the world of the vampire.

Peter was like him. That was why she'd lost control tonight, that and the loneliness. She missed Justin so much she'd been trying to fill the hole in her heart with someone of his passion and imagination.

But you will not fill it with the soul of the one who destroyed Justin. Lia picked up Janine's statue, regarding it thoughtfully, and smiled unpleasantly. A present for Janine. Yes. I wonder what her reaction will be. Perhaps I should be there when she opens it... she shook her head regretfully. No. It's too great a risk; I can't trust myself not to give something away, the state I'm in now. I'll send it to her and then wait for Janine to call her good friend Lia, upset and scared, and tell me about the creep who'd sent her one of Justin's statues. Perfect.

And, she thought grimly, I will avoid Peter's dreams for a while. Feed off other mortals. I will not be defeated by my own weaknesses. The Ghostbusters will be the ones to break, not I.

Janine signed for the package eagerly, thanking the delivery boy. It wasn't her birthday or any holiday. Maybe this was a surprise from the guys, or an apology from Egon for what he'd said before. She walked back to her desk, looking for the scissors, slicing through the tape.

Impatiently she ripped open the box, discarding wads of tissue paper carelessly, then froze. Her knees gave way and she dropped into her chair, staring in horror at what the box held.

Egon came out of the basement, saying, "Janine, we're going to have to order some more capacitors soon, Ray and I need to build a few more traps-" then stopped when he saw she wasn't listening, arrested by her expression. "Janine?"

Janine ripped her gaze away from the box with an effort. "Hmm?"

"Something wrong?"

"No. Nothing." Janine put the box under her desk, feeling its presence there like a malevolent entity. "Did you need something, Egon?"

"Capacitors. About 40 of them. Please order them, okay?" Egon was still watching her, looking perplexed as he handed her the list of sizes and types of capacitors.

Janine let out a breath and plastered a smile on her face. "No worries. You'll get them by next week, Egon." She watched him go upstairs, shaking his head. Then she grabbed the phone and dialed Lia's work number.

"Analysis Department, Lia speaking."

"Lia! It's Janine. I've got a huge problem, can you meet me at the Bluebell after work?" Janine tried to keep the hysterical edge out of her voice.

Lia's response was soothing, calming Janine almost immediately. "Yes, I can meet you around eight. Try to stay calm. No matter what it is, I'll help. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure, but you don't know..."

"No matter what. I have to go now Janine, but I will be there."

Lia hung up the phone with satisfaction. Come eight o'clock, she'd have the opportunity to scare Janine out of her mind.

Janine played with the little packets of sugar on the table, her nervousness very obvious as she waited for Lia. The box was on top of the table and she was studiously avoiding looking at it. Where the heck was Lia?

Lia tapped Janine's shoulder. "Hi," she said.

Janine nearly jumped out of her skin. "Don't do that!" she hissed as Lia slid into the seat across from her and signaled the waitress.

"One coffee for me," she said to the waitress, "and something without caffeine for my friend. She's tense enough as it is."

Janine waited until the waitress left with her order, then shoved the box over to Lia. "Look," was all she said.

Lia lifted out the statuette and studied it. "It's exquisite," she said, "but why does it have you so upset?"

Janine looked into Lia's eyes and felt a surge of fear. "Justin made it," she whispered.

Lia looked intrigued. "It's you, isn't it? But why show it to me now?"

"Someone sent it to me today!" Janine said in a tense whisper. She couldn't seem to calm down, the fear climbing higher inside of her with each breath. "I don't know who and I don't know how, but somehow they got it out of Justin's apartment and sent it to me. Why? Who would do this?"

"I don't understand. Justin didn't send this to you?"

Janine paled. "Justin's dead. He couldn't have sent it. I wouldn't want it anyway. I wouldn't want anything from him."

Lia put her hand over Janine's, looking concerned. "Take a deep breath, Janine. Why does this have to mean something? Maybe they settled his estate, and his executor thought you would want it. She doesn't know he hurt you. Or maybe they were cleaning out his house and had to send the statue somewhere, and knew you posed for it."

In spite of Lia's words, Janine felt herself growing more terrified. Visions of Valentine's Day swam in front of her eyes. Justin's face right before he bit her, the cold in the park, the pain - all made her more scared than before. "You don't understand," she said, her voice breaking. "You don't understand."

"Listen to me. He's dead. He can't hurt you. There is no way you receiving this statue has anything to do with him," Lia said, leaning forward urgently. "You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

Eventually after almost an hour of talking, Janine calmed down, feeling exhausted by her emotions, run out and spent. Lia smiled at her. "You're being silly. Nothing's wrong. Okay?"

"Okay," Janine said tiredly. Lia was right. She'd gotten strung up over nothing, and now she had a killer headache because of it. Justin was dead, he couldn't hurt her again. "Thanks for listening. I don't believe how worked up I got."

"Don't mention it," Lia said, licking her lips, looking satisfied, her face glowing with health.

When Lia returned to her home that night, she stretched out and considered how her course of action was going. Not bad, she thought. All bases covered.

Egon was effectively neutralized, dazed and disoriented. The hypnosis she was applying efficiently kept him from thinking about things she didn't want him to think about: Justin Tremaine, vampires, how to do his job properly... basic stuff. It wasn't useful for anything complicated but that was all right, as long as she saw him fairly often, at least once a week, she'd be able to manipulate his emotions with a few simple post-hypnotic suggestions. Lia grinned. The great Dr. Spengler falls before a woman's touch, she thought smugly. And not Janine Melnitz's, either!

Janine would be kept in a state of near-perpetual hysteria for most of the summer. A note here, a statue there, and it would all add up to an extremely scared secretary. With a little mental shoving, a little emotional prodding like she was doing to Egon, Janine wouldn't notice that the symptoms exhibited by her friends were remarkably similar to what she went through when she was dating Justin Tremaine. Lia frowned. Of course, it's not exactly alike. I can't bite any of them, that would be too obvious. Besides, I can get similar results with subtler methods, it just requires more care, more time, more patience, and more work. She closed her eyes, stretched out her arms. But it'll be worth it. They'll be useless when it comes time to rescue Ray. I'll manipulate them all through his disappearance, and they'll never find him in time.

She'd have to remember to keep manipulating them, when the time came. Otherwise her influence would fade and eventually they'd remember what she'd blocked, and begin to suspect someone was messing with their minds. Perhaps she ought to write it down somewhere, exactly what she planned for Peter to dream and Winston to have nightmares of, what Egon was supposed to forget, what Janine's reactions were going to be. Lia opened her eyes and shifted uneasily. The dreams were the most necessary and riskiest part of her plan. They couldn't all have nightmares at once, they'd figure out something was going on. But she could sap Peter's and Winston's energy through the dreams she sent, put them under extra psychological stress with a few well-chosen nightmares. Placing a couple of basic road-blocks in their brains would hide her sabotage of their unconscious minds. It was unfortunate she found Peter so attractive.

Lia got up and paced around the apartment. It was everything your average New York Yuppie would like. Lia found it rather cold, and extremely pretentious. You went to all the trouble of fixing up this place, this "set" for your character as Lia Escobar, she thought to herself. You even found a job where you can work days away from sunlight and still maintain a seemingly normal schedule as a human being. You seduce Dr. Spengler, terrify Janine, and put as much stress as you can on Winston. After all that, do not blow this entire operation over the hots you have for Peter Venkman!

She stopped at the doorway to her bedroom, thinking of the dreams she had sent Peter. It was possible to feed off erotic dreams and she enjoyed participating in them with Peter, but compared to the energy she could siphon off the nightmares she would give him... There was no comparison. Sheer terror and adrenaline were aphrodisiacs as potent as blood. She would have to be very, very careful in her dealings with Peter.

Just remember all of the things you're going to do to Ray, and what that will do to Peter. Remember how angry and scared he's going to be. Wait for it. I will control this. I will not jeopardize my honor for any mortal. Not even Peter.

It was about a week later she had the first indication that her plans had been successful. Lia was brushing her hair, one hundred and nine strokes, when the doorbell rang. She straightened up, surprised, brushing a few strands out of her eyes. Who on earth... ? She went to the door and looked out the peephole.

Egon stood in the hall, hunched into his jacket, looking tired and miserable.

Lia stood back from the door and smiled to herself. Something at Central was obviously wrong. Good. Anything that made the Ghostbusters unhappy made her very, very glad. The little mental time-bombs she had set in Egon's mind were going off nicely - he had become stressed and instead of discussing it with Ray or Peter or Winston he was here at her door. Wonderful.

Opening the door, she blinked sleepily, although she had been hours away from slumber. "Egon? What are you doing here so late?"

"Can I come in? Please?" He looked vulnerable and hesitant, as if he'd bolt at any moment. Lia pretended to consider, then nodded and opened the door for him to pass.

"Nice place," Egon said absently, pushing up his glasses.

"You've seen it before, Egon," Lia said gently, leading him to the couch. "Remember? You picked me up here last week, before the concert."

"Oh, right." The physicist glanced around, not particularly interested in his surroundings but trying to be polite. "I forgot. It's still nice, though."

"Why are you engaging in all this small talk?" Lia asked bluntly, sure she had an idea.

"Peter... " Egon stopped, and Lia glimpsed a shade of anger, quickly stifled. "I can't deal with him right now. Or Janine. Or anything, it seems." He got up and started to pace the living room, not looking at her.

Lia folded her hands, and tilted her head. "Did you have an argument with them?" She tried to appear interested and concerned instead of gleeful. It's working. It's working!

"I had an argument with Peter. About my relationship with you. He seems to think I'm spending too much time with you. Not that he put it in so many words. But anyone who spends as much time away from Central as he does has no reason to be critical," Egon said sharply. He paused, an exasperated expression crossing his face as he pushed his hands through his hair. "And Janine... " He couldn't seem to find the words.

Shaking her head, Lia got up and walked over to him and took both his hands in hers. She waited until she had his full attention, his gaze locked into hers. "Egon, we knew Janine might have problems with our friendship when we first became involved. I thought she would have dealt with it before now, but I guess," she shrugged helplessly, "I was wrong. You can't let it bother you. We're going to be together, no matter what either Janine or Peter says. You care about me," she said firmly, compellingly, "And I care about you. We just have to have faith in that."

Lia watched her influence take effect as her words sank deep into his consciousness, reshaping his feelings for her. For a second Egon seemed confused, then relieved, as if he'd remembered something important, but it didn't last long. An embarrassed look crossed his face. "That's part of why I wanted to talk to you. I mean," he took a breath, then plunged in, "I know I care about you, and that you feel something for me, but I don't know what is going to happen with us. Beyond what's already happened, I mean."

Lia worked her way through that convoluted speech to emerge at the other end slightly amused and worried. Is he fighting my manipulation? I'll have to reinforce it. "Oh. Peter made some comments about our, um, physical relationship." Egon nodded, relieved. "Egon, I must be honest. I'm not quite ready for us to be close like that. I'm still working out things in therapy, and," she paused delicately, "I don't think it would be fair to you if we became involved any more seriously until I'm ready for it. If you can't wait, I'll understand."

"Who said anything about not being able to wait?" Egon smiled warmly, looking into her eyes. Lia concentrated a moment, and then Egon said as naturally as if he'd thought of it himself, "Peter is just jealous. And Janine has always been insecure. I'm happy with our friendship the way it is. I'm certainly not going to put any pressure on you. I just had to discuss this with you. I hope you understand." Egon glanced at her in concern. The lost look was back in his eyes, the look of a victim manipulated into something he didn't understand. The arguments with Peter were hurting him as much as they were angering him, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes to see that Egon was confused.

"Of course, of course," Lia murmured, kissing him on the mouth softly. It's all starting to work. Dissension, tension... lovely. And now that he's seen my apartment, that's one more detail I won't have to attend to later. Perfect. A few more weeks and they'll be ready to kill each other.

July was the worst the Ghostbusters had ever known, professionally or personally. As the month progressed Winston and Peter became more and more lethargic, their energy seemingly sapped by the New York heat. Egon spent half his days in a dream-world, in his lab doing experiments or out with Lia. Needless to say, both of these developments adversely affected their job performance. Near the beginning of the month it just looked like a run of bad luck: goopers that should have been caught on the first call took two or even three tries to capture; Winston injured his knee on a routine call, putting him out of commission for a week; Peter wrecked a client's backyard when his thrower got out of his control; and Egon's carelessness nearly exploded his own proton pack.

But as the month wore on, it became clear no one had their minds on the work, with the exception of Ray. Even Janine seemed affected by it. She was tense and high-strung, never relaxing, snapping at the least remark. She also found her former defensiveness about Egon on an upswing for no apparent reason. Ray found that more and more he was having to play the peacemaker between her and Peter, or Janine and Egon, or Egon and Peter. Winston always seemed to be in a depressed mood, not snappish like Janine or hazy like Egon, but tired and non-responsive. The littlest thing - unwiped dishes, laundry duty, or a thoughtless remark - would escalate into heated arguments and criticism. Ray didn't know what to do, he felt fine but was beginning to suspect his colleagues were coming down with some kind of exotic flu.

Peter was having a rough time of it. After one particularly vivid erotic dream starring Egon's girlfriend Lia, he had gotten into a cycle of extremely realistic wet dreams. They starred different women and took place in different settings, but were so incredibly tangible the real thing compared unfavorably to his fantasies. After about a week they took on a new dimension - horror. Not overtly horrific, but deeply disturbing. He would be making love to a woman and then, after the last kiss, she would die softly in his arms. Or they would be about to have sex, he would be ready, it would be great - and then she would suddenly jump out the window to crash to her death 15 stories below.

And on and on, each dream erotic until something terrible would kick in. Not quite nightmares and not quite wet dreams, they were beginning to worry Peter, who found himself trying to be with real women every chance he got. This was nothing unusual but the desperation behind it, the deep wish to not be alone in bed at night, was driving him to sleep with more strangers and to be away from Central on a regular basis. Which didn't favorably impress the other Ghostbusters, who wondered when Peter had gotten so compulsive. Peter attributed his lack of energy to not sleeping well when he wasn't with a woman, and to not sleeping at all when he was.

Winston was having the same problem, but not to the same degree. The dreams were enjoyable enough, but he didn't seem to be able to concentrate during the day and he felt tired all the time for no reason. He found himself intensely irritable with his co-workers, having no patience with Peter's mistakes even though he knew he was making the same ones himself. Egon's absent-mindedness was driving him crazy, and Ray's cheeriness had him thinking of homicide.

Egon thought he felt fine; a trifle absent-minded perhaps, but hardly in a fugue state the way Peter had accused him of being a few days before. He was annoyed with his colleagues, though. They simply couldn't seem to pull their weight on jobs, with the exception of Ray. Winston and Peter were always complaining of weariness and the heat, making mistakes, and snarling at people for no reason. His relationship with their secretary had deteriorated too. Seemingly resigned or approving of his relationship with Lia to begin with, Janine had become overly defensive, not wanting to hear about it, finding fault with Egon and Peter at the least opportunity. Peter seemed to have developed a complete lack of discretion or taste, sleeping with anything that moved, and his constant flirting with Lia put Egon on edge.

Janine was frankly scared. The harassment hadn't stopped with the statue. Someone had made a practice of dedicating "So In Love" to her on her favorite radio station at odd times, and she'd gotten another package a week after the first. This one had been Justin's black silk robe. She'd gone to Lia in hysterics again and had let her friend calm her down, but she was now convinced someone was trying to scare her.

She didn't mention it to the guys because she felt faintly ashamed of her reaction. Obviously someone was just trying to scare her a little, and she shouldn't let it get to her. As Lia had pointed out, if she let her fear show, whoever it was would just step up the intimidation tactics. But anger was what she felt most of the time; angry that someone was picking on her, angry that the guys were goofing off, angry at the stupid clients... just angry all of the time. Terror was what she felt when she was alone with no one to lash out at.

All of this had Slimer confused and depressed but there didn't seem to be anything he could do, except avoid Peter when he was snapping and try not to get in anyone's way. It got to the point that he was hanging out with Ray on a daily basis, mostly because everyone else's tempers were too unpredictable to be around.

All in all, it wasn't surprising there was an explosion of monumental proportions the last day of July. It didn't involve the containment unit, but it did almost tear Central apart at the seams.

Peter stomped angrily into Central, at the end of his rope. Winston wasn't far behind, growling under his breath.

"How'd it go?" asked Janine guardedly, watching them from behind her desk.

"Don't ask. Just do not ask, Janine. The genius is bringing up the rear. With what remains of Ecto-1 and Ray," Peter snarled, throwing his proton pack into the cabinet and slamming the door.

"Ray got hurt?" Janine asked in alarm.

"No, but not because Egon was being careful, I can tell you that," Peter snapped. The main door opened, to show Egon and Ray pushing Ecto into the firehouse, the car sporting a flat rear tire and various new dents and scratches. They stopped the car in front of the fire pole, wiping their foreheads and breathing hard.

"Is it salvageable?" Winston asked wearily, sitting on the floor in front of Janine's desk, head and hands hanging limply.

"Barely," Egon said shortly.

"Hey, it'll be fine with a little work. It's in much better shape than when I bought it, that thrower landing on it hardly hurt it at all," said Ray, forcing cheeriness. He was watching Peter uneasily.

"Are you okay, Ray?" Peter asked dangerously, watching Egon with slitted eyes.

"Fine, really. I'm not hurt at all," Ray said hastily.

Egon lifted his head tiredly. "You don't have to say it, Peter. I knew that maneuver would be risky. And I know I should have given Ray more warning before I attempted it. Next time---"

"Next time could get one of us killed," Peter said with hostility, unwilling to let Egon off the hook for nearly hitting Ray with a proton stream. Damn it, for the last month he's been in the ozone, Peter thought angrily. When is he going to wake up and realize he's going to endanger one of us with his forgetfulness?

Egon was shame-faced and defensive. "I know," he said quietly. "I know. I'm sorry, Ray."

"Sorry's not good enough." Peter interrupted Ray before he could get a word in edgewise. "You've been out of it for the past two weeks, either in the lab or with Lia or thinking about one or the other when you're not. We need you at 100% if we're going to do this. It's too dangerous for someone who can't concentrate."

Stung, Egon retorted, "You shouldn't talk. How much have you cost us in damages in the last week alone? I may not be putting my entire attention on the job but at least I'm not making it impossible to get anything done, unlike some people."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Peter rashly asked. Ray was beginning to worry, there had been arguments before this but this one was escalating more rapidly than usual.

"I mean that verandah you wrecked last week. I mean the spook you let get away two days ago. I mean never being able to find you for early calls because we don't know where you are. That's what I mean," Egon concluded.

"Just because I happen to have been with one or two women last week-"

"Peter, you've been with half of Manhattan in the last week," Egon snapped.

"Just because you're not getting any doesn't mean I have to take a vow of celibacy!" yelled Peter, hurt by Egon's remark, not wanting to explain about the nightmares that were driving him into strangers' beds. I am not going to explain about the dreams. I've got this under control. I don't have to justify anything to Egon, dammit!

Egon went dead white with anger. He started toward Peter.

Ray jumped in front of him. "Cool down, big guy, he didn't mean it. Egon," Ray said warningly, trying to catch his eye. "Come on, get a grip."

Winston joined in. "Say you're sorry, Peter. That last remark was outta line."

"Outta line? Outta line? He nearly gets Ray killed and I'm outta line? Like hell. Service the proton packs by yourself, I'm taking a walk!!" Peter stalked out the door without looking back.

Egon didn't say anything, he just headed upstairs to his lab and quietly shut the door behind himself, leaving the remaining Ghostbusters to stare after him.

"So what are we going to do now?" Ray asked plaintively.

"I... have... no... idea." Winston sounded exhausted. Janine stole a concerned look at him. He looked drained, really unhealthy and tired.

"Maybe one of us could talk to Dr. Venkman?" she suggested half-heartedly. Ray looked dubious. "Maybe not," she finished tiredly.

"I think they need time to cool off. But everyone's been so tense, I don't know how they're ever going to calm down... that's it!" Ray said excitedly, his face lighting up.

"What's it?" Janine asked with hope.

"Time to cool off! We need a vacation! Janine," Ray said, a determined look on his face, "Cancel our appointments for the next week, starting the day after tomorrow. We're going on our camping trip."

"Ray, m'man, I don't know if that's a good idea. Alone in the wilderness with those two? It'll be like 'Deliverance'," Winston grimaced.

"Trust me, Winston. Besides, you really need a break, you look like you're about to drop. Leave everything to me," Ray said with more confidence than he felt. I just hope I can convince Peter and Egon now.

"Egon. Egon, will you shut that off and talk to me?"

Ray reached toward the microscope's light, but Egon stopped his hand and turned it off himself. Readjusting his glasses, he treated Ray to a long-suffering look. "What is it, Ray? I'm in the middle of something."

"We have to talk. Everyone's been so jumpy lately, and you've been so distracted-" Ray paused at Egon's guilt-stricken look and added hastily, "I'm not mad at you, Egon. The move with the proton thrower worked and I'm fine, so there's no problem."

"So what do we need to talk about?" Egon asked warily, leaning back on his stool and eyeing Ray carefully.

"A vacation." Ray's enthusiasm got ahead of him as he started to explain. "It's August, we're in New York, we're overworked, I say it's time for our annual camping trip. Think about it: the clean air, no pressures, and time to study all the molds and spores in their natural environment!" Ray beamed at Egon.

Egon's mouth quirked, interested in spite of himself. "I could use a break. And I think Winston needs some time off also. He looks terrible." Egon took off his glasses and polished them, not looking at Ray. "However, the thought of sharing a camping trip with Peter in his current state of mind does not appeal to me. Unless he calms down, I don't see how the two of us could be in the same car for four hours straight without one of us committing an atrocity."

"Don't worry about it, I'm going to talk to Peter. He had a point, you know." Ray said slowly, feeling his way around the subject by the expression on Egon's face. Right now there was no reaction. "That was a clumsy throw and one of us could have gotten hurt. But more importantly, you didn't give us enough warning. You know we're always willing to try something new if you let us in on it; why didn't you give us a clue about what you were going to try?"

Egon looked back at Ray exhaustedly, feeling defenseless. "I didn't think of it," he admitted. At Ray's surprise, he said, "I can't apologize enough, Ray. I think I must really need a vacation. I'm starting to endanger the team with my carelessness. Peter was right."

Ray grinned. "If you tell him that when I get him back here, I guarantee we'll have the best camping trip ever."

Grimacing, Egon nodded. "I'll apologize, if he'll take back what he said about my relationship with Lia." Egon's jaw was granite. Ray nodded, worriedly wondering how easy that would be, and when Egon had gotten so defensive about Lia.

Ray caught up with Peter at the end of the day when the other Ghostbuster wandered back into Central. "Where've you been?" asked Ray as Peter headed to the fridge for a cold one.

"Out," Peter said shortly, popping open the top of the can and taking a deep swig. Ray studied his friend carefully. Peter was looking as bad as Winston - haggard, with dark circles under his eyes, his usual energy seemingly absent.

"I'm worried about you, Peter," Ray said, steering his friend into a chair without much effort. Peter glanced back at him inquiringly. "You're tired and mad all of the time, and I think you're coming down with the flu. I think you should take a break."

"Really? And what about Egon? He hasn't exactly been doing a terrific job either," Peter replied heatedly, shrugging Ray's hand off his shoulder.

"He needs a rest too. That's why I think we should all go on vacation."

Peter looked up in surprise at Ray's statement, then eyed his friend consideringly. It wasn't a bad idea. A week without calls, without Egon around to get on his nerves, and maybe he'd be able to get some sleep. He grinned at Ray tiredly. "I knew there was a reason the professors thought you were a genius. Sounds good to me. I think I'll just spend my vacation here, in bed."

Ray took a breath. Now comes the hard part. "Peter, if you stay here at Central, you know something will come up and you'll have to go out on a call. We always have that kind of luck," he said, grinning. "The rest of us are taking off, and if you stay here an emergency will happen and then where will you be?"

"You gotta better idea." It wasn't a question. "Well, what is it?"

"Come with us on our annual camping trip," Ray said, rushing the words out before Peter could protest. "Egon's sorry he messed up and he said he'd apologize if you would. Come on, it'll be fun."

"Apologize?!? For what, telling him the truth? If he doesn't get his head out of the clouds one of us is going to be fitted for a mahogany box!" Peter's yell didn't have much punch to it, he hated being on the outs with Egon. Lately, he's just been so wrapped up in Lia or his research I can't even reach him, he thought. How else am I going to get through to him when he's never here?

"No, he agreed he screwed up and that he's hurting the team," Ray said, watching Peter carefully.

"He did?" Peter was relieved. Maybe he's coming out of it.

"He wants you to apologize for that crack you made about his relationship with Lia. He feels really strongly about this, Peter. I've never seen him get so attached to a woman before, and he doesn't want you to be making jokes about it," Ray finished, shrugging helplessly.

Peter stared into his can of beer, thinking. Maybe he just had to accept how close Egon was getting to Lia and deal with it. Otherwise, if the relationship went on for an extended time, his attitude could cause more problems. Besides, he hadn't meant what he'd said. It used to be Egon would have known that without being told, though.

But, Peter thought tiredly, it used to be you had enough sense not to say something like that in the first place. So who are you to long for the good ol' days?

"Okay. Deal. I'll apologize if he will. Then we'll all go camping and get eaten by wild animals, and they'll live happily ever after." Peter smiled to take the sting out of his words.

"Great!! I'll go get Egon!" Ray was out the door before Peter could blink. He leaned back in his chair, too weary to try and follow the younger man. Getting old before my time, he thought fleetingly.

Winston walked into the kitchen, heading for the refrigerator. "Glad to see you made it back. You looked like hell when you left."

"This from someone who looks like an ad for Nytol vs. the leading product," Peter retorted, watching Winston defrost the hamburger for dinner in the microwave.

Winston grinned. "So what do you say about that vacation idea of Ray's? Personally, New York City in August is so wonderful..."

"...that you just can't stand to leave. Me too. I say we're outta here as soon as we pack," Peter said, as Winston added spices to the meat and made patties.

"Ray already had Janine cancel our calls for the next week. Makes me glad someone around here can still think. My brain feels like it's packed in styrofoam," Winston said.

"You too," Peter said thoughtfully. Maybe Ray was right, maybe they were coming down with the flu. Except the flu doesn't give you nightmares, does it, Dr. Venkman? Peter winced at that thought.

Egon warily entered the kitchen, stopping across the table from Peter. "I'm sorry, Peter." He had a hard time meeting Peter's eyes but he forced himself to do so. "I lost my temper, and you were right about my forgetfulness. I could have really hurt Ray and that's unforgivable. My only excuse is not feeling well, and it's not good enough. All I can say is I'm sorry."

Peter's hostility melted in the face of Egon's genuine remorse. The physicist looked so completely contrite that Peter was reminded he'd said some pretty unforgivable things himself. "It's okay, Egon. We're all on edge. It's New York in August, everyone's crazy. And I was out of line with that remark about Lia. Your girlfriend is your business, I shouldn't have commented on it."

Egon nodded stiffly, then smiled openly. "I'm glad we're going on vacation. Much more of this and I was going to turn you into a chicken, like Janine once asked me to."

Peter laughed. "You and what army? I had it all planned, how I was going to smother you in your sleep, then throw your body in the containment unit." He paused, then said, "So when do we leave?"

"Day after tomorrow," Ray said, setting the table. "I had Janine cancel our calls, and after I get Ecto's engine fixed we'll be off to the outback!" He smiled enthusiastically. "No phones, no calls, no problems. Just the Ghostbusters and nature. I asked Janine to hold down the fort and baby-sit Slimer while we're gone. You know, we really ought to get her some flowers or something for putting up with us the past couple of weeks."

"Why are you thinking of this? You didn't do anything you need to apologize for," Winston asked, setting the hamburgers on the table.

Egon looked guilty, remembering a few of his confrontations with Janine over the past few weeks and how hurt she had been acting lately. His feelings for Lia were hard to hide, and they seemed to make Janine extremely uncomfortable. "That's not a bad idea," he said.

Peter shook his head, and grabbed a hamburger. "Why should we? She's practically getting a week off with pay, nothing to do but stay here and watch the soap operas and answer the phone. That's present enough."

"Peter, that's not the point," Egon said exasperatedly.

"I know. But I think the best gift we could give Janine right now is to get out of town. She'll thank us enough for that, trust me," Peter replied.

Forty-eight hours later, Peter was wishing he was back in New York. The ride up to Cougar Ridge, Maine had been uneventful, but as soon as they reached the campsite things started to go wrong.

First it was the family of eight who were camping nearby. Ray had given them autographs and smiled for pictures, and after that they wouldn't go away. "Nice going, Ray," Peter had grumbled blackly. "I thought we were trying to get away from stuff like this." The headache he had been nursing increased with every photo flash. The Ghostbusters had ended up moving their campsite a few miles down the road.

Then it was the rocks and branches and garbage that had to be cleared from their next campsite. Winston had been furious. "People are supposed to leave a place better than they found it, for heaven's sake. All of these pop cans and the plastic... incredible. Do they think it's their own private landfill?!?"

"Calm down. You're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up, Winston," Egon had replied, stuffing trash into a garbage bag.

"I don't care!! This is supposed to be a campsite, not a dump. Who do they think they are?" Winston fumed, picking up broken glass.

"Masters of all they survey," Peter cracked, tying up a bag. "Okay, Smokey, all trash bagged. Ready to make camp."

A few hours later they discovered that not only was their campsite a convention center for every type of insect known to man, but Winston had forgotten to pack the bug spray. As he slapped at mosquitoes, Peter thought morosely, I hate, I hate, I hate bugs. Deeply. Truly. Really, I do. Only the sight of Winston suffering along with the rest of them kept him from saying something regrettable.

As he bunked down for the night, Peter exhaustedly thought if he managed to dream about anything that night it would probably be killer ants.

No such luck.

The smoke was so thick he couldn't see through it and the intense heat was making his eyes water. Peter tried to walk forward, but found he kept bumping into walls and furniture. Getting down on his knees he crawled through the hallways of Ghostbuster Central.

"Egon? Ray?!? Winston!!! Where are you guys?" he yelled, peering around him frantically. Flames were licking up the staircase, not quite up to the second floor yet but already consuming the landing. He crawled through the haze to the library.

"Egon?" Peter thought he saw a shape underneath the table. "EGON!!" he yelled, slithering across the floor. He turned the shape over.

Egon Spengler stared up at him through cracked glasses, barely breathing, his face blackened by smoke. "Oh, no," Peter moaned. Egon choked, trying to breathe, but was barely able to draw air into his lungs. "Don't worry, buddy, I'll get you out of this," Peter said, standing and lifting the physicist's limp form with a grunt of effort. Carrying him in a fireman's hold, he made his way out of the library.

The flames were higher up the stairs. Through the smoke and flames below it was almost possible to see a hunched form at Janine's desk, fire eating away at the receptionist's chair and obscuring the body from view. Peter's stomach dropped and he glanced around in panic. "Gotta get out of here." He headed for the fire escape.

The window was blocked by a wall of flames, and the charred remains of what was once Ray Stantz...

"NOOOOOO!!!"

Peter sat up in a sweat, panting. Egon poked his head into the tent, followed by Ray and Winston. "Peter, what's wrong? You sounded like you were being murdered."

Peter gagged, caught his breath, and tried to smile. "No-nothing. Nightmare. 'M okay. Go back to sleep."

Winston looked skeptical, and exchanged a meaningful look with Ray. "If you say so, home-brew. But if I was having nightmares bad enough to wake the dead, I wouldn't keep it to myself. Try to get some sleep." Winston and Ray went back to their tents, while Egon stayed. The physicist ran a hand through his hair, blinking in the lamplight, caught by the expression on Peter's face. It was the look Peter usually wore to cover extreme fear or pain, and it suddenly struck Egon that lately he had seen that look on Peter's face more often than usual.

Peter smiled embarrassedly. "Go back to sleep, Egon. I'm fine. My subconscious just got a little out of hand, that's all."

Egon ignored him. "Is this why you've been so wired lately?"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked innocently.

"How long have you been having nightmares, Peter?" Egon said, folding his arms across his chest.

About to protest that he never had nightmares, Peter gave up. "A month," he said, putting his head in his hands. "But never this bad before. They were just... eerie. I didn't like to sleep. This was worse. Much worse."

"What was it?" Egon asked in concern, leaning back against the tent post.

Peter took a breath, let it out, then looked up at Egon. "Central was on fire. Ironic, huh? A firehouse going up in flames?" He shook his head at the vividness of dream, trying to distance himself from it. "I couldn't find any of you at first. I managed to get into the library and you were there unconscious. I got you out of the library, and I think I saw Janine's body at her desk from the second floor. I headed for the fire escape..." he gagged at the memory again. "Ray was dead, and I couldn't get out of there." Egon leaned forward and gripped his shoulder in sympathy. "It was so real! I could have sworn I was there, I could feel the heat..." Peter was trembling with reaction.

"Peter, it was just a dream," Egon started to say.

Peter interrupted him. "I know, I know. But I felt like it was real. Egon," he said shakily, "You have no idea how glad I was to wake up."

Egon studied Peter with concern. His colleague was gray with fatigue, breathing heavily, his body soaked in sweat. Any nightmare that can do this to a grown man is not normal, he thought. He shook his head, his thoughts fuzzy with sleep, feeling like he had forgotten something but not sure what it could have been. No wonder he's been on edge, if this is any indication of what his nights have been like lately he hasn't gotten more than three entire nights worth of sleep this month. "What were the other dreams like?" he asked.

Peter's face closed up, showing nothing. It was worse than his I'm-okay expression; anything that forced Peter to get this quiet had to be awful. "Bad. I don't want to talk about them." He gave Egon a warning look upon seeing his friend about to protest. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Peter, you need help. If you've been experiencing recurring nightmares for this length of time, you've got to get them under control. See another psychologist, something, I don't know," Egon said in frustration.

"I'll deal with it, okay? But not right now," Peter said, smiling sleepily. "It'll be okay, you'll see."

"You'll see someone about this when we get back to New York?" Egon asked insistently.

"Sure thing," Peter nodded.

Egon thought he was probably lying, but it was too late at night to force Peter to do anything. Tomorrow would be soon enough to bring it up again. "All right, Peter. Good night," he said, crawling out of the tent.

"G'night, Big Guy." Peter yawned and snuggled into his sleeping bag, closing his eyes. He opened them as soon as he was sure Egon was gone. Staring bleakly up at the canvas in the dark, he thought about the past few weeks' dreams. Never had they been so real, so awful as what he'd just experienced. They'd been somewhat unbelievable, like dreams usually were, full of awful things juxtaposed with terrific sex. Now they'd taken a new twist; things he feared in the daylight hours were sneaking into his nightmares.

This has got to stop. Egon's got that right. But I'm not visiting any shrink. Peter had a strong feeling of aversion when he thought of seeing a psychiatrist or another psychologist. The blind leading the blind, the crazed leading the demented. No way. I can handle this. It'll just take a while. I'd better be able to, or I'll never sleep again. Peter resigned himself to another long night as he tried to stay awake, afraid of what he'd find waiting for him if he slept.

The next afternoon the Ghostbusters relaxed, each according to his individual taste. Ray and Winston went fishing - Ray excitedly baiting hooks, talking a blue streak and scaring the fish, while Winston slept, his pole between his feet, waiting for a bite and catching up on his ZZZ's at the same time. Egon was preparing to go in search of new molds and spores when he asked Peter what he planned to do that afternoon.

"Catch up on my sleep, I guess," Peter yawned, stretching out in a lawn chair and turning on the radio. He closed his eyes and leaned back.

"Are you all right?" Egon asked in concern. The events of the night before were still fresh in his mind, and he was hoping Peter would be in the mood to talk about it now that it was broad daylight.

"I'm fine, Egon. I'm just relaxing. Remember relaxing? We came on vacation to do that?" Peter asked, opening one eye. "So relax already, Big Guy. There's nothing wrong."

"Peter, nightmares that have you screaming yourself awake are no trivial matter. You're going to have to see someone about it when we get back. You do realize that, don't you?"

"Uh-huh. No problem. Now will you please leave me to my beauty sleep?" Peter turned away from Egon, deliberately lounging on his stomach so he wouldn't have to face the physicist and his concern.

Egon picked up his sampling equipment and tramped off in disgust. Typical Peter. Help everyone else, interfere in other people's problems, but admit he couldn't handle something? Never. Peter Venkman didn't have difficulties with anything or anyone, he was Superman. Try to help him, and does he even thank you? Well, yes, Egon admitted to himself. He does. But that doesn't mean he'll let you give him assistance when he needs it. Damn it, Peter, why can't you just say you're scared?

Stopping, Egon took a sample of a rather odd greenish-gold spore off the roots of tree, deliberately turning his thoughts away from his recalcitrant colleague. Interesting structure, I would expect this to be growing closer to a pond or lake. I wonder if there's an underground spring near here?

For the rest of the afternoon he happily took samples and examined lichen formations, pushing thoughts of Peter and Peter's problems to the back of his mind. There wasn't a therapist closer than thirty miles and if Venkman was going to be stubborn about this, it would be better to wait until they returned to New York to convince him to seek help. Besides, maybe he could get Winston and Ray to assist him in persuading Peter.

As he started to head back to camp, Egon felt a familiar fuzziness cloud his thoughts. I should have been more careful but I didn't think I'd overdone it this afternoon, he thought guiltily. What good will this vacation do if I don't return more rested than when I left? He stopped and looked around. Didn't I just pass that tree a while ago?

It was about fifteen minutes later that Egon gave up and admitted he was lost. All of his surroundings looked familiar, but he couldn't remember which way to go toward the campsite. He started off going north, sure he would reach the road and be able to hike back from there. Unfortunately, he didn't find the road after a reasonable length of time, so he concluded he must have been heading in the wrong direction. By now it was starting to get dark and Egon was beginning to feel the first edges of panic in his mind. If he didn't find the campsite soon he would be stuck out here in the dark, with no food or shelter other than what he could put together himself from the local flora and fauna. Not too hard, he thought, trying to remain calm. A lean-to out of branches, some wild mushrooms for dinner. His head started to pound. You're going to be lost forever, whispered part of his mind. You're going to die out here, alone, and they'll never find you. Ever. Egon closed his eyes, trying to block out those thoughts, feeling the blood rushing in his ears, fighting the panic with all of his resources.

He stumbled to a rock and sat down, taking deep breaths. He'd never had an anxiety attack before. All he had to do was calm down, think about it logically, and he'd figure out a way to get back to camp. He removed his glasses, wiping sweat off his brow absent-mindedly. His hands were shaking, he noticed clinically. Probably from fatigue. Have to be careful not to do something stupid when I'm this tired. The glasses slipped through his fingers, bouncing off the rock and landing somewhere to the left. Like that, he thought glumly. Getting down on his hands and knees, he felt around in the underbrush for his glasses, sure he knew where they had landed. He couldn't find them. Another wave of panic engulfed him, stronger than the first. Without his glasses, how was he going to manage alone in the woods?

Egon sat with his back against the rock, exhausted and fearful. Help me, somebody. I think I'm in trouble...

In a high-rise in Manhattan, Lia smiled. She had no intention of letting Egon die out in the wilderness, that would spoil everything she had planned. No, just a few hours more to savor his fear and then she'd let him find his glasses and his way back.

Lia had been furious the day before when Janine first told her the Ghostbusters had left the city. When she eventually composed herself, she had begun to see the possibilities inherent in the situation. Getting Egon lost would make the others doubt his capabilities and force the team farther apart. Egon would be furious when no one found him and defensive about his own ineptitude. Without Egon to think of clever ways to defeat her, or even to see where the danger lay, she would be that much safer in the execution of her plans. Perfect.

Another few sessions in Peter's mind and he would be too strung out to sleep, or think, or do anything but wish the dreams would stop. Winston would be too drained to have any resources to draw on, and soon Janine would be so tense that who knew? She might even be driven to quit. And then...

Lia stifled a chuckle. The Black Diamond would be finished in two days, in plenty of time to welcome her first guest at the reopening, Dr. Raymond Stantz.

The sun had set beyond Cougar Ridge when Peter decided that now was the time to be worried about Egon. Winston and Ray had returned from fishing with a pile of trout and cleaned them in preparation for dinner, but there was still no sign of the physicist.

"Could he have gotten lost?" Winston asked, looking up from the fish.

"How could he get lost? The area's not that big and we're all familiar with it," Ray had objected worriedly. "Something must have happened to him."

"Either way, he should have been back by now. If he's not back in fifteen minutes, I say we go looking for him," Peter said, retrieving the extra flashlights from the car.

At the end of fifteen minutes Ray went south, Winston went west, and Peter headed north, calling, "Egon! Egon, where are you? Come on out, you kidder!" at regular intervals.

After an hour of searching, Peter heard a weak voice call him. "Peter? Where are you?"

Shining his flashlight over to his left, Peter saw Egon sitting next to a rock, his face defenseless and vulnerable without his glasses. "Egon! What did you think you were doing? You scared us to death!" he yelled in relief and a touch of anger. He flipped on his radio. "Found him! We'll be back in a few minutes, over and out!" Peter turned to his wandering colleague and saw he was not only missing his glasses, but seemed lost in every sense of the word. "How'd you manage to lose your glasses, Spengs?" he asked gently, walking to the other man and stooping down to his level.

"I don't know. I just sat down for a second, and they slipped out of my hands..." Egon tried to explain, his voice trailing off with weariness. "I looked everywhere but I couldn't find them."

Peter played the light over the surrounding brush, stopping about ten feet away and slightly downhill of Egon's rock. "Got 'em. They must have slid this way when you dropped them." He picked them up and, returning to where his friend sat, put them on Egon's face. "Better?"

"Much," Egon said, adjusting them. "I'm sorry to have worried everyone. I don't know what's happening to me, I can't seem to cope with ordinary problems anymore."

"Hey," Peter said, alarmed at the defeated tone in Egon's voice, "You just got lost, it could have happened to anybody. What's this spiel about not being able to cope? You're fine."

"No I'm not," Egon snapped. "I've been careless and forgetful for several weeks, I can't think straight, and now I get lost in an area I know well. Something's wrong with me."

"You're stressed! We all are! We've been working too hard, that's why we're on vacation! Get a grip, Egon, you're not losing your marbles, you lost your glasses. We'll go back to the campsite, eat some of the fish Ray and Winston caught, and everything will be fine. C'mon, you think if I thought you were losing it, I wouldn't tell you?" Peter grinned as they started back to camp.

Egon considered. Maybe that's all it was, maybe stress and exhaustion accounted for Peter's sleepless nights and his own bleariness. Maybe, he thought, shaking his head, trying to remember something that just wouldn't come to the surface, something about his getting lost. But whatever it was stayed hidden, refusing to explain itself to him.

After a night's sleep and a day's worth of hiking with Winston, Egon felt like himself and was almost willing to accept Peter's explanation for why he had gotten lost. Almost, but not quite. The whatever-it-was-he-couldn't-remember teased at the corners of his mind, making it impossible to be truly comfortable with the facile idea that he was simply too stressed. Still, there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it, and Egon was sure it would resolve itself eventually. As he and Winston headed back to camp for dinner, he decided he'd make a note to concentrate on trying to remember the elusive idea when he got back to New York.

Winston was having the time of his life. The pressures of work had been expressing themselves in bizarre ways in his sleep, and after almost six straight weeks of non-stop sex dreams he was wholeheartedly sick of them. Maybe it was being away from New York or work, or maybe it was Egon and Peter starting to get along again, but whatever it was he was definitely feeling better than he had in ages, and the dreams seemed to be on hiatus for the time being. And, Zeddemore thought, we've got an explanation now for half of the equation: Peter's been stressed lately 'cuz he's not sleeping any better than I am. Winston grimaced internally. Just for a different reason. I hope he can get his head straight soon. If he's going to keep having loud, scary nightmares like that...

He glimpsed Peter, apparently relaxed and enjoying himself, roasting hot dogs on a coat hanger wire as he and Egon came within sight of the campsite. Although I've gotta admit the man has de-stressed amazingly in the past three days. This trip has been good for him too. Now if we could just get Egon permanently out of the ozone the way he was today, the Ghostbusters will be in shape to take on Gozer. Not that we'd want to, but you never know when you might have to be in fighting shape.

"You guys up for marshmallows and hot dogs tonight?" asked Ray, coming out of his tent with a bag of Stay-Puft marshmallows as Egon and Winston made themselves comfortable at the campfire. "His Grace here accidentally dumped my snake stew into the fire, so tonight it's back to the stuff we brought along to eat."

"Snake stew?" Winston asked, looking at Peter for confirmation he'd heard correctly.

Peter grinned. "Ray found one getting cozy in his tent and being the territorial kind of guy he is, decided it was toast. So to speak."

"Did you really dump that stew accidentally, Peter?" Egon asked in an undertone as Ray grabbed some more coat hangers out of Ecto's trunk.

"You don't think I'd purposely dump something Ray had cooked into the fire, do you?" Peter asked innocently, turning his skewer with extreme attention to how the hot dog was cooking.

Winston snorted as Egon raised an eyebrow at his colleague and shook his head. The rest of the meal progressed uneventfully, with the exception of the entire bag of marshmallows Peter consumed by himself, making him even more hyper than usual.

As the Ghostbusters turned in for the night, Winston smiled to himself in satisfaction. The team was starting to hang together again. Nothin' like being on vacation.

Pacing the office of her high-rise apartment was one unhappy vampire. Not only had the fazing of Egon not had the desired effect two days before, but Lia's ability to affect the emotions and reactions of the Ghostbusters at this distance was extremely limited and draining for her. Let's see how Peter reacts to another full-blown orgy dream, she thought vengefully. And right after that, I think I'll put Ray and Winston in a car accident while Peter watches, helpless. I can't seem to make them more tense while they're awake; I tried to ruin dinner for them this evening by making Egon hazy and Winston depressed and they didn't even feel it! This trip is restoring their equilibrium. But when they're asleep I can still do damage...Lia closed her eyes, concentrating on Peter, his voice, his face, his thoughts, pushing her reluctant and persistent liking for him aside.

Her eyes snapped open, full of fury. He was awake again. Over this vacation he'd taken to staying awake during most of the night, except for a few short hours near sunrise. She could only suppose he was napping during the day since he didn't seem to be any more stressed or sleep-deprived. How was she supposed to make them vulnerable to attack if they weren't close enough for her to work efficiently off existing tensions, and if they were relaxing and kicking back so much there was no tension to begin with?

Calm down. They have to come back sometime. And when they do...

Lia was waiting for them at the firehouse when they returned, along with Janine and Slimer. Laughing and talking, the guys unloaded Ecto-1 while describing the trip to them, telling how Egon got lost on their second day there, about the fish that got away, and what a good time they'd had. Janine was relieved to see the level of friction seemed to have diminished considerably; the guys were nearly themselves again, joking and kidding each other like buddies, not sniping and arguing like enemies.

Less than pleased was Lia. As Egon walked forward to give her a hello kiss on the cheek, she noted with displeasure that he and Peter seemed to have completely made up their differences and, far from exacerbating their problems, the trip seemed to have healed the growing breach in the team. Winston and Peter were still tired, and she could tell that Egon was not working at his highest capabilities, but the wedge she had tried to drive into the group seemed to be non-existent.

Much more of this, she thought in disgust while watching Peter kid Janine about baby-sitting Slimer before giving her the souvenir they'd picked up for her, and all of my work will have been wasted. I can't let that happen.

Well, it looks like I'll have to move my schedule up. One week. One week more of bad dreams and added tension, and I'll put the final plan into action. Lia smiled at Ray, inwardly seething, and asked him how the fishing had been. Ray. We'll see how your friends react when you're taken from them, and whether they're able to stay together in the face of your mysterious disappearance and the nightmares and horror that accompany it.

Over the week since they returned the dreams had stopped, for only one reason - Peter had drugged himself into unconsciousness. The sleeping pills he was taking put him immediately into a deep, undreaming sleep, free of awareness of his nightmares. His brain still concocted dreams, but they never reached his conscious mind. Only he was having to take more and more of them for the pills to work and it was taking a toll on his physical health, so after the trip he decided to see if he was still dreaming without them.

Peter was sleeping peacefully four nights after their return, just entering the REM phase, when the dream hit him like a slap across the corpus cerebellum.

Someone was screaming. Peter turned his head to see who it was and immediately wished he hadn't. This one's gonna be bad, was his passing thought. Ray was sitting on the couch in the TV room with one arm missing and blood spurting from his shoulder, moaning in pain, eyes glassily staring up at his tormentor. Justin Tremaine stood over him with the missing arm in his hand, gloating. The vampire looked just as he had six months before, handsome and arrogant and evil. Peter knew the guy was dead, knew this was just a nightmare, but he couldn't stop the visceral reaction of horror upon seeing him leaning over Ray and leering horribly.

"How are you feeling, Ray?" Justin asked in mock concern. "You're so tired, your arms are falling off? Your head aches, you say? Well, I can fix that," he said cheerfully. He reached over to Ray's neck, fingers outstretched.

"NOOOOOO!" yelled Peter, rushing forward to tackle Tremaine. Somehow he missed, going right by the vampire and past the couch, rocketing into a corner of the room. He whirled around in a frenzy, desperate to prevent any further harm to Ray when another outrage met his eyes. Winston was lying in the corner beyond the sofa, eyes glassy, great gouts of blood pumping their way out of the wound on his neck. Peter staggered back, sickened. C'mon, wake up, he thought in terror. It's a dream!!! WAKE UP! He turned around and gagged. Egon was suspended from the ceiling by his hair, groaning in pain, slash and bite marks across his body from where the vampire had attacked him. He looked like a carcass, bits of bone showing through his jumpsuit. As Peter watched, Egon gave a gasping cough and his body relaxed as he expelled his last breath. Peter moaned in anguish, traumatized by the brutality of what he was seeing, helpless with grief. Nearly crying with despair, Peter turned to help the only remaining Ghostbuster still alive.

Maybe he could help Ray, kill that bastard Tremaine, and that would put an end to this dream. Peter finally saw where the screaming was coming from when he swung around for another attack on the vampire. Janine was crouched on the floor, wailing at the top of her lungs. As she pleaded with Justin to please stop it, please, please, she seemed unhurt, which was more than he could say for himself.

Janine was bent over his body where it lay on the floor, and boy, was it a mess. Wait a minute, if I'm over there, how can I be here? Peter took another look at the guy on the floor, stomach clenching in nausea. Yep, definitely me. But I seem to be missing my heart...

Justin wheeled around, toe to toe with the psychologist so that he was looking directly into Peter's eyes. "You're dead, Venkman," he snarled.

"Aaigh," Peter gasped awake with a start. He was sitting straight up in bed, sweating bullets, tears running down his face. He pushed his hands through his hair. "Oh, man, that was too much," he whispered aloud. He took several deep breaths to calm himself, slumping back onto the bed. Not again, he thought in distress. Please God, not again. What a mistake. That was the absolute worst, ever. Tomorrow night I'm taking the pills again. Or better yet, I won't sleep at all. Somehow, some way, I'll get through this. It'll be okay. He refused to think of anything else, refused to remember the horror he'd just awakened from, and stared at the ceiling until dawn.

"Ooowwww," whimpered Lia, hands pressed against her forehead. Peter's awakening had had a severe side-effect, the harnessed emotions and fear had backlashed onto her when he'd become conscious. She sobbed, feeling scared and despairing, unable to tell where her emotions left off and his began. Taking deep breaths, holding onto her sides, she eventually regained control of herself. Justin...

But this time when she thought his name it wasn't with the love and care she usually felt. Peter's rage and terror tinged her feelings and memories, twisting her heart. While Lia had instigated the nightmare by sending a scenario of carnage to Peter's brain, the villain of the piece had been a shock to her. Left to its own devices Peter's subconscious had chosen Tremaine as the murderer. Lia remembered Peter's reaction upon seeing him, the violent loathing he'd felt when he realized who had hurt Ray. God, what did Justin do to make Peter hate him so much? The answer was simple. He had hurt Janine.

For the first time in months, Lia wondered why Justin had tried to kill Janine. What had she done? What was worth ripping out her throat, exposing himself like that? She'd have to ask Ray when the opportunity arose. She needed details on what had happened Valentine's Day.

Uneasily, she remembered the feelings Peter had experienced during the nightmare. The protectiveness he'd felt for Ray and Janine was like... was like what she felt for her family. Her fledgling children. All of his reactions, Lia realized, were those of a man whose family is threatened. Not business partners, not friends, not even best friends, but family. His heartache at the sight of Egon was similar to what she had felt when one of her elder vampire friends, her oldest mentor, had walked into the sunlight committing suicide rather than face another day, another night in hell. She should have saved him. She should have saved Justin.

Lia hugged herself, chilled. I am hurting people whose motivations are too like my own. I am hurting the Ghostbusters, who I once liked, in the name of someone I love. She firmed her chin. I am not doing this for revenge. It is justice. It is a matter of honor. Liking has nothing to do with it. They killed Justin. Whatever he did, he did for a good reason. I must place my trust in that and, for the sake of honor, see that justice is done in his name. She thought of Peter. "But why," she whispered, "did he have to be so like Justin?"

Ray noticed that Egon was watching Peter with uneasiness the next morning, obviously waiting for an opportunity to say something. Winston was sleeping in, and the other three Ghostbusters were eating breakfast before they all went to an early call. Peter finally gave up and let the physicist have the opening he wanted. "What is it, Egon? You've been watching me like a mother hen since I woke up. What do you want to say?"

"You had another nightmare last night, didn't you?"

Peter opened his mouth, looked like he thought better of whatever it was he was going to say, and ignored the question. He got up and headed over to the fridge, whistling while he opened it and searched for the orange juice.

Egon looked annoyed. "I thought you said you were going to see someone about those when we got back from the camping trip, Peter. I didn't push it because it seemed like you weren't having them any more, but I was working late last night and heard you wake up."

"It was nothing." Peter slammed the fridge door. "Nothing I couldn't handle. I just went off the sleeping pills for a night to get my body back to normal and I had a dream that was a little too real. That's all. And I don't need to see anyone about the dreams, they're not a problem."

"You know, you shouldn't be taking too many of those pills," Ray said in concern. "They can't be good for you. And," he said, buttering his toast, "I agree with Egon. You ought see someone about these nightmares."

"What is this, a conspiracy?" Peter grabbed a grapefruit slice from the plate and waved it around agitatedly. "I am not going to a shrink, understand? Most of them are nuttier than their patients and they all charge exorbitant fees for doing something I'm perfectly capable of doing myself, which is giving myself sleeping pills when I'm stressed. Drop the subject."

"If you get as stressed and sleepless as you were before vacation, it will definitely become a problem. Sleep deprivation is an extremely quick way to become temporarily psychotic. As was evidenced by your behavior throughout July." Egon pushed up his glasses, his attention making Peter fidget with obvious irritation.

"Give it a rest, Egon. You aren't someone who ought to be talking about his behavior during July, so just don't push it, okay?" The second the words were out of his mouth, Peter's face showed that he wished he could call them back, but it was too late. Egon put his newspaper down and left the kitchen without another word. "Aw, Egon..." Peter threw up his hands in disgust, then headed downstairs, probably for the storage cabinet and their proton throwers.

Ray stared at his breakfast in depression, his appetite gone. Things had been going so well since they'd gotten back from the trip, but it looked like the team was headed in the same direction they'd been going when they'd left. Peter was having nightmares again, Egon and he were snapping at each other... Ray sighed, then brightened. At least he'd be able to do something for Janine tomorrow. He and Lia had decided to go shopping together for a present for her birthday. It was a little early to shop for it - her birthday wasn't until the middle of September, three weeks away - but Lia had told him she'd found this great little shop with all sorts of antiques up on the Upper East Side, and she wanted him to help her pick out something nice for her friend. He was looking forward to getting Janine something really special. She'd been depressed lately, he couldn't tell about what, and maybe if he found something terrific he'd give it to her early in an effort to shake her out of her blues. Until then he had a job to do. Ray grabbed one last slice of toast as he headed for the car, hoping Peter and Egon would make up their argument before they put their throwers on.

The next evening Ray strolled up from the subway station thinking about what to get Janine. Lia had said the shop he was going to meet her at sold antiques as well as other possible gifts. Maybe some jewelry - antique jewelry? Janine loved wild earrings, maybe he could find her some really dangly ones.

As he walked down the street, Ray glanced around the neighborhood. It was rundown and parts of it were falling apart, but it looked like Yuppie developers had recently attacked and were trying to upgrade the area into a profit-making center. There was a café on one corner, a high-tech record & CD store across the street, and an import car repair shop farther along. The twilight shadowed the neighborhood in spite of these improvements, though. Ray wished Lia had been able to get away sooner for this shopping trip, because this wasn't a place he wanted to be when it got too late. I guess this place doesn't have much of a night life on weekends - Saturdays, at least.

Finally, he saw the shop he'd been looking for. CURIOUS GOODS read the sign above the window which held a merry-go-round rocking horse. Ray could see Lia standing in the doorway, smiling. He waved to her. Just then someone grabbed his arm, spinning him around. Ray found himself facing two mean-looking young men who reminded him of TV mob enforcers, grinning at him as if they'd just won the lottery and he was holding their check for the money.

"C'mere, amigo, we want to show you something," said the shorter one, holding Ray's arm in a death-lock. The other roughly pushed Ray into a nearby alley, reaching into an inner jacket pocket for something while glancing up and down the street for witnesses. The street was empty at that moment, with no passersby or traffic.

"If you want the money, take it," Ray said, reaching for his wallet. "I'm not going to give you any trouble." Not two against one, I'm not, Ray thought, eyeing the thugs with caution. Veteran New Yorker that he was, the idea of taking on two guys bigger than he who already had the drop on him was one which he immediately rejected. Besides, Lia had to have seen what was happening, she'd probably called the police already.

"You got that right," said the taller, blond mugger, who suddenly jabbed Ray with the hypodermic he'd been concealing in his hand.

"Hey," was all Ray had time to say before whatever drug was in the needle kicked in, making his body go limp and his mind fuzzy. Vision blurring, he could barely follow what was happening to him as the muggers bundled him into the back of a car parked at the other end of the alley. He tried to struggle but he couldn't seem to force his body to move and after a few more minutes he blacked out, his last thought being that he really hoped Lia got the license number on the car...

Briefly, he thought he felt himself being carried, and opened his eyes to a glaring streetlight. "He's waking up," he heard, and started to turn his head. Someone hit him hard on the back of the head, and he saw stars and lost what little grip he had on the situation. The next time he woke up, Ray was sure he was dreaming.

He was in a small, stark room, diffuse light coming from a set of fluorescents in the ceiling. The room was tiled in a white and black diamond pattern covering every surface - floor, walls, and a shelf along the opposite wall. At the center of the floor was a drain and water was dripping its way into it from the steam-laden walls. The one door into the room was frosted glass and fitted into its frame with no cracks. Next to it was a vent covered by large, wet rocks, with the sound of air entering the room loudest from that direction. It was unbearably hot, punishingly humid, and Ray could hardly breathe for the dampness and the heat in the air. He tried to move, and discovered he was chained to the wall.

The chains were metal, leading to pins imbedded in the wall above his head. Protective cloth cuffs encircled his wrists and forearms, keeping the chains from touching his skin but effectively limiting his attempts to free himself. His arms were spread-eagled above his head, his back touching the wall. Ray's legs were also restrained by cuffs and chains attached to bolts in the floor. Someone with a warped sense of humor had taken his clothes too, Ray noted, more concerned about his captive state than with modesty. Millions of questions were shooting through his mind. What had happened to him? Who would want to kidnap him? Somebody who thought they could hold him for ransom? Did the guys know he'd been grabbed yet? Where was he? Most important, how was he going to get out of this?

A sharp hissss distracted him as the temperature in the steam room rose sharply with the influx of more hot air from the vent near the doorway, so thick that Ray could see the steam rise in the air, curling up to the ceiling, temporarily blocking his view of the door. He heard a sharp click and then a blast of cool air hit him. Closing his eyes in relief, he gulped at it greedily, just realizing for the first time how truly unbearably hot the room was. When the steam cleared, he opened his eyes.

Lia was standing on the other side of the doorway, leaning her face and arms against the edge of the open glass door, watching him. Ray shook his head, disoriented. "Lia?" he asked, hearing his own voice sound weak and confused.

She smiled, not answering the implicit question. "What...?" Ray tried to ask, unsure if she was really there or if he was hallucinating, unsure of anything except that he was in a lot of trouble.

Lia tilted her head to one side, consideringly. She looked deep into Ray's pleading eyes...

...and closed the door as another burst of steam permeated his prison.

The next thing to do would be to make the phone call. She just needed a little more time, a tiny interval to make it believable, and then she would call Ghostbuster Central. Lia smiled, hugging herself. It had gone beautifully, almost perfectly. There had been a minute there when she had been afraid he wasn't going to wake up, sure that everything was ruined, but Ray hadn't been very hurt after all. Still, she was going to have to make sure Robert was dealt with. She turned to Murphy, who was standing across the room waiting for her instructions.

"Fire Robert," she said. "I don't care if Ray was going to wake up, I don't care what excuses he gives, I specifically said Dr. Stantz wasn't to be harmed. If he'd been seriously hurt all of my plans could have been ruined. See that he's given a large sum of money, and while you're at it make sure he understands what will happen to him if he decides to tell anyone about our guest."

"Very well. Shall I get any food while I'm gone?" Murphy asked, adjusting his chauffeur's cap. He was the only one who knew what she was doing. Robert and Matthew had transferred the occultist to her limousine and Murphy had driven him to the Black Diamond and chained him up, just as she'd asked him to. Lia had been so pleased to find him there, until Murphy had told her of how Robert's clumsiness had nearly botched everything.

"The usual for me. Gerbil, or maybe some small rats, I don't care which. Get anything you want for yourself. Dr. Stantz won't be dining tonight," Lia said, chuckling in anticipation. No, not tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or the night after that. Maybe some water. Yes, I think so. But other than that...

She looked around her newly remodeled lair. The underground pool was restored to all of its former glory, the tile shining like new. The room off to the left held her bed and whatever other necessities she'd need for the next week or so. Maybe longer, depending on how long he lasts. The arched doorway to the right led to her office, with its computer linkup to her "job" at Hunt & Evers so she could "work at home" while she was out sick for the coming days.

Lia walked into the office and shut the door, savoring the silence. At last it was all coming together. No mistakes, no loose ends, everything ready for her revenge, the retribution she had so carefully planned all summer and nursed along with such care. She frowned. And you nearly spoiled it, Ray. Rage boiled up again as she thought of how he had derailed her schedule. You with your camping trip and your concern for your friends. I deliberately left you alone so I'd have the pleasure of breaking you in person, and you go and upset everything. Lia shook her head grimly. I underestimated him. I'll have to remember not to do that again.

She crossed her legs, sitting up straight in her chair, and dialed 555-BUST. "Egon? Is that you?" she asked when the call was connected, concern and worry in her voice. "Is Ray there?" Lia took a breath. "He's not? You're sure? Well, he was supposed to meet me at this shop, we were going to look for a present for Janine... No, he never showed up, and you know that's not like him. I was hoping you had an emergency bust and he didn't have time to call me... If he's on his way there then we missed each other, I'm back at my apartment now. So when he comes back, could you apologize to him for me? I'm not feeling well and I decided to come home... No, it's nothing serious, just the stomach flu. I've been feeling rundown lately and I get these awful headaches... Really? You don't mind?" Relief dripped from her voice. "Thanks for being so understanding, Egon, I'm just not going to be up to our date tomorrow, I can tell... Yes, I'll take care of myself. Yes, I'll call when I'm feeling better. Don't worry so much. Give my regards to Ray." She listened for a moment, then laughed. "Honestly, when will you learn that I always like to be with you? The tickets to the show were just an added incentive. Love you. Talk to you later. Bye." She hung up, humming happily, swinging her legs on top of her desk.

Just enough. Just enough reason to worry a little when he doesn't come home tonight. Then tomorrow he won't come home for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. Maybe they start to wonder, call around to friends, figure something happened. Monday they'll know something's wrong. She giggled. And they'll be right!

Lia bounced out of her chair and went through the hallway to her bedroom, perusing the tools she had laid out on her bed. Which to use first? she thought, weighing her options. So many choices, and only one man to exercise them on. She grinned ferally. Justin, I wish you were here. You'd truly appreciate the artistry of what I'm about to do. But then, if Justin were here none of this would be necessary. A rush of loneliness filled her, leaving her empty inside. In that moment she would have traded anything - the man in the steam room, her money, the lives of her other children - to have him back, and it made what she was doing seem pointless, a consolation prize for her loss. Ruthlessly she stamped on that feeling, remembering why she was doing this. For justice and honor, not for any emotional reason. For honor and Justin.

By Sunday afternoon the Ghostbusters were really worried about Ray. There had been a comic book convention that weekend and they hadn't been too surprised when he hadn't come home Saturday night, but the main events had ended that morning and there was no sign of Ray. Plus, he hadn't called the night before or kept his appointment with Lia. Dinnertime came and Peter decided enough was enough.

Dialing the hotel where the con was held, he told Egon, "Maybe he just stayed there overnight, but if that's the case he's got some explaining to do. Yeah, get me room 418, sweetheart. This is Dr. Peter Venkman, one of the Ghostbusters?" He smiled, preening even though the female at the other end couldn't see him. "Yes, the cute one. I'm trying to get hold of Ray Stantz, the missing one." He listened for a few moments, then said "Hi, Cheryl, it's Peter. Ray there?" He turned an alarmed look on Egon. "He never showed up?" Peter listened a moment more, then abruptly said, "Thanks, Cheryl. Talk to you later," and hung up.

"We got a problem. Ray never made it to the con," Peter said, dialing another number. "If he didn't make it to the shop where he was supposed to meet Lia, then no one's seen him since before five yesterday evening. Hi, Lia, it's your dream man," Peter said into the phone, pausing to roll his eyes. "No, the other one. No, the other other one." He sighed. "Skip it, okay? Listen, what was the name of that place where you were supposed to meet Ray?" He motioned for a pad of paper and pencil, which Egon hastily handed to him as Winston looked on in concern. Peter listened for a moment longer, writing down the address. "Got it. Thanks, Lia. What? Oh, no reason. Just wanted to... check to see if they had an antique set of etchings. Yeah, those kind." Peter grinned as Egon raised an eyebrow. "Hope you're feeling better. Take care." He hung up.

Egon grabbed the phone. "Let me do this one. I don't think I trust you not to say something outrageous if you get a female, you seem to be working up to something." Peter protested but surrendered the phone to Egon, who called CURIOUS GOODS. "Hello, may I please speak to whomever was working at your store last night?" Egon pushed his glasses up, drumming his fingers as the young woman at the other end went to fetch the manager. "Yes, this is Dr. Egon Spengler. I was wondering if a friend of mine was at your shop yesterday evening. He's in his late twenties, auburn hair, medium height, medium build..." Egon lifted his head, his mouth thinning to a straight line as he listened to the voice on the phone. "The only person who came in last evening was a young woman with dark hair?" Winston and Peter exchanged tense glances, then Peter looked away, trying to think of where else Ray could be. "Thank you, I appreciate your telling me this. If you do see him," Egon took a breath, "tell him to call home. Yes, thanks." He slowly replaced the receiver, looking at his colleagues with a tight expression on his face.

Peter tried to relax and convince himself nothing was wrong. Ray could be lots of places. Dead in a ditch, in a hospital, in a car accident, flashed through his mind. Egon was speaking, bringing Peter back to the present.

"Winston, why don't you call all his friends who were supposed to be at the con, see if he went somewhere with one of them before it was going to start. I'm going to call around to some of the hospitals," Egon was saying.

Peter shuddered. Get a grip. Ray's fine. Egon's just being cautious. But he said only, "I'll call the cops, tell them Ray's missing, and see if they know anything."

Thirty minutes later Peter lost it. Having gone through numerous levels of police bureaucracy, he was in no mood to bow to red tape. "Forty-eight hours? Forty-eight hours?!? Do you have any idea what could happen to someone in forty-eight hours? Yeah, well, the next time the walls at the precinct start bleeding, put a band-aid on them!! And don't call me for forty-eight hours!!!" He slammed the receiver down, fuming, and stomped into the main entertainment room where Winston was hanging up the phone, looking tired. "Do you believe it? They say Ray's an adult and unless we've got some specific reason for believing he's in danger or suicidal, we can't file a missing person report until 72 hours after he disappears. Anything could happen by then." Anything, he thought, trying to mask his fear.

Winston leaned back in his chair, discouraged. "None of his friends have seen him, either. This does not look good. He'd have called if he could, you know that. Which means..."

"Nothing." Egon was leaning against the door jamb, rubbing his eyes. "There may not be a phone wherever he is. He could have gotten stuck somewhere with one of his comic book convention friends and there's no phone. He's not in any of the local hospitals, I can tell you that much." He put his glasses back on. "I think we ought to get some dinner and then some sleep. None of us are thinking clearly and we've done all we can. Chances are Ray will show up bright and early tomorrow morning with a perfectly logical explanation for why he didn't call or come home."

"It had better be a good one," groused Winston.

Dinner was somber, Peter not noticing what they ate, waiting for the phone to ring. As he got ready for bed he noticed Slimer drifting mournfully through the bedroom. "Ray okay?" Slimer asked hopefully, looking for reassurance.

"Yeah sure, Spud," Peter said automatically. Then he saw the wistful look on Slimer's silly-putty face. "Hey, don't worry, you know he's gonna turn up tomorrow. Trust me. Okay?"

"Okay," Slimer agreed, then gave Peter an enthusiastic hug.

"Aw, Slimer," he grumbled, going back into the bathroom to wash off the goop. It was a half-hearted grumble at best but it made him feel better. Things would look better in the morning, when Ray was back.

Winston had been sure he would toss and turn for hours before getting to sleep, but worry had worn him out and he dropped off almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Then he dreamed about finding Ray.

"Mr. Zeddemore? Could you come down to Pier 15? I think we've found your friend," said the man on the other end of the phone.

"You're kidding. How is he?" Winston asked, but the phone was already dead, the dial tone buzzing in his ear. He grabbed his coat and ran out the door, flagging down a taxi.

The day was gray and overcast, and the chill made him shiver. He hunched into his coat, thinking of what he'd say to Ray when he saw him. Right after he hugged him with sheer happiness.

The taxi stopped at a deserted pier. "Pier 15. That'll be five bucks, Mac," said the cabdriver.

Winston dug in his pockets, found a ten, and said, "Keep the change." He slammed the car door, looking around as the rain slowly started to fall. An eerie feeling crept up his spine, like someone was hiding just out of sight, ready to say "Boo!"

"Anybody here?" he called, walking along the pier. The boards creaked below his feet and the mist clung to his face, intensifying the cold. He looked down at the water beneath him, green and murky, swirling around the piles and the logs and...

Winston stared as something floated past. What did I just see?

He turned around following the thing floating in the water, his heart hammering with dread. Part of him knew he didn't want to look and another demanded he be sure, that he confirm his worst fears.

Ray Stantz's body floated face-up in the water twenty feet below him, white skin bloated, eyes staring like glass, his hair drifting around his face as the current bumped him repeatedly into the edge of the pier.

"No...No...RAAAAY!!" yelled Winston, his voice cutting through the quiet in the bunkroom. "RAAAY!!!"

Egon turned on the light. "Winston? What is it?" he asked blearily, staggering over to his friend's bed as Peter stared around blinking stupidly.

Winston caught his breath, looking around wildly. "Ray?"

"It was a dream, Winston," Egon said, swaying on his feet. Peter shook his head like someone trying to get water out of his ears as Egon continued, "What happened?"

"Oh, man," Winston breathed, putting his face in his hands. "A dream? That was only a dream?" He took his hands away. It had been so real, he could feel the chill of the air and smell the interior of the cab. He could still see Ray's face in the water. Winston started to gag, then threw aside the covers and ran for the bathroom, heaving. When he lifted his head up from the toilet, Peter was holding a glass of water for him, a strange expression on his face.

"Too real, huh?" he said. Winston took the water gratefully, washed out his mouth and nodded, his eyes closed. He'd been sure Ray was dead, the despair choking him. Waking up wasn't that much better. He opened his eyes and looked at Peter, and realized with a jolt that this had to be the kind of nightmare Peter had been having for months. "Man, how do you stand it?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Peter shrugged, a strung-out look on his face. "I don't. I've been taking those sleeping pills, remember?" He turned around abruptly and left the bathroom.

Winston turned out the light in the bathroom and re-entered the bedroom where Egon was getting back into bed. The blond physicist glanced over at Winston with an appearance of resignation. "I don't suppose you want to talk about the nightmare you just had, do you?" he asked.

Winston grimaced. "Did you ever have one of those dreams where you woke up and were just glad to be in your bed?" Egon's head came up, and his eyes sharpened on Winston. "I could feel the fog on my face. I could smell the cab's interior... it was just too real." He turned away. "It didn't help, seeing Ray in the water. It felt like a punch in the gut."

Egon's eyes narrowed. Something about the description sounded familiar. Ray. Ray in trouble again. Just like in Peter's dream. Hmmm... Stifling a yawn of exhaustion, Egon drifted back to sleep. Something to think about tomorrow.

Too tense to sleep and scared of what he'd dream if he tried, Winston wandered downstairs where Peter was making himself a pot of coffee. "Sorry I woke you up," he said, getting a cup for himself.

"Forget it. I'm going to wait up for Ray. You know, he probably will come in at 4 A.M., and if one of us isn't awake he won't wake us up to tell us he's okay," Peter said, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

"Not a bad idea. Why don't we see what's on the TV, watch a monster movie while we wait?" Winston suggested.

Around 4 A.M., Winston finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, some part of him aware of Peter pacing out in the hallway. They'd had about three pots of coffee between them and watched Killer Bimbos from Outer Space on USA, both of them studiously avoiding looking at the clock. Winston would catch himself listening for the door, or intercept Peter's gaze and realize the other man was looking at the phone as if his life depended on it. Ray, you better not be coming home today without a damn good explanation, Winston thought as he fell asleep. Somewhere deep inside he thought, Just come home at all, m'man. Don't do this to us.

Janine walked into Central at 9 A.M. to find Peter Venkman walking up and down the stairs looking like a zombie. "Late night, Dr. V?" she asked waspishly.

He turned on the landing and looked at her sharply, his eyes two dark holes in his head, his movements jittery. "Ray's missing," he said abruptly.

Putting her coat on the coat rack and adjusting her clothes before sitting at her desk, Janine asked calmly, "What do you mean, missing? Missing as in forgot to call in, missing as in late, what? And will you stop that, you're makin' me nervous."

"Missing as in Action, Janine, Missing In Action, completely gone, no one's seen him since Saturday, missing as in nowhere!" Peter yelled, stomping down the staircase. He was obviously over the edge, totally bonkers. Janine started to get scared. Egon opened the library door and came down the stairs to where Peter was vibrating and staring at Janine with intensity.

Janine glanced at Egon, whose face was drawn with weariness and worry. He nodded back at her, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. "Dammit Egon don't do that!" Peter yelled, twitching like a drunk with the DT's. Janine had never seen him so wired, not even that time she'd been in the hospital. She was now seriously worried, not just for Ray, but for Peter too. For the usually urbane and unflappable Dr. Venkman to be this upset, either he suspected something awful had happened to Ray, or he wasn't completely together himself.

"Peter, did you get any sleep at all last night?" Egon asked, moving away a pace to give Peter some room to shake.

"NO. I didn't. Winston and I, we stayed up, we waited for Ray. He's not here. Where is he, Egon?" asked Peter, part angry, part pleading, green eyes very wide and very tired.

"How many cups of coffee did you have?" Egon said, looking at his friend's eyes and his quivering limbs, ignoring Peter's questions.

"I don't know. Two pots, maybe three. I didn't want to sleep. I now believe that sleep is highly overrated. Look at the nightmares I've been having. Look at the one Winston had last night. We don't need to sleep, they proved that once. It's all psychological, we just think we do. That's why people go psychotic if they don't get enough sleep. But I'm going to prove we don't need to, I'm going to stay awake 'til Ray gets back," Peter proclaimed, waving his arms to illustrate his point and looking like one of the wandering prophets Janine had seen in the middle of Central Park explaining that he knew the Universal Truth, they were all going to die, it would be fun. Venkman's lost it, she decided.

"That's good, Peter," Egon said slowly, as if talking to a small child. "Tell me, on Saturday night: did you get much sleep then, before we knew Ray was missing?"

"No, I was staying up late, I slept, oh, maybe two hours around midnight, why do you ask?" Peter rattled off. "And what's important is, why didn't Ray call? He'd call if he could. I know that. You know that. Ray knows we worry. He'd have called if he could have gotten to a phone. So where is Ray that there are no phones?" he said in a dramatic voice.

"So basically you're saying you haven't slept for 48 hours or so, and you've ingested massive amounts of caffeine, is that right?" Egon doggedly said, obviously trying to find out exactly what shape his friend was in. Peter stared at him a moment, perplexed, then nodded. "You have got to get some sleep. Do you understand me, Peter?" Egon asked.

"No, I have to wait for Ray," Peter responded argumentatively, folding his arms over his chest and swaying on his feet.

Egon looked over at Janine, an entreating look. "Janine, can you help me here?" he asked, taking Peter's arm and trying to guide him upstairs.

Janine slowly approached Peter as if he was a bomb waiting to go off, and took his other arm. "Dr. Venkman," she said quietly, "let's go upstairs, and you can tell me about it. You'll lie down on the couch-"

"Winston's on the couch," Peter stated, trying to look authoritative but only appearing belligerent and scared.

"Okay, forget the couch. We'll put you on your bed and you'll talk about this until you feel better," Janine said calmly, knowing the main point was to get him to calm down. I sure hope you have a plan, Egon. This guy is about to do something stupid, he's so tense.

"Bed? Janine, I didn't know you felt that way about me. Of course, if you're going to put me to bed, that's a different story," Peter said automatically, as if this was a response he'd stored up in case she ever said anything in that direction.

She grimaced at Egon. I'm gonna get you for this, I swear I will. He shrugged his shoulders in apology, guiding his hyper colleague into the bedroom and onto his bed. Peter's eyes were opening and closing, his body still shaking, but he seemed to be calming down.

"Janine?" Peter was weaving a little on the bed, voice scared and tired.

"What is it, Peter?" Janine said, gently pushing him into a prone position.

"You can't take advantage of me like this. What would Egon say?" Then, before Janine could retort, "I just wish he'd call, you know? Let us know he's all right. Unless he can't..." Peter's eyelids were fluttering.

"Janine, go for his sleeping pills. They're in the cabinet in the bathroom," Egon said in undertone.

"Okay, okay," Janine whispered, then smiled at a bleary Peter. When she re-entered the room, pills in her hand, she saw Peter had slowed down a little bit but was still twitching at odd intervals. She handed them to Egon with a look of concern.

"I hate to give him these, but if he doesn't get some sleep soon we're going to have to tie him down," Egon said to her. Tapping Peter's shoulder, he said, "Hey. Peter. One last thing."

"What? Whaddaya want?" Peter grumbled, sitting up.

"Drink this," Egon said, holding out the water, "and take these."

"Why?" Peter said, looking at them fuzzily.

"Because you want to, Peter," Egon said in a reasonable voice.

"I do?" Peter responded, drinking the water, then swallowing the white sleeping pills.

"Yes, you do," Egon said, then turning to Janine, "I'm going to check on Winston. Stay with him, will you?" At Janine's frosty look, he said wearily, "Please, Janine. I'll explain it all as soon as he's out."

Reluctantly, Janine nodded, burning for an explanation and extremely concerned about Ray. She looked back at Peter, who was tossing on the bed, fighting the pills. She'd never have admitted it, not even if you held a knife at her throat, but she was worried about Venkman too. Ray was easy to worry about, he seemed to walk into trouble so often. But if I'm worrying about Peter, something must really be wrong, Janine thought. She waited until he stopped moving, breathing becoming even, and then she tiptoed out of the bedroom in search of Egon and Winston.

She found them in the kitchen, Winston cradling his head in his hands like he had a hangover. If what Peter had said was any indication, Winston hadn't gotten much more sleep than he had last night.

"Are you all right, Winston?" she asked, walking to the coffeepot and pouring herself a cup.

He looked up and mustered a tired smile. "I guess. Didn't get much sleep last night," he said shortly, then added, "Egon fill you in on what's going on?"

"No, and I wish someone would," she said, sitting down at the table.

Egon came in with the morning paper and sat down across from Janine. "No one's seen Ray since Saturday night. He didn't go to the con, none of his friends know where he is, and he never showed up for a shopping appointment with Lia. He's not in any of the hospitals, at least no one answering his description is," Egon said, flipping through the paper until he found the City section. "I'm hoping the paper will have something that could be applied to Ray; a car accident, a mugging, anything."

"Gimme one of the sections, Egon, I'll help look," Winston said, rousing himself to reach for the paper.

"Isn't there something else we can do?" Janine said, feeling helpless.

Egon raised an eyebrow at her. "Like what? Go out in Ecto-1 and search Manhattan for him?" He sighed. "Peter's right, he's got to be in serious trouble if he didn't call us. I don't think a borough-wide search would accomplish much."

Janine took her mug and stood up, heading for the door. "I'll man the phones. Maybe someone will call soon."

"Maybe," Winston said in a dispirited voice. Janine had never seen him so down. Something else was going on with him, the same thing that was bothering Peter.

She sat down at her desk, and stared at the phone. Ring, she thought. C'mon you stupid phone, ring. Somebody call and say Ray's okay, I need to hear it.

The door to his prison opened and Ray could hear a conversation being held outside the doorway, the participants obscured by the door. Ray barely had the strength to lift his head. The sessions with the heat had drained his strength and worn him down to a thread, making him feel as if he weighed fifteen tons. He hadn't had anything solid to eat since he'd been grabbed, either, just some soup and water, and some juice a while ago. How long have I been here? he thought in fear. Two days? Three? I've got to escape, warn the guys... he stopped that line of thought. You aren't sure Lia is responsible, you haven't seen her since you woke up. That could have been a dream.

The man who had been feeding him and taking care of him, a grimly impersonal older man with golden-gray hair and hard eyes, entered the sauna. "You're going to see the lady now," he said, surprising Ray. Up until now, he'd only said "Yes", "No", and "Shut up." Ray hadn't been sure the guy could say anything more. His captor moved to unfasten the chains from the wall, being careful that their metal never touched Ray's skin. His arms released, Ray tried to work the kinks out of his muscles, looking for an opening, a chance to get away, while the guy unlocked his legs and then locked the chains to a padlock attached to a length of chain - like a leash, Ray thought sourly. Never mind that he was naked and didn't know where he was, that was a trivial problem compared with getting away. Nothing else mattered.

The guard prodded him in the back. "Move," he said shortly.

Ray walked out of the door, part of him just relieved to be out of the claustrophobic closet of a sauna he'd been stuck in. He stopped in shock, gaping at his surroundings. An Olympic size swimming pool, with ferns, potted palms and other plants, dominated the room whose vaulted ceiling reached a height of at least sixty feet. Except for the pool lights, the room was dark. The lights in the pool sent waves of illumination across the walls. He heard someone laugh and looked across the pool toward the source of the noise.

Lia sat cool and proper in a white linen dress, sipping a strawberry daiquiri, a large white picture hat perched on her head. She smiled as the guard led Ray over to the other lawn chair, pushed him into it, and then chained him to the nearby pool ladder. "Care for a drink, Ray?" she asked, gesturing with her glass.

"What the hell is going on?" he responded, ignoring her sally.

She frowned prettily. "Ray, such language. I didn't expect it from you. Dr. Venkman, maybe, but you? You're always such a gentleman."

Ray flushed, furious. "How am I supposed to be a gentleman when I've been locked up without food in a sauna for two days? And would you mind," he blushed again, arms resting awkwardly across his stomach, "giving me my clothes back?"

Lia looked amused. "I don't think you understand your situation, Ray," she said softly. "You are in no position to demand anything. If I ask you for something, you give it to me. Got it?" she rapped out.

Ray shook his head, licked his lips, and said with intensity, "Lia, why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you?"

The woman drew back, her face a mask. "That is the important thing, isn't it?" She stood up and walked to the pool edge, contemplating something in its depths. "Did you ever love someone, Ray?"

"What do you mean?" Ray asked cautiously, scanning the area for a knife, a blunt instrument, anything that would get him out of this. The guard stoically watched him, near enough to deliver a punch, far enough away that he didn't attract attention. What was his part in this? Money? Why were they doing this?

"A woman, Ray. Did you ever love someone so much you would give your life for theirs?" Lia stood as still as a statue, her arms folded across her chest. Something teased at Ray's memory. There was something familiar about that pose.

"I... cared about someone once. She had to leave me." Lia swung around, eyebrows raised, clearly surprised. Ray calmly continued. "I don't know about dying for someone, but I'd certainly do anything I could to prevent her or the guys from getting hurt. Or Janine. Is that what you mean?"

Lia smiled, a strange smile, like nothing was funny but she had to laugh or she'd cry. "Sort of." She turned back to the pool. "I have to do something for someone I love. I'm not going to pretend I don't want to do it; but if I could have that person back instead of doing what I'm about to do, I'd make the trade in a minute. You didn't hurt me, but you hurt this person."

"Who? C'mon, Lia, I don't care who he is or what he's told you, I've never hurt anyone. Maybe you think you have to do anything he asks, but you're going to get caught, and then where will you be?" Ray tested the strength of the chains, disgusted to find they were much too strong to break. Maybe I can work free of these cuffs? "He won't help you, you know," Ray said desperately, trying to think of what Peter would say to a woman if he were in a situation like this. "He'll let you take the rap."

"You aren't listening," said Lia patiently, her back straight, her gaze on the water. "I said, if I could have him back, I'd call it all off. He's dead. You and the other Ghostbusters killed him."

Ray gaped at her, shocked into complete attention. "I never killed anybody!!"

Lia turned around again, her cheeks wet with tears. "You told me you did, Ray. Don't you remember?" Ray stared back at her, completely confused. "I asked you about Justin Tremaine." She knelt by his chair, hands on the armrests, staring into his eyes.

Shaking his head, Ray stared back at her. "No." No, please God, no...

"Yes." Again, that rictus of a smile. "I was starting to like you, Ray. But when you said you killed Justin, you sealed your fate. Yours, and the others'." Lia smiled again, revealing sharp incisors, fangs much too long to be real. Ray made a convulsive movement, trying to get out of the chair, to escape, unable to control the impulse. Lia pushed him back into the chair effortlessly, holding his arms onto the armrests with unnatural strength.

Ray took a breath and looked into her face again. She wasn't smiling any more, or showing any emotion, just dispassionately examining his face as if he were an interesting sight. "Then Egon..." he said, remembering the other Ghostbusters, "You got Egon to fall in love with you." Lia nodded, not looking pleased, simply confirming a fact. "What else have you been doing?"

"Too many things to count, Ray, many too many," Lia replied. "But that will not concern you soon. Very soon you will be much too occupied with your own problems to worry about your friends'." She leaned forward, spacing out her words. "I have to make you suffer. There must be payment for what you did to Justin. And I must make your friends suffer. You killed my child, my love, my baby. There was no need for YOU TO DO THAT!!" Lia's words ended on a scream, her face contorting with hate. Ray stared, shocked, and more terrified than ever. I have to get out of here, he thought desperately.

Lia whirled away from Ray, releasing his arms, which Ray noticed were now throbbing in pain where she'd grabbed him. He watched her fight for control, sobbing, holding on to her arms. Suddenly, it hit him. "You're the goddess," he blurted out, pieces falling into place. "That statue, it was of you, the one in Tremaine's apartment..."

The vampire turned around and nodded wearily. She spoke softly. "See how fast you catch on? That wasn't so hard, was it? If you're that quick during the rest of your stay, things will go much easier on you." She gestured to the guard abruptly. "Take him back to the sauna and chain him up, Murphy. I'll be in soon."

How soon is soon? Ray thought in panic. Soon enough for me to get free? Lia moved to another door and entered a room Ray couldn't see. Murphy prodded him to stand up and unlocked his chains, then tugged Ray toward the sauna. As Murphy pushed him back into the room, Ray balked. Stopping at the sauna doors, he kicked out backward at the guard, hitting him in the knee. Turning, he tried to club the man with his fists but Murphy had already recovered and blocked the swing, then butted Ray in the stomach with his head, knocking the wind out of him. The older man was taller than Ray, solidly built like an ex-prize fighter, and had the advantage of having had three solid meals that day. Ray tried to fight back but, weakened by the past days' deprivation, he was no match for the other man, who picked him up and swung him across his shoulder. Murphy dumped Ray back against the wall and chained his arms. "Not smart, tough guy," the other man said softly. "You're only making it worse on yourself."

"What does she want with me?" Ray asked in a whisper. "Look, if she's paying you anything, my friends will pay double to get me back."

"I'm not doing this for money," Murphy said shortly.

Lia reentered the room, both hands behind her back. Her hat was gone, her long hair down her back, and she looked no more than twenty. Ray wondered how he ever could have thought her beautiful, though. The past few minutes had managed to completely disintegrate any friendship or crush he had had on her. "Pick a hand, Ray," she said sweetly. Ray looked back at her disbelievingly. "I said, pick... a... hand," the woman repeated, her brow furrowing.

"Left," Ray said without thinking.

Lia produced a Polaroid camera. Handing something to Murphy that Ray couldn't see, she turned back to her captive. "Smile!" she trilled, holding up the camera.

Ray blinked as the flash went off in his face, unable to see for a moment. When he could see, Lia was considering the photo. "I don't know," she sighed. "You look sort of surprised. Let's try for another one."

Another blinding light. "Much better," Lia cooed. "Your friends will be so pleased you're having a good time. When they see this picture, they'll know how little they have to worry about." She laughed lightly, then handed the camera and the photos to Murphy, taking back the mysterious whatever-it-was at the same time. "Do as we discussed with this picture. The letter is on my desk. See that it gets there by this evening. You can leave us alone, now." She watched the guard leave. Ray felt sick. She was wantonly hurting his friends, scaring the hell out of him, keeping him prisoner... How could I ever have liked her? She's crazy, evil, twisted.

Lia turned back to Ray in time to catch the expression on his face. "What's the matter, don't you like me anymore?" she asked sadly, shaking her head. She produced the mystery device from in back of her. Ray was perplexed. It looked like an ordinary curling iron, except there was no cord, just an extra large handle.

"A curling iron?" he asked, sounding lost.

Lia smiled. "Um-hmm. You've never curled your hair, have you?" she asked, patting him on the head. "Naturally curly. Like mine. Still, I like to style it. Mousse, gel, curlers. Curling iron. Do you have any idea how much a scalp burn from a curling iron can hurt?"

Ray looked back at her in horror. "You wouldn't," he said, his throat dry.

"Wanna bet, sweetcheeks?" Lia asked playfully, taking a hank of hair between the tongs of the styling tool. Slowly, carefully, she twisted it close to his scalp, then pressed it hard into his head. It didn't hurt at first, and then Ray found himself trying to twitch away. He felt as if his skin had been scraped raw and then had salt poured on it. "Please," he said, "Don't. Stop it." He couldn't twist away, and his forehead was starting to throb in pain.

"I'll stop if you tell me what really happened the night you killed Justin," Lia said expressionlessly.

"We had to kill him, he was going to kill Peter, he was going to get away," Ray gasped out, then howled as she pressed the iron along his temple, burning his ear.

"Why was he going to kill Peter?" she snarled, brutally twisting the hair at the nape of his neck, holding his head down. Ray could feel the heat of the iron above his neck.

"I don't know, he just really hated Peter, I think because he was a smart-ass to him, I don't know!" Ray yelled. He steeled himself for the next burn.

There was a pause, then Lia released his head. "I believe you," she said quietly. "That makes sense."

Ray risked a look at her. Her face was devoid of expression. Maybe he would get out of here soon. He let the air out of his lungs. "Look, we had a tracker on Janine. We were worried." Lia nodded at him to continue. "We got to the apartment and he'd already dumped her body. He said it was our fault she chose not to be a vampire, and that he'd had to kill her because of that OOOOWWWWWWW!!!!!"

Lia took the iron away from his jaw, watching him twitch in pain. "Don't lie," she whispered evenly. "Justin would never have done that. Mortals reject vampires all the time. We learn to live with loneliness. He would never have killed her for that."

"He did," Ray said before he thought, then winced in pain as she pressed the iron against his eyebrows. "OW. Ow. Ow. Why'd you have to do that?" he asked, breathing harshly.

"Take it back or I try it on your two chest hairs."

Ray's head snapped up. She was serious. He groaned. "I take it back," he whispered. Tremaine had said it, though. That was what he'd blamed the Ghostbusters for; changing Janine's mind, when they hadn't even been there. Nobody ever said vampires had to be logical. How was he supposed to get through this with his skin intact when she didn't believe what he said?

"Good boy," she said, stroking the unseared side of his jaw. "Now, Ray, this is very important." He stared at her listlessly. "Why did you say you killed him? How did it happen? Precisely."

"Egon and I, we made these UV lanterns." Lia's face showed her distaste. Ray hurried on, "We each had one. When we got there, Justin grabbed Peter, and Peter managed to burn him with his. He burnt his hands. Then he said he was going to come back for us, and jumped out the window." Ray watched her carefully, gulped, and said, "I turned on my lantern and he burst into flames...."

"Just like that," Lia said, looking at his neck. Ray swallowed again.

"Yes," he answered, as the iron descended on the join of his neck to his shoulders. He prepared himself for the pain... and found there was none. Surprised, he looked at her.

She shook the iron in frustration. "Damn," she spat out, "the batteries must have already gone dead. I'll have to recharge it before we can go any further. Wait right here, Ray."

As if I could go anywhere, he thought. He moved his arms, trying to get a little movement in the chains. Nothing. He looked at the cuffs. Maybe if I broke my wrist, like Houdini or those escape artists, I could wriggle free, get out of here. He looked down at his legs. It can't be impossible. I'll chew through my arm if I have to! Well, maybe not, I don't think that would work... Ray heard the click of high heels outside the door, closed his eyes, and started to pray. Please, God, help me. Help. Tell the guys where I am. And protect them too. Ray heard the door open, set his jaw against what was in store, and opened his eyes.

Peter woke up with a hangover. I don't remember drinking anything. Wonder what time it is. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his head. The room swam in front of his eyes. "Errrgh," he mumbled. Let's try it again. This time he managed to make it into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, made it to his feet, and tottered over to the dresser. His vision was clearing, as was his head, although it pounded unmercifully. He remembered Ray was missing, and that he'd meant to stay up until he returned. Vaguely. Maybe Ray was back now? He dressed hurriedly, wishing he knew how long he'd been asleep.

Hopefully, still staggering a bit, Peter made his way down the stairs to the second floor, looking around for his fellow Ghostbusters. He found Egon and Winston in the kitchen making a meal. Peter had no idea if it was lunch or dinner or breakfast, just that he was starved - and Ray wasn't there.

"He's not back yet?" he asked. Egon didn't turn around as Peter walked over to sample some of the stir-fry. It had an interesting taste, sort of like honey. Peter knew from experience that he didn't really want to know why it tasted good. Egon wasn't as bad a cook as Ray, but some of his experiments in cuisine verged on the bizarre.

"No," Egon replied shortly, still preoccupied, then looked up in surprise, still stirring the vegetables. "What are you doing up? I thought those pills were supposed to put you out for twelve hours."

"Foiled again, O evil mastermind," Peter sneered. "I'm probably building up a resistance to those things, worse luck. How long did that Mickey you slipped me put me out for?"

"Eight hours," responded Winston from where he sat at the table. "We haven't heard anything from Ray. Egon and I were just talking about what else we can do. I'm thinkin' of hitting that shop where he was supposed to meet Lia, maybe backtrack his trail a bit, see where he disappeared. Care to come with me?"

"Why not," Peter said wearily, "it makes as much sense as anything else." He rubbed his neck, trying to work out some of the soreness and thinking he needed a king-size dose of aspirin for the headache he'd woken up with. Between the sleeping pills, the coffee, and stress, he thought with black humor, I'd never pass a drug-screen right now.

"Guys?" Janine's voice came up the stairwell. "You've got a letter here, the messenger service left it. Looks important."

"Be right down, Janine," Peter called back, then pushed himself from the counter. "Probably somebody complaining about our last bill. I'll send it right back to the smug deadbeats." Winston chuckled as Peter left the room.

The envelope was the standard 8 1/2 x 11 manila type, with the Ghostbusters' name and address neatly lettered on it in blue ink. Peter sat on Janine's desk and grabbed her letter opener, whistling tunelessly as Janine remonstrated with him not to walk off with her stuff like he always did. He didn't really hear her, after opening the package he couldn't do anything but stare at what he held in his hand.

It was a Polaroid, the type that came out of the cheap easy-shot cameras, a picture-in-a-minute. Peter felt as if someone had hit his already pounding head with a sledgehammer, because he couldn't think. He literally could not think, he could only stare in shock at the picture he held in his hand. In the picture, Ray Stantz was chained to a wall naked, looking dazed, confused, and scared. He appeared unhurt, but the ramifications of someone sending a picture of Ray being held against his will, of what had happened to his friend, temporarily stunned Peter into paralysis.

"Dr. Venkman? Dr. Venkman! What is it?" Janine asked sharply, coming around her desk and grabbing his arm. Numbly, Peter showed her the photo. "Oh, no," Janine whispered, leaning against the desk for support. "Oh, Ray, no, this can't be happening." Her voice broke.

Janine's misery managed to jolt him out of shock. "Egon," Peter said, then cleared his throat and yelled, "EGON!! WINSTON! We've got major trouble!! Get your butts down here!!"

"What is it?" Egon asked as he and Winston hurried down the stairs. Peter pushed the photo into his hand as he reached the bottom of the staircase, and Winston leaned over Egon's shoulder to get a look at it. Egon's naturally pale coloring went several shades whiter, and Winston groaned. "Where did you get this?" Egon whispered hoarsely, staring at Peter with shocked eyes.

Peter held up the messenger envelope, not trusting himself to speak, not sure what he'd say if he did. In holding it up, he realized it held something else: a thin sheet of paper. He ripped the envelope apart and found a small note written in elegant handwriting, in blue ink.

An eye for an eye

A tooth for a tooth

A life for a life

Justin Tremaine died on St. Valentine's Day.

Ray Stantz may die on All Hallows Eve.

To rise again from the grave on All Hallow's Eve is to be damned.

Whether he lives or dies... is up to you.

Do not contact the police.

Tell no one.

Do not try to find Dr. Stantz.

We will know if you do so.

Wait for instructions.

Sincerely,

a friend of the late, undead Justin Tremaine

There was no signature on the note.

Peter looked up and realized he'd read it aloud when he saw the expressions on Egon and Winston's faces. Horror and stunned disbelief looked back at him, the same feeling of unreality that held Peter in its grip. This isn't real. This isn't happening. Ray...

He cleared his throat, about to say something when he realized Janine was crying in deep, uncontrolled sobs. Peter turned around. Janine was still slumped against the desk, glasses off, tears running down her face, her body shuddering with choking sobs. "Janine," he said, moving close to her. She didn't look up. "Janine," he repeated, grabbing her shoulders, shaking her, "get a hold of yourself! This isn't helping anyone! It's not your fault! Try to get control-"

"Yes, it is. Yes, my fault, oh god, Ray, I'm so sorry," choked Janine, not looking at Peter. "I knew something like this was going to happen, I knew it."

Peter felt himself go cold. He examined Janine's face closely, not believing he'd heard right. "What do you mean, you knew this was going to happen?" he asked very quietly, watching her every second. He heard Egon come up behind him. "What do you know about this?"

"Someone sent me the statue." Janine managed to regain some sense of dignity and pulled herself away from Peter's hands. She continued in a flat, controlled tone that did nothing to disguise her terror. "Late in June. Before things started getting crazy. I showed it to Lia-"

"Why didn't you tell us?" Egon asked, coming closer, gazing at Janine with pain in his eyes.

Janine flinched. "I couldn't, I was so scared, I talked about it to Lia. We thought one of his ex-girlfriends did it." Once started, Janine seemed unable to stop, her words coming out in a rush.

Peter felt removed from the scene, still not sure it was really happening. She knew, he thought in disbelief. All summer this has been going on, and she didn't say anything.

"Then whoever it was started to dedicate "So in Love" to me, on the radio. And send me his things, all through July. We didn't think it was important, we thought it was a joke, but I was so scared. I couldn't tell you, things were so rotten here, everyone was losing their cool I thought it would blow over," Janine wound down to a whisper, eyes pleading for understanding.

He shook his head slowly. "How could you?" he asked. Then, louder, "How could you not tell us about this? Some maniac is carrying a torch for that bloodsucker and you don't say a thing, you put us all in danger..." Peter realized he was shouting.

"Easy, Peter," Egon said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Winston walked over to put an arm around the shaking Janine. Peter didn't care. All he could think about, now that he could think again, was that Ray was in the hands of someone who would consider Justin Tremaine a friend. Someone who had kidnapped him, chained him up, did who knew what else to him, and Janine had known about this person all summer!

"Ray is in danger, the worst kind of danger possible, because you couldn't trust us," Peter said, biting the words out deliberately, staring into Janine's face. "You were so scared, so ashamed about Justin that you couldn't see the real threat, the threat to us and to you. What did you think you were doing, were you trying to get us killed!!" Peter's voice rose and rose, the pitch climbing higher as he thought about what could happen to Ray. His headache had taken on the dimensions of a migraine, pulsing in time to his breathing, making him even angrier and more scared.

Janine's face drained of all color. She shrugged Winston's arm off and leaned close to Peter. "You were losing your grip, slamming around, blowing up for no apparent reason every week. Egon was in a fog when all of this was happening, and I didn't want to bother Ray and Winston, they were both overworked and overtired. I thought I could handle it, it was my problem, and nothing to do with you!" she yelled, pointing a finger in Peter's face. "Mine, okay? And I decided it wasn't serious, that I couldn't trust my judgment because I'm not exactly rational where Justin's concerned. I thought I was being scared for no reason. But if you think for ten seconds that I ever dreamed something like this was going to happen, then you must think I'm the stupidest moron in New York City!"

"Close," Peter snarled, unable to stop himself. "The guy who grabbed Ray is the stupidest, if he thinks he's going to get away with it. You're just the dimwit who made it all possible!"

Janine laughed in disbelief, staring at Peter. She looked at him incredulously for a second, then whispered, "Fine. Just perfect. I quit." She grabbed her purse and walked to the door, not looking back, and slammed the door behind her.

Peter stared after her a second, still in the grip of his temper. Her fault, he thought. She knew something was wrong, and now Ray... he couldn't complete the thought. He turned back to where Egon was running a hand through his hair, eyes closed. Winston was watching him carefully. "Pete?" he asked softly.

"What?" he snapped.

"You don't think maybe you were a little hard on Janine, do you?" Winston said as he slowly eased the crushed letter out of Peter's hand. He was watching Peter cautiously, obviously waiting for an explosion.

"No, I don't," Peter said, stomping up the stairs, thinking that he had to get some aspirin for the headache, he could hardly see for the pain. Pain. Oh god, Ray, he remembered suddenly. The reason why he'd been angry had been clouded by righteous indignation, and now that there was no one to vent his anger on he remembered the photo. Ray, where are you? What's happening to you? Why did it have to be you?

The evening proceeded to deteriorate, winding down into a slow spiral of depression for the remaining Ghostbusters. Winston found himself eating the stir-fry Egon had made by himself after Peter walled himself up in the TV room and Egon retired to the laboratory. He didn't feel like talking to them anyway. He had some memories to deal with.

He remembered the two times he had met Justin Tremaine. Smooth, suave, cold and together, that's what he'd thought when the guy had come by to pick Janine up for their date. Their last date. Even angry, he'd had that chill to him. All of his emotions seemed to be operating at about 30 degrees below normal. The vampire had taunted them with the knowledge of what he was and what he planned for Janine. Calculating bastard.

Winston put the remaining food into the refrigerator, got himself out a beer, and collapsed at the table feeling chilled. Janine, he thought. Poor kid. What he did to her shouldn't happen to anyone. He swallowed some of the beer. It shouldn't happen to Ray. The nightmare of the previous evening came back to him in all its reality, the smell of the docks, the mist in the air, and Ray's body bumping against the pier. It didn't help to know something much worse could happen to him if they made the wrong move. Peter's so strung out now, if he tries to do anything he might blow it. We'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to talk some sense into him. Egon... he's hurting. I don't know what to say to him. Ray's my friend, but those guys have known him forever. It's not the same. They can't deal with it right now, they're in shock. I'm gonna have to be the one to stay on top of things until they're back in the game. Otherwise we might miss something. And it'll be good-bye, Ray.

Winston got up and paced the kitchen, thinking over the past two days. He was too tired to do anything immediately, he knew that. But tomorrow morning after he'd had some sleep he could check out that shop, try to get something, anything, that would lead them to Ray. It couldn't be too late yet, or why would the kidnappers have sent that picture? He frowned and reached for the beer again, trying not to dwell on the scared look on Ray's face in the picture. Why would they keep him alive? Just to scare them, torture them?

Why not, he thought in disgust. If they're anything like Tremaine, they'd enjoy it. Entirely unbidden, a picture of how Janine had looked when he found her in the park flashed through his mind. Her throat gaping open, the stillness, how he had thought she was dead at first. Winston cursed and threw the beer can in the garbage. Bastard. Complete and total bastard. Now someone like that has Ray.

Well, he wasn't going to be a prisoner long, not if Winston could help it. He'd give Egon and Peter until tomorrow morning to deal, and then he'd take action on his own. He wouldn't think about Ray's body washing up near the docks. But if I'm going to get any sleep at all, he thought without humor, it looks like I'm going to have to borrow Peter's sleeping pills. The last thing I need is a repeat of last night.

Egon finished charging up the batteries on the ultra-violet lanterns, then looked around for something else to do. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything. I wonder what time it is in Moldavia? he wondered. Maybe I could call Count Vostok. He put the lamps back in the cabinet, locked it, and then leaned against it, exhausted. And ask him what?

There was nothing the Count could do, no advice he could give that Egon didn't already know. If Ray was in the clutches of a vampire, several unpleasant things could happen. He could die. The vampire might kill him. But if that was what the kidnapper had had in mind, he (or she, Egon reminded himself absently) would probably already have done that. Which left several other unpleasant alternatives.

Such as revenge for Tremaine, Egon thought. Turning Ray into a vampire... Hadn't the note threatened that? Egon considered examining the note again, but found he couldn't face the idea without being sick. The worry that had plagued him for the past day and a half now had a focus, a reason for being, and it continued to grow the more Egon remembered about Justin Tremaine.

He'd seemed so civilized, so controlled when he'd first introduced himself. He'd even traded insults with Peter with a great deal of panache. But just under the surface had been a monster. Egon remembered how strong he had been, lifting him up casually, easily throwing him across the room. Someone like that is holding Ray prisoner. We have to do something. Egon walked over to his desk, tried to write. No ideas of how to rescue Ray came. Every time he tried to plan something, a picture of Ray as a vampire's victim rose in front of his eyes. He put the pen down and tried to think calmly.

There has to be something we can do, he thought. Call the police? Maybe. But they would have to be very careful or Ray would be hurt. Find Ray? Possible. But if they got too close to where he was, the kidnappers would probably kill him. They might be able to plan something, but Peter was too upset to think clearly and Janine had left. Egon rubbed his face, thinking of the pain Janine had shown when talking about the harassment she'd experienced that summer. All summer, he thought, while you were dating Lia and trying not to annoy Janine with it, that was what was making her so tense. Not your love life, the threats. Tiredly Egon wondered where his mind had been, to not be able to tell the difference between fear and anger in someone he knew as well as Janine. You have to start thinking again. Too much is at stake. There has to be something you can do.

Egon spent the rest of a frustrating evening trying to explore different avenues of thought leading to Ray's rescue, and found they all led to visions of Ray lying dead. Or to memories of Janine in the hospital, barely able to speak, her throat ripped open. Confounded, miserable and scared, Egon finally fell asleep at his desk, still trying to think of ways to help Ray.

4 A.M. This, thought Peter, is getting to be a bad habit. He was watching Nymphoid Barbarian In Dinosaur Hell on late night TV and trying not to think about Ray. Or Janine. Or anything, really. After all, there was nothing he could do at 4 A.M. When the sun comes up, that's a different story. I might go looking for a nice, thick, stake...

He'd retired to the TV room, refusing to talk to Egon or Winston, too upset to talk. He didn't want to sleep, either. Last week's nightmare now seemed eerily prophetic. He could remember how real it had seemed, how much he had hated Tremaine for hurting Ray and killing Egon and Winston and making Janine cry.

He got up, went to the kitchen, and poured himself another cup of coffee. How could she not tell us? he thought furiously, the anger rushing back again. All night he'd wrestled with the urge to kill Janine Melnitz. Because she was ashamed about Justin and couldn't talk to us about it, Ray's been kidnapped. That is a fact. Fact Number Two. You shouldn't have said as much to her. Peter put the coffee cup down and stared at it tiredly. Janine's problems that summer explained a lot. Her tension around Egon and Lia, her snappishness, and the distractedness she'd shown. He grimaced, stirring the coffee slowly. You don't have that much of an excuse for how you acted this summer. Nightmares are one thing, but when it's real... Ray had been kidnapped. That was real, too.

Peter poured the coffee out. He didn't really need it. It was beginning to look like he was becoming completely nocturnal. He didn't even feel sleepy. He'd get some sleep after the sun rose, take a couple pills to put him out, maybe sleep until ten or so, and then see about rescuing Ray.

Remembering the picture, Peter felt the fear and anguish all over again. Oh god, Ray, why did it have to be you? Because you killed Tremaine? Christ, if anyone deserved to die, it was him. Peter remembered the hatred he'd felt for the man. There had been an instantaneous dislike between the two of them, a basic personality conflict, but Peter hadn't hated him until after hearing what he'd done to one of his ex-girlfriends. After Tremaine put Janine in the hospital, he had only been sorry Ray's U-V blast hadn't left enough of the guy to bury. Peter would have liked to have danced on his grave. It was no wonder Janine hadn't believed someone was threatening her, she probably couldn't handle the idea of more vampires any better than Peter was handling it. The idea that a vampire had Ray...

Tomorrow, Peter thought. Tomorrow, we go after this guy. I'm going to leave as much of him as there was of Tremaine. There'll be nothing to bury when I get through with the person who kidnapped Ray.

Water gushed from Ray's mouth as he was pulled out of the pool. Choking and wheezing, his eyes closed, he tried to breathe after much too long under water. He shivered, unable to stop himself as he gently swung in the harness attached to his chains.

"Had enough?" asked a sweet voice from the edge of the pool. Ray didn't open his eyes. Lia had rigged up a harness and pulley attached to the diving board, and Murphy would periodically dunk him in the pool. Since the chains were weighted, he could never manage to reach the surface on his own, and he was getting too tired to try. Up and down, in the water and then out, he had been dropped and then retrieved for the better part of the last hour. By now Ray wasn't thinking of anything except surviving the next minute. Lia had told him earlier that the pool, sauna, and the whole set-up was somewhere the Ghostbusters would never find him. Ray didn't believe that, not yet, but it was pretty clear they weren't going to show up in the next five minutes so he concentrated on conserving his strength and breathing. Nothing else mattered. Not the questions, not the hunger, not the exhaustion. Nothing.

Spitting out chlorine-treated water, he took a breath. He didn't have the energy to open his eyes. "What. Was the. Question?" he rasped out, coughing out more water as he did so.

"What did the four of you say to convince Janine not to become a vampire? What did you tell her about Justin?" Lia's voice was just as calm and cultured as it had ever been. Amazing, Ray thought clinically. You'd never guess what an actress she is. For instance, you'd never guess that she'd dunk someone in a pool like a Lipton tea bag because they said something she didn't like. Ray had a pretty good idea what it was Lia wanted to hear. She wanted him to tell her that the Ghostbusters had made up some story about Justin's habits, that they'd lied to Janine and tricked her into betraying Justin. Ray would have found it laughable if it weren't for the fact that telling her the truth had gotten him the job as a yo-yo at the beginning of this session.

Exhausted and too tired to care, Ray gave her what she wanted. "We told her that-" he coughed. Getting his breath back, he said more normally in a disinterested monotone, "We told her he had lots of other girlfriends. We told her that he'd hurt them. We told her lots of stuff. Okay?"

"What kind of stuff, Ray?" Lia's voice was taut, still calm, but expectant, wanting something.

Ray hated it when she did this. What was he supposed to say? He'd given her what she wanted, hadn't he? He'd confessed, so what more did she want? "I don't know," he whispered, trying to think of something, desperately trying to come up with a plausible story. "Stuff. You know," he said tiredly. "What you said. We lied. To protect her."

"Wrong answer," came the voice at the edge of the pool.

Ray tried to draw a breath to protest, but he hit the water too fast. He opened his eyes and looked up to the surface. At least fifteen feet separated him from the air above. Ray struggled, trying to push himself toward the light, and tried to use the chains to hoist himself up, but they were slack, hanging in the water, no help at all. He felt so heavy, his muscles straining with the effort to move, and his lungs were screaming for air. Oh God, he thought in panic, I think I'm going to black out... have to get some air...

The next thing he knew, he was back on the edge of the pool having the water forced from his lungs by Murphy. Ray turned and threw up more pool water, retching involuntarily long after the water was gone from his stomach and lungs. A pair of white patent-leather pumps were directly in front of him, attached to a very shapely pair of ankles. He wished he'd managed to at least stain those perfect shoes. Ray closed his eyes. I hate her, he thought in misery. I could kill her, right now, if I weren't too tired to move. Why doesn't she leave me alone!?

"It's not working," said Lia's voice from above him. "He's just not responding properly."

"Give it more time," Murphy's voice soothed. By this time, Ray knew the man was nuts. Not obviously, not in any large way, but he'd seen enough over the past few days to know that Murphy was dead gone on Lia. Dead gone, that's what I am. Pretty soon. Unless I get out of here.

"Maybe." Lia's voice sounded discontented. "Maybe a little more starvation will do the trick." Lia moved into Ray's line of vision, squatting down until she was within his range of sight. "Well, Dr. Stantz? Will you be more cooperative, more receptive, if you're not distracted by thoughts of food?" Ray gave her a disbelieving look. Lia cocked her head, considering him, her disappointment showing. "Perhaps not. Tell me, what would make you cooperate? I haven't exhausted all my options yet, you know. There's so much more I could do to you."

Ray shook his head, looking into her eyes. "Why?" he whispered. "Why are you doing this? I don't understand. You say it's for Justin, but he's dead. And I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done to protect a friend, I know that."

Lia slapped him, hard. Ray could feel the blow reverberate through his jaw, making him see stars for a few minutes. She stood up and walked a few paces away, avoiding Ray's eyes. "Shut up," she whispered, but Ray got the impression he'd rattled her. "Take him back to the sauna. And turn on the heat." Ray groaned. Lia turned around, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Don't you like the sauna? It's such a luxury, and you live so simply I thought you'd enjoy it more than you have been. Feed him," she instructed Murphy, who was stolidly picking up Ray as if he were a sack of potatoes. "Just enough to keep him alive. I think I'll let him alone until tomorrow morning, so you can put the rest of my toys away."

"Very good, madam," responded Murphy, taking Ray back to his room. Ray waited until he'd left, and when he was alone in his sauna with the steam screaming through the vents, he cried.

He cried because he was sure now that he was never going to get out of here under his own power, and because that was frightening. Ray cried from anger and frustration and helplessness, that he couldn't protect himself or the guys, or anyone else from the lunatic he now knew was going to kill them all. He cried because there was a time, a very, very long time ago, when he'd liked Lia and thought she was his friend, and now he wished he'd never met her. Finally, spent of all emotion, Ray leaned his head back and thought of his friends, and wished he was back at Central. He imagined what they were doing and how they would be spending the evening, and pretended he was there with them, safe.

On that thought, Ray Stantz fell asleep on the third night of his captivity.

The next morning Egon paused outside the bedroom door around eight o'clock, wondering what shape Peter was in. When he entered the room he found Peter flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. He looked at Egon without moving his head. "I don't want to talk about Janine," he said sharply.

"It's not about Janine, it's about the note," Egon responded, watching Peter carefully. "We have to decide what we're going to do. Are you in any shape to help plan a course of action?"

Peter bounced off the bed and headed for the door. "Hell, yes," he said intensely. "Sorry I was so anti-social, but my head-"

"No apologies necessary," Egon interrupted. He watched Peter closely as they walked down to the kitchen. The strain of the past few days still showed in his face. He doesn't need this, Egon thought abruptly. He's been running on adrenaline for the past week anyway. If he doesn't get some help soon, he's going to drive himself into a breakdown. Ray's kidnapping is the last straw. Something about that thought made Egon pause on the stairs. He felt as if he had forgotten something, or as if something were just starting to make sense. Could Peter's problems be connected to this? he wondered. Part of the same thing? But why? He hurried to catch up with his colleague.

"Where's Winston?" Peter asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He grimaced in reaction to Egon's doubtful glance at the drink. "Don't preach, Egon. I know it's not good for me. But right now it's the only way I'm going to function, so no comments, all right?"

Egon nodded in resignation before saying, "Winston went to the shop, as we'd planned before we got... the package. He's going to see if he can figure out where Ray was grabbed. It'll be something more to give the police."

Peter slammed the mug down, looking murderous. "Police? Egon, are you out of your mind?"

"No. Peter, this might be too big to handle ourselves," Egon said, wandering over to the window and staring out. "The police have the resources and the men to track a kidnapping victim. It'll entail some awkward explanations-"

"Awkward? Awkward? Is that what you call it when you have to confess to killing someone, and then explain that one of the dearly departed's relatives kidnapped one of your partners? Egon, this is way, way beyond awkward," Peter fumed, joining him at the window. He stopped when he saw the look on Egon's face. Gently, he said, "C'mon, don't be stubborn. We can do this. We'll find him."

Egon turned his head, studied him. The stress showed in the hollowed eyes, in the nervous intensity of his gaze. Quietly, Egon said, "We have to consider it. If we tell the police the entire story, they'll understand what we're up against and they'll help. Killing Justin Tremaine qualifies as self-defense. As painful and complicated as it will be to explain the circumstances of what happened on Valentine's Day, I don't want Raymond to be the one to pay because we didn't obtain added assistance."

"They'll kill him if we call the cops," Peter said flatly. The horror of that possibility made him fall temporarily silent, Egon watching the shadows darken his face. He went on in an impassioned but quiet voice, "The police can't help. You remember what it was like last time. What are we going to do, arm the 14th Precinct with UV lamps? This isn't a person we're up against, you know that. It's a vampire. It has to be. The stuff they knew, and it can't be coincidence they grabbed Ray and not one of us." Peter was silent a second, then added, "Ray killed Justin Tremaine."

Another bell went off in Egon's mind. It was like certain phrases or ideas once thought of or heard could not be forgotten and, when connected to other thoughts, began to form the outline of a theory. But it just wouldn't come. Why do I feel so stupid? he thought in frustration. I should know this, I should know... What? Bringing his mind back to the conversation, he saw Peter was watching him as closely as he'd been studying Peter. "I think that has something to do with it," he said slowly, "I think I'm beginning to see a pattern."

"What kind of pattern?" Peter asked, leaning his head against the window. "Something to do with who snatched Ray?"

"Yes. Bits and pieces... all to do with Justin Tremaine. You know, we didn't know that much about him, what he was before he came to New York five years ago. He could have known any number of other vampires who would be willing to avenge his death," Egon said.

"That's why we can't go to the police," Peter repeated adamantly. "We're the experts, and we're the ones who are in danger. We have the tools, the knowledge, and the motivation. Bringing the police in would be a big mistake from a logistical standpoint, never mind what those scum would do to Ray."

Egon sighed wearily, taking off his glasses and considering. Peter was right. Until they knew more of what they were up against, they couldn't call in outside help. It would endanger more lives, and one of those lives was Ray Stantz's. "You're right," he said.

Peter looked nonplused, as if he hadn't expected Egon to agree with him. "I am? Yeah, I am," he said more confidently. "There's lots of stuff we can do to help Ray. Winston's tracking him down, and - I can call that messenger service!" he yelled, racing out of the room. Egon followed him more slowly, thinking about his friend's behavior. Nightmares and stress. That sounded like... Egon stopped on the stairs. It sounded like what Janine had gone through when she was dating Justin Tremaine.

Peter was already at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the envelope and letter he had dropped the night before. "No note on which messenger service brought this, no identifying names," he muttered, turning the papers over and over. Egon could see he was deliberately avoiding looking at the picture. He walked over to the desk and picked it up. Think logically, he said to himself, trying to maintain his distance. Is there anything in the picture that might be a clue?

Ray was in a tiled room with bad lighting. Or maybe that was just the exposure on the film. He was chained up. Egon tried to keep calm and look at it dispassionately, but after determining those three facts he gave up. The feelings of anger were too strong. How anyone could treat Ray so harshly and could send the taunting letter that had come with the photo was something he simply failed to grasp. Egon knew that if he met the person responsible for this, he would probably strangle them. Of course, that's assuming that Peter doesn't beat me to it.

He looked up at his friend, who'd been unnaturally silent for the past minute. Egon remembered what he'd thought of on the stairs and found himself staring at Peter's neck. There were no scars or bite marks. He wondered if he were losing his mind. You'd have noticed them before now, wouldn't you? he asked himself. Or would you? It seemed his thinking had been clouded lately and he was only beginning to realize it now. What's happening to me? What's happened to all of us? he thought, looking at Peter's worn face. Something is going on here under the surface, something I can't see.

"What have you got?" he asked Peter, who was humming under his breath while examining the note.

"Weird handwriting," Peter answered cheerfully. "I'm no expert, but this is definitely not run-of-the-mill. I've got a friend who's a graphologist, and I think I'll have them take a look at this, see if they can tell us something about our kidnapper." He grinned at Egon, a shade of his former easy cockiness showing. "See? Who needs those stinkin' badges?"

Egon's mouth twitched. "We don't," he replied, deadpan. "As for the messenger service, if we ask Janine-"

"We're not asking Janine anything," Peter said, his mood darkening suddenly.

"Peter, we're going to have to," Egon argued.

"No! If she'd told us right away, this might not have happened," Peter snapped.

"You don't believe that." Egon watched Peter's face. Pain and fear had replaced the desperate self-assurance that had carried him through the night. The scope of the attack had shaken Peter badly. He's thinking that if the kidnappers tormented Janine first and then grabbed Ray, what else are they capable of? Egon realized grimly. "The threats against Janine have to be connected, and they have to be explored. We won't be doing Ray any favors by keeping her out of this," Egon added shrewdly.

Peter glared at him. Egon stared back stoically. "All right. But not now. We look at everything else, then we talk to Janine," Peter said stonily. Egon raised an eyebrow at him, watching his face work. "I still can't believe she didn't trust us," Peter finished quietly.

Egon shook his head. "Don't be so hard on her. She didn't suspect it could lead to this," he said gently.

"Maybe not, but still..." Peter trailed off, then recollected himself. "So, I'll check this with the handwriting expert. Winston's talking to the antiques people. What are you going to do?"

"Wait. In case they call," Egon said unemotionally.

Peter seemed to stop at that, then went on in the take-charge voice he'd been using. "You could go talk to Janine, get the scoop from our ex-secretary."

"I'm not the one that caused her to become our ex-secretary. And I think she needs some time to cool off. When she feels like talking, it ought to be you who talks to her," Egon said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Egon..." Peter said in exasperation. "Don't push it! I'll talk to her when I can do it without shouting or slapping her, okay? I still think she should have told us."

"If everyone did what they were supposed to, you would have seen a psychologist about those nightmares and you wouldn't be one of the living dead." Egon stopped, realizing what he'd just said, the horror of what might be happening to Ray filling his mind. He looked back at Peter, whose face had drained of color. "Forget I said that," he said quietly.

"S'okay," Peter said shortly. He grabbed the letter and started for the door. "I'll be back later. If anything happens," Peter paused, then grabbed a sheet of paper and started writing on it, avoiding Egon's gaze, "I'll be here. Call."

"Count on it," Egon said, standing by the phone, staring at it. He heard the door slam behind him. New ideas percolated through his brain, some of them strangely familiar. Janine being terrified, Peter's behavior, his own disorientation, Justin Tremaine... what was the connection? What was the key to Ray's kidnapping?

Egon sat down and started to make a list of things to do, like call the messenger service and file a missing persons report on Ray. All the while some part of his mind was wondering what he'd forgotten and why things had changed now. What was making it easier for him to think? And would it be enough to tip the balance in their favor? Would it be enough to save Ray?

Winston studied the outside of the shop a moment before opening the door. It looked pretty ordinary. The sort of store that catered to everyone, yuppies and antiques geeks alike. He opened the door and the bell attached to it chimed. The place was crammed with stuff, bookcases holding vases and objets d'art, swords, books, glassworks, tables and other furniture. A man around Ray's age sat on a stool behind a glass counter, reading a comic book. It gave Winston a second's pause to see the guy like that. He reminded him of Ray.

The guy looked up, smiling. "Can I help you with anything?" he asked. He didn't really look like Ray, the comic book and his age were all they really had in common. His hair was as dark as Peter's, he had blue eyes, and seemed to be as tall as Winston. He had an easy, relaxed smile.

Winston smiled back. "I hope so. It's about a buddy of mine. He disappeared in this neighborhood on Saturday. Actually, we called here on Sunday..."

"Yeah, I remember, Jack mentioned it. Why don't you sit down?" the guy said, indicating another stool on Winston's side of the counter. He held out his hand to the black man. "I'm Ryan Dallion."

"Winston Zeddemore," he replied, shaking hands.

"Haven't I seen you - Wait a minute! You're one of the Ghostbusters!" Ryan grinned, looking delighted. "I'm a fan of you guys, you do nice work. I caught the show when you took on Gozer."

"Thanks. Do you and - Jack? - run this place?" Winston asked, hoping Dallion's recognition of him would help him get information that could help him find Ray.

"Yeah. Jack Marshak, me, and my cousin, Micki Porter. We buy and sell antiques, books, anything. Comic books too, sometimes," he said, holding up the one in his hand.

"My friend is one of the other Ghostbusters. Ray Stantz?" At Ryan's nod, Winston continued. "He was supposed to meet another friend of ours here, and apparently he didn't make it this far. Do you get a lot of muggings in this neighborhood, or accidents - anything that could explain it?"

Ryan frowned. "No, it's pretty quiet. Parts of it are under development right now, a lot of people want to make money off of it. You could ask around, see if anyone saw him. Jack was the only one here Saturday, and you already know he didn't see your friend." He looked thoughtful, then got quiet. Winston became alert. Something was obviously bothering the guy.

"What is it?" he asked. Ryan looked surprised. "You just thought of something, I could see it. What was it?"

The younger man shrugged, looked embarrassed. "I just remembered someone on the block who might be able to help you. Mrs. Kramer. She's a little cracked, but she's nosy. She's filed a couple complaints about us because of some break-ins we had." Ryan grimaced, and an air of harassment seemed to settle on him. "She's got nothing better to do than watch everything that goes on here in the neighborhood out her window. She might have seen something."

"Great. Where does she live?" Winston asked, feeling energized. A snoopy little old lady would be perfect, especially if she'd seen someone grab Ray.

"Two doors down across the street, Number 112. She lives on the second floor. Don't tell her I sent you, she's not fond of us anyway, okay?" Ryan pleaded.

Winston grinned. "Sure thing. And," he said, reaching into his pocket, "here's my card. If anything happens, or you remember anything," he paused, "give me a call. Ray could be in a lot of trouble."

"No problem. Good luck finding your friend," the shopkeeper added as Winston went out the door, passing a stunning redhead coming in.

I'm going to need more than luck, Winston thought. I'm going to need a miracle. Hang on, Ray. Just hang on.

Micki turned her head to watch the concerned-looking black man walk down the steps from CURIOUS GOODS, then hurried inside, dumping her packages on the nearest table.

"Who was that? He looked familiar," she said, taking her purse off from around her neck, then pushing her mane of hair back from her face with both hands. She surveyed the bags on the table with mingled satisfaction and consideration, trying to decide where to display the new books. Maybe I could change the display in the window and show off these old albums. With some antique lace they'll look pretty nice.

Ryan put his comic book down and swung down the short staircase to stand beside her. "Did you get it?" he asked in a low voice.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. I told you it wouldn't be a problem. It's in..." she rummaged through the bags and triumphantly held up a small carved ivory music box. "Here." Micki turned it toward the light, studying the carving. "I wish these things weren't so pretty. Sometimes I hate putting them in the vault."

"Are you sure it's the right one?" Ryan met Micki's exasperated glare equably, holding up his hands. "Hey, I get nervous when a recovery is this easy."

"Watch and learn, O Suspicious One," Micki intoned, and brought out a match from her purse. Striking it on the edge of the table, she held it next to the ivory-and-velvet box. The flame caught on the velvet, burning brightly... and then was extinguished without leaving a mark on the box.

"Easiest test in the world, Ryan. Cursed objects can't be destroyed. You worry too much," Micki concluded, putting the box down and starting to unload her other purchases. Ryan made a face at her, gingerly picked up the box and headed back up the stairs to the main part of the shop, heading for a curved railing surrounding a staircase to the basement. "Hey, you didn't tell me who that was."

Ryan paused next to the counter and grinned, looking like a big brother teasing his younger sister. Micki hated it when he did that. "You didn't recognize him? He's famous. And in our field, too."

"What? Ryan, quit talking in riddles!" Micki banged one of the books down and put her hands on her hips. "Just tell me who he is. It's an easy question."

Ryan's grin got wider. "He's one of the Ghostbusters. And here I thought you kept up on your celebrities."

"Ghostbusters? Here? Ryan, I don't like this. What did he want?" Micki bit her lip, eyebrows descending.

"Who's suspicious now?" Ryan teased, but he must have realized she was really worried because he continued, "Relax. It wasn't anything to do with the cursed objects. Listen, do you remember that call we got Sunday, someone looking for a guy who'd disappeared near here?" Micki nodded, still concerned, and Ryan went on reassuringly. "That was one of the Ghostbusters, Ray Stantz. The guy who just left, Winston Zeddemore, was just following up on it. I sent him over to Mrs. Kramer. She ought to have some good dirt for him since she doesn't have anything better to do than spy on her neighbors." Ryan snorted, and Micki winced. The last time Mrs. Kramer complained about their shop, Ryan had called her a meddling old hag -under his breath, but she still heard it - and she'd threatened to sue him for slander.

"Do you think that was a good idea?" Micki asked, twirling a crimson curl around her finger. "She might... mention things about us."

"Mick, will you quit worrying?"

"I don't see how you can be so calm. The Ghostbusters might be one of the few groups of people who'd understand what we're doing here. And with one of them disappearing near here... I don't like it. They might start asking questions about us."

"Look, it doesn't have anything to do with us!" Ryan threw his hands up in disgust, then brought them down in an explanatory gesture. "We're living in New York City. People disappear here all the time. It doesn't have to have anything to do with Uncle Lewis's cursed antiques every time something bad happens!" he finished, stomping up the stairs. He paused at the top, turning back to look at his cousin. "Besides, they'd be on our side after we explained everything to them. We're the good guys."

Micki brushed a tendril of hair out of her face and glared at Ryan. Sometimes he could be so obtuse. "Oh, right. We've got a basement full of cursed antiques, and they'll believe us when we tell them we aren't necromancers or black magicians, we just collect this stuff!" She sighed. "What if it does have something to do with us? What then? People might believe the Ghostbusters, people like the police. It'll be a little harder to talk ourselves out of trouble this time if this disappearance has anything to do with the objects."

"If. If. If. Take a Valium, Mick, okay? We'll talk it over with Jack when he gets back." Ryan grinned again, and Micki groaned in disgust at his flippancy. "Besides, what are the odds his vanishing around here could possibly be connected to us?"

Micki stared after him feeling chilled. She couldn't dismiss her suspicions so lightly. Ever since she and her cousin had started recovering the objects, keeping them out of the hands of people who would use them, she had come to believe there was no such thing as coincidence....

Whatever he'd pictured Mrs. Kramer as, Winston was definitely not prepared for the woman who opened the door to 5B. "Whaddaya want?" she asked in a Brooklyn accent thicker than Janine's.

Little old lady! Winston thought in shock. "Mrs. Kramer?" he asked doubtfully. The woman standing before him was a statuesque redhead close to six feet tall. She looked around fifty or so, but he couldn't be sure because of all the makeup she was wearing. A screaming pink workout outfit completed the look.

"Yeah?" she said, taking the cigarette out of her mouth. "Who're you?"

"My name's Winston Zeddemore, ma'am, I'm one of the Ghostbusters. I was hoping you could help me out," he replied.

"Cut the ma'am crap, I'm not that much older than you. What kind of help? Make it snappy, All My Children just started," she said, knocking the ashes from her cigarette onto the hall carpet.

"I was wondering if maybe you saw a friend of mine in the neighborhood on Saturday. His name's Ray Stantz, another Ghostbuster, he's got auburn hair, stocky..." Winston wasn't sure if this woman could help or not, but he got the feeling that if he didn't keep talking she'd shut the door in his face.

"Who sent you here? Padrewski? That blond chick on the third floor? They tell you I'm a Nosy Parker?" asked the woman, sizing up Winston with gimlet eyes. He didn't answer, not sure what to say, hope ebbing away. Maybe he could check the other shops in the area. The woman's eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. I'll bet it was those nuts at CURIOUS GOODS, wasn't it?"

"Nuts?" Winston asked in surprise. "The guy seemed nice, " he said before he realized he'd given it away.

"I knew it. They've always got screwy stuff going on. That Marshak guy is cute, but those two smart-ass partners of his are juvenile delinquents. The number of break-ins they've had since they opened that shop is unbelievable. Don't swallow anything they tell you," the woman confided. Winston's heart sank. Obviously, the woman was too hostile toward the shop owners to help him out.

"Well, I'm sorry for wasting your time," he said, turning to walk away.

Mrs. Kramer grabbed him by the jacket. "Not so fast. Auburn hair? Stocky? What time was your friend in the neighborhood, do you know?" she asked, watching his face.

"Around six or seven?" Winston replied, hoping again.

She nodded in satisfaction. "Thought so. Your friend got mugged," she said definitely. She raised her eyebrows at the jubilation on Winston's face. "What kinda friend are you, you like to hear that your friends got mugged?"

"Please, Mrs. Kramer, tell me what happened," pleaded Winston, feeling like he was going to go nuts if the woman didn't cough up the information he needed.

"Around six or so, your friend is walking down the street and these two guys come up to him." She lit another cigarette while Winston waited patiently. "They start to hustle him along, not rough stuff, just a little too insistent. One of 'em was tall, blond, beefy surfer type, you know? The other was a short little dark guy, he looked like he might be Italian. They convince your friend to go into an alley with them." She blew smoke toward the ceiling.

"And?" Winston asked nicely, wishing the woman would get to the point.

"And nothing. That's it. Your friend doesn't come out of the alley. And that alley doesn't go anywhere, it just dead-ends into the apartments across the street. About two minutes later, one of those little white import jobs comes zipping out of the alley, takes off like a bat out of hell." Mrs. Kramer looked at him triumphantly.

"So that's how they did it," Winston said aloud, thinking hard. He looked up at Mrs. Kramer. "Did you maybe get a license number?"

"Sorry, kiddo, I don't do license numbers at this distance. 'Sides, it was already dark, I couldn't have seen it anyway." She looked at him through a cloud of smoke. "Was that any help?" she asked sarcastically.

"More than you know. I owe you lunch, Mrs. Kramer," Winston said, then asked, "Do you think you could identify these guys again?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." She smiled. "And I appreciate the offer of lunch. But if you make it with that cute partner of yours, Peter Venkman, I could work a lot harder at remembering."

Winston laughed. "I'll tell him that. Thanks for your help." As he walked down the steps to the apartment, Winston felt better than he had in a while. A solid lead. It might not lead anywhere, but it's something. Maybe, just maybe... He kept hoping. There was no reason to give up yet. Ray was still alive, he had to be. If he was somewhere in New York, he'd find him.

Janine squinted at the screen, took off her glasses, and rubbed her eyes. The Hall of Records was a great place to find things out if you could stand looking at acres of badly micro-fiched material for hours on end. She'd gotten there as soon as it opened early that morning, searching for information to help Ray. Right now, she would give anything for three aspirin and a break in her search.

Sighing, she put her glasses back on and scrolled through the ownership records again. Nothing. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Justin Tremaine's name appeared nowhere. She'd been so sure there'd be something.

After last night's blow-up with Peter, Janine had gotten the guilts for hours. Holed up in her apartment, crying her eyes out, she'd alternately blamed herself for Ray's kidnapping and thought of all the things she could have said to Venkman. Neither had done her any good. Finally, around 3 A.M., she'd thought of a way to help. It hadn't been pleasant, and it wasn't easy, but Janine was going to investigate every connection she could find to Justin Tremaine.

So far, the morning was a bust. Her computer search had turned up no records of land owned by Justin, or extra residences, or new names. She'd half-hoped it would be easy, but hadn't really expected it to be. Still, she'd been sure he'd had to leave some trace, a former address, something, anything. But it was as if he hadn't existed before he'd come to New York five years ago.

Janine flipped off the viewer in disgust and chewed her lip, considering her options. She could call the messenger service and try to track down who had sent that picture. That will probably lead to a dead-end, too. But I have to check it, or I'll never know for certain. She groaned softly. It would probably mean dealing with umpteen trillion idiots, trying to convince them how important this was without telling them why, and possibly bribes, and who knows, she might have to date some geek in spandex pants just to get the news that no one knew who sent the letter.

Which was still infinitely preferable to her other chain of inquiry. She still had the phone numbers to contact the other people who might want to help her. It wouldn't be that difficult to ask them what she wanted to know, not after she explained about the packages and the threats. It wouldn't be hard at all to convince them to tell her everything they knew. Only one problem: the last thing Janine wanted to do was call up all of Justin Tremaine's ex-girlfriends and ask them to tell her everything they knew about him.

What will they tell me? That he was handsome and charming and intense and manipulative and he broke their hearts. That they don't know any more about him than I ever did. Why do this to myself? It's only going to hurt more to have to remember what an idiot I was. They aren't going to be able to help.

With a sinking heart, Janine realized all of that didn't matter. Ray was in trouble, serious, deep, real trouble, and while it wasn't her fault (it isn't, it isn't, she whispered) he'd been kidnapped, she was going to do her damnedest to make sure it ended there. That Ray wouldn't be hurt because he'd had to kill Justin. Because of her.

Grabbing her purse, Janine headed for the exit. Maybe it wasn't too late. After she'd called the messenger service, after she spent all day on the phone to the assorted ex-girlfriends, she'd have to know more than she did at the moment. Then, maybe, she'd call Egon or Winston and tell them what she knew.

But I'm never speaking to Venkman again. Ever.

Peter wearily climbed the last flight of stairs, glad that at least the building had air conditioning. Why does she have to have her office on the fifth floor of a building without an elevator? He turned down the hallway, turned left, turned right, and there it was, inscribed on frosted glass: Regina Rockwell, Graphologist and Handwriting Expert. He ran a hand through his hair, checked his face on the metal door frame - could use a shave, but what the hell - and opened the door.

A bright, perky, cheery, tiny secretary looked at Peter with wide, happy eyes. "Good morning!" she chirped. "Do you have an appointment with Ms. Rockwell?"

Peter caught himself before he could snarl, and turned on the charm. "Not really, but she'll want to see me," he said, smiling winningly. "I'm an old friend, I haven't seen her in ages." He moved toward the door.

Ms. Bubbly pouted at him, moving to block his path to the inner office and shaking her curly head in dismay. "Oh, but I can't let you in without an appointment," she said disapprovingly. Peter raised an eyebrow at her, and counted to twenty internally. "Ms. Rockwell is very busy. I couldn't possibly interrupt her. Why don't I make an appointment for you?" exclaimed the receptionist, obviously having a wonderful day and wanting to make sure Peter had a good day, too.

"Why don't you take a--ahem. Look, could you please tell her that Dr. Venkman is here, and that it's an emergency?" Peter tried to seem official, and then added confidentially, "It's about a palimony suit being brought by Madonna against Warren Beatty. Very hush-hush. You understand," he said meaningfully.

Ms. Dippy's eyes got, unbelievably, even wider, and in a breathless voice she said, "OOOooooh. I seeeee. Let me tell her." She started to move to the intercom.

"No problem. Got it covered. Why don't you take a break, get your brain some more oxygen, okay?" Pete said real fast, sliding into the inner office and shutting the door. Behind his back in the office, he could hear a female voice say "Peter! What the hell?"

He turned around, leaning against the door for support. "Hello, Reggie. Long time no see," he said tiredly, trying to remember how to smile nonchalantly. It didn't quite work, to judge by the look on Regina Rockwell's face.

Reggie and he had broken up over a year before, it had never been what you could call a serious relationship but it had had its moments. They'd stayed friends and he'd called her up to go to a Mets game or the movies several times since then, but with all of the weirdness that summer, he hadn't seen her since May. "You still look gorgeous, Gorgeous," he said, admiring her long legs and blonde hair again. I've gotta remember to take her out when all this is over.

"Wish I could say the same for you, Pete, but you look like hell." Reggie steered him into a chair, where he collapsed limply. "What's wrong? What do you want?" she asked.

"Why do I have to want something? Couldn't I have just dropped by to say 'hi'?" questioned Peter in return.

"You hate walking up those stairs. The day you just drop by to say 'hi' is the day pigs fly. Plus, you still look like hell, and you're avoiding the question. What's wrong?" Reggie folded her arms and tapped her foot, looking like Peter's least favorite grade-school teacher. Now I remember why we broke up, the woman has no sense of tact, Peter thought in weary amusement. Plus she could always see when I was about to pull a fast one.

"I need your help. Your professional expertise. Your quick mind. And," Peter took a breath, "No questions asked. It's a lot, but I swear, it is an emergency. And you are the best."

"No, I'm not. Albert Brinkman is. But you never dated him and you can't afford him, so I don't know why I'm surprised you're here." She narrowed her eyes, making her brown eyes even darker. Peter tried to look pathetic. Reggie relented. "Okay, I'll do it, whatever it is. Just quit trying to look like a lost puppy, you already resemble Don Johnson with a hangover and that's quite enough. Where is it?"

Peter reached into his pocket and produced two slips of paper, and handed them to Reggie. She read them with a frown while Peter steeled himself for her next question. She looked up from them, concerned. "This is it?"

Peter nodded. "Nothing else."

"Couldn't I have a look at the originals these came from? Xerox copies are never perfect, and if you want me to do this right, I-"

"No." Peter stated the single negative with energy. "You can't. And please, Reg, don't ask why. That's all I can give you. I know you usually work with more material, but this was the best I could do."

Reggie brushed her wavy hair out of her face, looking annoyed. She studied him for a minute, then appeared to give up. "Okay. When do you want the analysis done by?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight?! Peter! That is completely unreasonable! I can't possible drop everything to do this for you, I've got commitments to clients, there's a court case coming up--" Reggie threw her hands up in frustration.

Peter stood up and reached for the papers. "Okay. If you can't do this for me, you can't. I'll find someone who can. Nice talking to you, Reggie." I have to, it's for Ray, there's no time! he thought desperately.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait-" Reggie grabbed his arms and forced him back into the chair, still holding the papers. "I'll do it."

Peter slumped back in the chair, his latent exhaustion catching up with him. He grinned at Reggie. What a great girl. "What changed your mind?"

"The look of sheer panic on your face when I said no way." Reggie tapped the papers against the edge of her desk, looking at Peter thoughtfully. "You weren't kidding when you said it was a matter of life or death to Danelle, were you?"

Peter was confused. "Danelle who?"

"My secretary. You were pretty rude to her, you know."

"You were listening to that?" Peter shrugged. "Maybe I exaggerated."

Reggie looked unconvinced. "Maybe." She changed the subject abruptly. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything," Peter said grimly. "Anything at all. Age, sex, left-handed, right-handed, sexual preferences... anything you can give me."

"It'll take a while. At least a couple of hours. You could come back around one, take me to lunch, I'll tell you what I know," Reggie replied.

Peter was about to protest but then thought better of it. She had already gone out on a limb for him, and staying to watch her work wouldn't accomplish anything except distract her. "Okay. Deal. McDonald's?" he asked hopefully.

"Not even." Reggie looked at him in disdain, a smile curving her lips. "You owe me Tavern on the Green, Venkman."

"Aaargh! You would take food from a desperate man, knowing he hasn't the power to refuse you?"

"Any day of the week. Especially when it's you, you con-artist. Now get out of here, I've got work to do," Reggie said, shooing him out of her office. "And get some rest. You look-"

"Like hell, I know, I know. See you at lunch time. Have a nice day, Danelle," Peter purred at the secretary, who shot him an injured look as he let himself out. It must be my week for secretaries. First Janine, now this Twinkie.

Three hours later, after wandering around the Park in a trance, Peter climbed the stairs back up to Reggie's office to pick her up for lunch. Danelle was gone, thank god, so Peter let himself into the office and collapsed into the visitor's chair. "Ready to go?"

Reggie looked up distractedly. "What? Oh, good, you're here," she said in relief. "Peter, this is completely bizarre."

Warning bells went off in Peter's head. "Bizarre how?" he asked cautiously.

The graphologist shook her head in confusion. "It just doesn't make sense! It's not normal handwriting."

"Reggie, calm down, take a few deep breaths, tell me what has you in such a tizzy. Dr. Venkman is listening," Peter said.

Reggie shoved the pieces of paper onto which he had xeroxed a few phrases from the kidnap note over to him. "Look at this. The way the f's are formed, and the s's. And the phrasing. 'To rise from the grave on All Hallow's Eve...' Peter, that's a quote from a mediaeval curse, I know it because it's Irish and my mom's into stuff like that."

"What's your point?" Peter asked softly.

"Whoever wrote this note not only writes in 16th Century style with mediaeval mannerisms, but their handwriting is also reminiscent of 16th Century French manuscripts. I looked it up. Nobody writes like this anymore! Not without doing some research, anyway. Where did you get it?" Reggie raised troubled eyes to Peter's impassive face.

"What else?" he asked quietly, concealing his thoughts. Sixteenth century. Janine said Justin was only 200 years old. That makes this vampire at least two hundred years older than him. Which means... we may be in even more trouble than we thought.

"Not much. It's not a lot to work with, Peter. They're right handed and, I would guess, female."

"Female?" Peter sat up in surprise. Why not? It makes sense. It makes perfect sense. The older sister, or creator, or lover of Tremaine is out for revenge. Peter groaned inwardly. We are in a lot of trouble.

"You didn't know?" Reggie asked, astonished. She looked at Peter closely. "I know I said no questions, but where did you get this? What's going on?"

Peter recovered and looked at her innocently. "My, how curious we are. Don't worry, no one's trying to make you crazy. I just needed to know something about the writer of those phrases."

"Did you learn what you needed?" Reggie asked in exasperation.

"Yup. Now let's go to Tavern on the Green, I'm buying you lunch."

Reggie stared. "Venkman, I was kidding about that. You can't afford Tavern on the Green any more than you can afford Albert Brinkman."

Peter smiled serenely. "I wasn't kidding. You earned it. Think of it," he said, walking over to the door and opening it for her, "As hush-money. You don't mention this again to anyone, and you don't ask about it. Ever." He caught Reggie's worried look. Peter tried to look confident. "It's okay. Trust me." It has to be okay. We've got a starting point, something to follow up on. It's got to lead us to Ray.

Reggie snorted. "Uh-huh. Where have I heard that one before?"

I forgot how much fun Peter could be, thought Regina Rockwell. I've got to remember that line he used on the maitre'd, it was priceless. Lunch had been amusing, as her dates with Peter always were. She'd always had a good time with Peter. If only he hadn't been such a con man, it might have lasted longer. She shot a sideways look at Peter as they climbed up the stairs to her office, studying him. The parapsychologist was walking her back so he could get a look at the handwriting book with a copy of 16th Century French manuscript in it.

"Peter, has something bad happened to you lately?" Reggie asked abruptly, surprised at herself. Venkman raised a quizzical eyebrow at her. "It's just, you look like you've been sick recently," she finished lamely.

Peter opened the stairwell door for her, smiling easily. "I haven't been sleeping too well lately. The air conditioner at Central is on the fritz," he said, pacing her to her office. Reggie bit her lip, looking at him sideways. She couldn't tell if he was lying or not. He was always good at avoiding the truth. But she was willing to bet her life that something more than insomnia was bothering him, something to do with the handwriting analysis. All through lunch he'd kept up an amusing flow of conversation, laughing and telling jokes, trying to distract her. But it didn't work; to someone who hadn't seen him since May, there had been a radical change in Peter Venkman.

Reggie examined him covertly as they reached her office. Still way too good-looking, still a snappy dresser, still charming - but he looked like all of those qualities had been stretched thin, as if there were less of him there. Thinner, and tenser. As if he might snap if he was pulled any tighter. He's hiding something. I hope he's not in any trouble. She smiled ruefully as they reached her office. You've still got a soft spot for him. Well, it doesn't matter. I'm worried, this isn't the Peter I saw in May.

Danelle was back from lunch, looking disapproving. Reggie wondered if the price of having an efficient secretary was to always have to defend yourself from their opinions. At least this one could type. The last one had thought the keyboard was a new and different form of dead language.

"Ms. Rockwell, you're late. You were supposed to be at Judge Collier's chambers fifteen minutes ago, it's here on your schedule," Danelle said, hands on her hips. Reggie sighed internally, then braced herself for what would be next. Here it comes. "I don't know what you'd do without me, you're so disorganized. Honestly, Ms. Rockwell, if you're going to go gallivanting off every chance you get..." The secretary's curls bounced as she shook her head in disappointment.

"I called and rescheduled that appointment, Danelle. Sometimes you've just gotta relax," Reggie said in a calming tone.

"What business is it of yours, anyway?" Peter asked rudely. Reggie turned and stared at him. Venkman was never rude to a woman, he liked them too much. Of course, Danelle was out of line, but that was her problem, not his. She could see the parapsychologist was regarding her receptionist with dislike, and couldn't understand why.

"I am in charge of Ms. Rockwell's business affairs. I am just trying to do my job. When people interrupt her," this was accompanied by Danelle's best kitten-like glare, "things get disorganized. You shouldn't have destroyed her schedule by taking her out to lunch." She sniffed daintily.

Peter's mouth thinned and Reggie's alarm instincts went off. Uh-oh. "Why don't you do your job, Ms. Airhead, by doing what you're told and not offering unasked-for opinions on your employer's personal life?" Venkman half-shouted. At the mutinous expression on Danelle's face, he continued recklessly, "And while you're at it, why don't you take a flying flip off a pier?"

Reggie grabbed Peter's ear. Above his "Ouch! Dammit Reg!" she said to Danelle, "We'll be in conference at least half an hour, Danelle. Hold my calls." She pulled the psychologist gracelessly into her office and pushed him into a chair. He stared up at her, furious and breathing hard. "What is your problem, Venkman?"

"My problem? Reggie, you nearly pulled my ear off! That hurts!" he said, rubbing his earlobe. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"You've been acting weirder than weird all day, and now you blow up at my secretary for no reason, and you want me to believe there's nothing wrong? Get serious. What is going on?" Reggie sat on the edge of her desk, regarding him with concern. All of the tension she'd sensed beneath the surface had come to the fore with a vengeance. Peter looked like an ad for a stress headache, white and strained.

"I didn't like the way she was quizzing you," he said truculently, still not looking her in the face. He suddenly smiled dazzlingly at her. You're up to something, Venkman, she thought. "Nothing's wrong. I'll apologize if you want me to," he added calmly, as if he didn't care one way or the other.

"You act tired and perturbed all day, you bring me a mysterious message to analyze, and now you completely lose it at my secretary and you expect me to ignore it? Peter!!" yelled Reggie in exasperation. "Since when is one dippy girl enough to set you off? Usually, you flirt with them until they run to fetch you drinks or food or anything else you need. That blow-up was completely out of character!" To her relief, he was starting to look shamefaced and, strangely, a little scared.

"Was I really that far out of line?" he asked hesitantly, brushing his hair back. At her nod, he seemed thoughtful and tired. "I'm sorry. I really will apologize... " he trailed off, then looked up at her, a vulnerable look in his eyes that made Reggie's heart stop. "I gotta ask you another favor, Reggie," he said quietly.

Reggie firmed her mouth. Not this time, Venkman. You're not going to get me with that sad-eyed look. Unh-uh. "What?" she said in a clipped voice.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, exhausted. "Go with me to the police station to fill out a missing persons report on Ray," he said in a drained voice.

Suddenly all the pieces fell together for Reggie. "Oh, Peter. Oh, no," she whispered, realizing why he looked so terrible. Worry and fear had etched the look of pain on his face and shortened his temper, not lack of sleep.

The psychologist gave her a tired and apologetic smile. "If I was that out of line to your secretary, I doubt I'll be able to handle the cops effectively, either. Just... come with me, hold my hand, make sure I don't punch anyone? Please?" Peter begged, a scared and defenseless look on his face, his entire body limp and tired.

"Okay," Reggie said quietly. She'd always liked Ray. And face it, you more than liked Peter. You can't turn him down when it's this important to him. "Are you going to be all right?"

Peter shook his head, stood up swaying and met her eyes. "Sure," he said, straightening, smiling. "Fine."

You're lying, Venkman. Reggie got her purse. She turned and followed Peter, more worried than ever. But there's nothing I can do, except make sure you don't piss off some policeman. I hope this gets resolved soon, or you're going to seriously lose it.

Egon was making a list. He'd called all the messenger services in the Yellow Pages, and found out none of them were willing to tell him anything when they had so little information. Frustrated, and badly needing something to take his mind off the non-ringing phone, he sat down and started to list all of the elements of strangeness that made up the current situation.

The list looked like this:

1. Ray has been kidnapped by someone close to Justin Tremaine, a vampire. Ray is the one who killed Tremaine. The person who kidnapped him knows what happened on St. Valentine's Day. They are keeping him indefinitely.

2. Someone has terrorized Janine all summer long, by sending her articles of Justin's and dedicating their song to her on the radio. She didn't tell us any of this because she was too scared and didn't want to bother us, which in itself is odd. Someone might be manipulating her without us knowing about it.

3. Peter's nightmares. One on the camping trip, one last week, and several throughout July which he won't talk about. He's been stressed and angry since the beginning of July, and as a result of the nightmares he's now becoming a regular user of sleeping pills.

Egon stopped for a second, and reviewed the list. He had to be completely honest for this to work. So, wincing internally, he added the fourth item.

4. My own haziness. According to Janine and Peter, I was in a daze through most of July. Looking back, this seems true; my behavior was as uncharacteristic for me as Peter's was for him. I got lost on the camping trip, something I never do. I completely missed Janine's state of mind throughout the summer.

He stared at the list, trying to make sense of it. What am I missing? These events can't be unconnected. For all of these apparently causeless effects to occur at the same time isn't a coincidence. Something changed us this summer, something happened to make sure we wouldn't be prepared for Ray's disappearance. Granted, we probably couldn't have prevented it, but we seem to be peculiarly... helpless. Egon threw the pencil down and paced around his desk aimlessly. That was it. There was so little they could do. The Ghostbusters, used to charging in where angels feared to tread, were now compelled to a course of inaction by the dictates of the kidnapping note. It was as if a giant hand had swooped down and grabbed Ray, leaving no trace behind. How are we going to find him? More importantly, how are we going to get him back once we do? The kidnapper has a good idea of what we're capable of and we're clueless, we don't even know how many of them there are.

Egon wandered down to the TV room and turned on the TV set, staring sightlessly at the screen. Ray could be being tortured right now. He could be dead. He switched off the TV, thinking. No. Whoever did this, they have a reason. Ray isn't dead yet, not until they get what they want. What could they want?

Revenge. It was the only thing he could think of. The note had said as much. Revenge... and pain. The waiting was to torment the remaining Ghostbusters, not buy time or to accomplish any other end.

Egon shivered. Someone is very angry with us. They want us to suffer. But, Egon sat up straight, a new thought breaking through for the first time in what seemed like ages, how did they find out? Who could have told them about Valentine's Day?

The answer to that question was as simple as it was chilling. The only people who had known about when and how Justin had died were the Ghostbusters. Which meant...

...which means one of us told this person. One of us told someone we knew about this.

Someone we know. The kidnapper is someone we know.

Wednesday morning dawned gray and cloudy, an early autumn chill in the air. Winston and Egon regarded each other glumly over breakfast, unable to work up any enthusiasm for the job they had scheduled for ten o'clock. Yesterday's dearth of accomplishments had left them all depressed. At least, Winston thought, the police know Ray's still missing. Maybe we couldn't tell them about the kidnapping, but if they run across anything, they'll tell us. He tried not to think that if they did find anything, it would probably already be too late for Ray. Vampires weren't usually sloppy enough to let the police enter the picture.

Egon interrupted Winston's train of thought. "Have you seen Peter this morning?" he asked, stirring his cereal in small circles.

Winston nodded grimly. "He's pacing the TV room. I think the man is getting seriously addicted to USA Night Flight. He tried to quote some line from Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama to me, said it explained how Bush got elected." He took a sip of his coffee, frowned at it, and then put it down. "All that caffeine is unhinging his brain."

The physicist sighed wearily, gathered up his dishes and dumped them in the sink. "He's got to cut that out. Prolonged caffeine intake is only going to intensify his problems getting to sleep." He shot a penetrating glance at Winston. "How are you sleeping?"

Grimacing, Winston cleared the table of the remaining dishes. "Rotten," he said shortly. "I don't remember the dreams, but I wake up exhausted. And scared, sometimes. I don't know if it's just the stress of Ray being... gone, or if I'm losin' it, too."

"I meant to ask you," Egon said slowly, obviously picking his words with care, "Did you have nightmares during July, when everyone was so stressed?"

Pausing at the top of the stairs, Winston looked back at Egon in surprise and a little embarrassment. "Sort of," he said awkwardly, descending to the storage cabinets. "I had an awful lot of - hell. Wet dreams, I guess," he said ruefully. "I don't remember all of them, but it seemed like for a while there I couldn't go two days without one."

"Interesting," said Egon, distractedly reaching for his proton pack. "I talked to Peter last night. He still wouldn't tell me what those nightmares during July were about, but he did indicate that a major percentage of them had an erotic component. I wonder..."

Winston waited. "Wonder what?" he asked, climbing into the car and closing the door when Egon didn't continue.

"Wonder if they have the same cause," Egon said in a disturbed voice. Winston looked at him. The blond physicist had a look on his face that Zeddemore couldn't place for a moment, then he realized that was because he'd seen it so rarely he didn't know it when he saw it. Egon was confused.

"Damn!" Egon said softly, as they left the firehouse heading for the Lower East Side. "I feel like I should know this, but I'm overlooking something obvious. Like something's blocking me. I should know already!" he finished in frustration.

"Take it easy, big guy," said Winston, turning down the car down a side street. "It'll come. It always has."

Egon shot him a disgruntled look, as if he didn't believe him. Winston stopped the car in front of a Victorian gingerbread hous with purple and lavender trim. "This is it. One Class 4, coming up."

Getting out of the car and strapping on their proton packs, Winston and Egon approached the house and rang the doorbell. A gelatinous blue ghoul oozed out of the peephole, eyeing them suspiciously. "WHAT!" it yelled at the top of its lungs, then flew up to the second story. The door opened a second later and a petite Eurasian woman greeted them excitedly.

"Did you see it, did you see it? Oh, sure. The Ghostbusters. Get it!" she yelled as the blue ghost did another fly-by, blowing a Bronx cheer at Winston in passing.

"You take the west side, I'll take the east. We'll trap him in the back yard," said Egon, calibrating his PKE meter.

"Roger," said Winston, jogging down the steps and around the lilac bushes to the gate in the side-fence. He could hear the whizzing of the ghost somewhere above him, and he scanned the edges of the house for a sign of the blob. Nothing.

"Winston! Directly above you!" he heard Egon yell. He dropped to his knees and lifted his thrower. Yup, right above him, making faces. Winston released a containment stream but missed the ghost, who darted up above the balcony at the back of the house. Grimly, Zeddemore trained the stream in his direction, trying to keep control of the proton thrower. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Egon throw out a trap and raise his thrower. Just then the ghost ducked under the balcony. Winston lowered his thrower, saw Egon do the same - and watched in horror as his stream bucked and twisted, shearing away part of the balcony. It was hanging by one board when Egon turned suddenly, catching the blue ghost in the stream... and simultaneously ripping his beam through what was left of the balcony.

Winston made a flying dive for the containment trigger. Coruscating light shot up and grabbed the specter, pulled him back into the trap, and imprisoned him.

"Oh, no," Egon moaned. Winston looked up, even though he didn't want to. The balcony was gone. Totaled. So were the decorative rose bushes that had been underneath the balcony. The owner of the house came out the back door, a smile of thanks on her face - until she saw her backyard.

"My balcony!!!" she shrieked, horrified. "My rosebushes! What did you do to them?!"

"Sorry, ma'am," Winston muttered apologetically from the grass.

Egon straightened, resolute. "We do have insurance for this sort of thing," he told their client. Winston was extremely glad of that fact. Bet this sends the premiums back through the roof, he thought in disgust. Man, how could we be so stupid?

"You'd better! Or it comes out of your considerable fees! My husband's a lawyer, you know..."

Winston groaned internally.

"...and we don't stand for this sort of thing. We'll see you in court if you don't pay for this!! I've never..."

Grimly, Egon fished their card out of his jumpsuit. "Direct all of your complaints to this number, madam. And now, if you'll excuse us, we'll get this trap out of your yard." He and Winston beat a retreat to Ecto-1, their erstwhile client expostulating at them all the way.

"Well that was a roaring success," Winston commented bad-humoredly. "How could we both make such a dumb mistake? I lose control of that stream and barely manage not to kill the balcony, and then you finish the job."

"Thanks a lot, Winston," Egon said wearily. At Winston's look, he said quietly, "I imagine neither of us was concentrating."

"Oh," grumbled Winston, remembering Ray. And Peter. And Janine. When do we get a break? Even work sucks at this point. Can't do anything for Ray, can't catch ghosts without serious property damage.

"I think we'd better cancel all of our appointments until Ray is back. Obviously, we're not up to it right now. You're tired, I'm distracted. Janine's gone. Peter's..." Egon didn't finish the sentence.

"Out of it," Winston concluded. At Egon's remonstrating look, he said sharply, "Face it, Egon. The guy is going through hell. And it's not just Ray being gone. Something is really bugging him. I'm not blaming the man, but he's headed for Burnout City."

"I know," Egon said wearily. "I know. We all are. I just wish I knew why."

"Are you going to go to bed, Peter?" Egon asked pointedly, watching his colleague bounce from chair to chair in the TV room. It was Wednesday night, around nine o'clock. After the morning's fiasco Egon and Winston had returned to Central and busied themselves with make-work; invoices, calibrations, laundry, stuff that had to be done but was usually ignored. Peter had spent the day on the phone to Sidney Price, Justin Tremaine's agent; the lawyers for Tremaine's estate; and various ex-girlfriends. He always left one line open for someone to call on.

It had not put him in any better a mood to discover Janine had already called most of them and asked similar questions. Peter had felt compelled to quit calling people after the third person told him Janine had just hung up. No point in making half of Manhattan suspicious, he thought in disgust.

"Nope. I've got my heart set on staying up 'til dawn, catching USA's lineup of Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death, Earth Girls Are Easy, and Revenge of the Teenage Vixens From Mars. Don't worry. Go on to bed. I'm cool," Peter said, opening up his sixth or seventh can of Pepsi in the last hour. Egon looked like he wanted to say something but, to Peter's relief, he didn't. He just nodded and went up the stairs.

Peter eventually settled down on the couch, Slimer hovering next to him, by the time the first movie started. The little green ghost had been extremely upset for most of the week, understanding that Ray had disappeared but not having the best grasp on why they couldn't do anything about it. He'd taken to watching the late-night trash-a-thon with Peter lately, which the psychologist found oddly comforting. Not that he would have ever admitted it, but Ray's kidnapping had him extremely nervous of anyone else being missing, and having Slimer nearby was reassuring.

"Don't eat all the popcorn this time, Slimer, and I'll let you work the remote control," Peter said, reaching out for another handful of food. For the rest of the evening, he and the green ghost enjoyed the awful late-night movies. Slimer fell asleep some time around eleven o'clock, but Peter was still awake at midnight. Mostly awake. Sort of awake. Actually, he was desperately fighting off sleep and, eventually, he lost the match.

The dream started out all right...

It was a terrific Porsche, this year's model, shiny red, with 0 miles on the odometer. Peter was thrilled. He felt like he was in a beer commercial, the air whipping through his hair, Ray-Ban sunglasses cutting the glare, the road curving around the mountains and off into the sunset. He took the turns at breakneck speed, exhilarated by the car's power. The radio was blasting Van Halen's "Love Comes Walking In" like there was no tomorrow. Sheer bliss.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see there was someone else in the car in the passenger seat next to him, but that wasn't important now, what was important was the next curve coming up and if he didn't want to go over a cliff at this speed, he had to concentrate on it. SSCCCRREeeeee. He went round the turn, the acceleration kicking in, a long down-hill stretch in front of him. "Peter," said the person next to him. He turned his head slightly to see who it was.

It was Lia. Peter was surprised. "What are you doing in my dream?" he asked, somewhat taken aback. She was smiling at him, amused, wearing a white, clingy dress, her hair blowing back. He hadn't dreamed about her in a while, not since July anyway. She'd died a couple of times in his dreams, the same way Kim Basinger and Michelle Pfeiffer had bitten it several times. The smile started to fade from his face, remembering those nightmares that had occurred before he really knew the meaning of the word. "This isn't gonna be another nightmare, is it? 'Cuz if it is, I'm getting off right here."

Lia looked back at him, seeming puzzled. "This isn't a dream. What are you talking about?"

He regained his grin. It was just a dream, not a nightmare. He deserved a good dream after the last week. Zzzzooooommmm. Peter expertly maneuvered the car up and over another hill, around a hairpin curve, and back onto the straightaway. He could hear her perfectly, even with the radio blasting and the wind blowing. "So, what are you doing here? We haven't seen you for a while."

She ignored the first question, her knuckles turning white as they went around another curve. "I had something to take care of. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Peter shifted up a gear. "What about?" What a car.

"Justin Tremaine," she replied. He nearly drove the car into the retaining wall when she said that, but managed to regain control after a second.

"That bastard," he said coldly. Lia shot a surprised look at him, mouth open, obviously not prepared for this reaction. He shifted up again, then did a double-take. Cool! This car has seven gears!

"Basically, I just wanted to know - why do you hate him so much? Why did all of you kill him?" she asked, plunging ahead, her eyes never leaving his face. She seemed scared by how fast they were going, but Peter was enjoying himself way too much to worry about her.

"Oh, I don't know. He tried to kill me, he tried to kill Janine, he would have killed any of us if we hadn't killed him. The rat picked up Egon and threw him across the room, he acted like Janine was his property, not his girlfriend. He messed with the mind of every woman he ever dated. Aside from being a vampire, the man was scum!" Peter was yelling, but he didn't care. He shifted again, felt the engine roar, and swung the car around another curve. He shot a look at Lia. She seemed upset by what he'd just said, as if her feelings had been hurt or she was feeling sorry for the delusions he harbored. Or maybe she was just scared by how fast they were going. "Plus, honestly, I didn't like the guy. Bad karma. He didn't have a personality, just an attitude masquerading as one. He was a creep."

"But he had a good reason for doing those things, didn't he? You're just not telling me what it is, are you?" Lia sounded like she was begging for reassurance.

Peter laughed, genuinely amused. The Porsche started to pick up more speed, cruising around a bend like it was molded to the road. He shifted gears yet again. Nine gears! Man, this is some dream.

"Peter, aren't you going a little fast? Could you slow it down just a little bit?" Lia asked sweetly, her hands gripping the car, her body braced for an impact.

"Naaah. Hey, we're perfectly safe. Trust me."

"I do trust you, it's the Porsche I'm worried about. It seems to have a mind of its own." Lia was definitely looking panicked. They drove a little too close to a guard rail, and Peter thought she was going to lose her lunch...

Which she almost did, when she realized she couldn't get out of the dream. At first Lia had enjoyed the ride, watching the scenery go by, thinking it looked like parts of Italy. But as their talk had progressed, the Porsche had picked up more and more speed. Looking at the speedometer, Lia had seen that they were going approximately 200 mph. Of course, there were no speed traps in Peter Venkman's dreams, so merrily they drove along, scaring Lia out of her mind.

When she tried to exit, to get her mind fully into her body and away from Peter's subconscious and failed, Lia stared in alarm at the driver of the speeding demon car. She had lost control of the dream. She had lost control of Peter. The twists and turns of this drama were proceeding according to Venkman's needs, his anger and frustration were making the car go faster and faster. The few suggestions she had made to start the dream were now developing horrifying implications. She'd had a plan of action mapped out when she started the dream off in his brain; she'd cross-examine him regarding Justin, then crash the car, switching in Ray at the last second and wiping Peter's memory of their conversation. However, if she couldn't leave the dream...

"Peter, can we get back on the subject?"

"Justin? Pig-boy? Nahh."

"Come on, he loved Janine. He wasn't all bad," Lia tried to say. The rage on Peter's face kept her from going any further.

"He wanted Janine. BIG difference. He used and abused every woman he came in contact with," Peter snarled. "He tossed them away like dead flowers. He was going to do the same to Janine."

Lia shook her head, the wind blowing her hair in her face, temporarily obscuring her view of the road, for which she was grateful. "What are you talking about?"

"He had this one girlfriend." Peter shifted gears terrifyingly, forcing Lia to realize that the car had something like eleven gears. "Violet, sweet lady. She ended up scared of him, thought he was a little too intense. So, she wanted to break up. He seemed okay with it." He guided the car around a turn that stopped Lia's heart with its suddenness. "Then she started to have nightmares and hear voices. She had to go humiliate herself in front of her friends, begging him to take her back, before they'd stop. She'd get drunk, walk away, do anything, but the voices telling her to be with that slime wouldn't stop until she was touching him." Peter looked at her grimly, finally giving her his full attention. "And you say he's not so bad?" The lines of his face were drawn tensely, the anger he felt against the dead man barely controlled. Lia realized the only thing keeping him from loosing his hold on his temper was the fact he was driving, and that he knew it wouldn't be safe to lose control here.

Lia also felt a little sick, thinking on his words. Nightmares. The parallels were hitting a little too close to home. It couldn't have been like that, it just couldn't. Peter's got it wrong. "If he did that, and it's a big if, I'm sure he had a good reason."

Peter was laughing again, harshly, angrily. "She dumped him! That's not a good reason to do that to someone! When I get dumped, I find somebody else, I don't mess with the girl's head until she's so scared she thinks she's losing her mind!" The Porsche became airborne for a few seconds, hanging in the air, then crashing to the pavement and gaining speed as it did so.

"Peter," she pleaded, terrified as they edged closer and closer to the wall of the canyon...

"What? Are you scared?" Peter asked, hanging onto the wheel with both hands, spinning it sharply to make it around the next bend. Lia was paler than pale, and Peter was frankly surprised that she hadn't asked to be let out of the car yet. She seemed realer, somehow, than the bimbo with her face that had shown up in his previous dreams. This was the girl who was dating Egon, who was Janine's friend. He grinned, starting to have fun with the situation. "Come on, tell the truth, isn't this more fun than going out with Egon?"

"I don't really like Egon that much," she admitted coolly, staring him in the face, watching his reaction.

Peter stared back, driving the car with half his mind. "Then why are you hanging around him?"

"Actually, Peter, I'm more interested in you," Lia said, her hand inching forward and resting on his thigh. Peter was stunned as she started to work her way up his leg toward his groin.

"Hey! Cut it out!" he said, jerking the wheel, furious. "You're leading Egon on, messing with his head, and now you decide you're ready to take me on? Not a chance, lady. Why are you doing that to him?" Peter remembered that this was a dream. But it didn't matter; somehow, this dream-Lia was telling him something about the real Lia that he already suspected, and it was making him more than mad, it was infuriating him.

"Well, it was necessary at the time," she said, looking surprised. And scared, Peter realized. She really hates my driving. Take this, you witch! He pushed down the accelerator and had the satisfaction of seeing her blanch again.

"That sucks! That makes you as bad as that Justin creep, and - how did you know about that?" he asked, suddenly stunned. How could she know about our killing Justin? Janine wouldn't have told her. How did she know about all that? She wasn't even surprised when I said he was a vampire!!

He turned an enraged face toward Lia...

Uh-oh, Lia thought in panic. Time to leave. NOW. She tried to leave again, to propel her consciousness out of the dream and back to her body. No luck. She was solidly stuck in this nightmare, as a player, not a director. Stuck in an extremely fast car on an extraordinarily twisty road with a driver who was furious with her. Who had just realized how much reason he had to be furious with her, and was taking it out in his driving. If he crashes the car now... Lia tried to block out what might happen to her in that instance.

The car was going something like 400 mph. Peter was directing this dream, which would proceed to the climax she had set up before-hand, but Peter was so angry and so enraged that all bets were off. He could really kill me in this dream! This was a mistake, he's been hanging onto his anger for so long and now I gave it an outlet. Terrified, Lia tried to think of a way out of this, something she could say to calm him down, some way out of the car, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do.

"Peter! Please slow down!"

"You lied to us!" Peter yelled. He shifted into something like 13th gear. "You led Egon on, when he liked you so much!! You betrayed us, set us up - You're in on it! It's your fault Ray's gone!! I swear, if it's the last thing I do, you'll pay-"

The car went around another curve and Peter could see that he was going too fast for the road and he wouldn't be able to make the next turn and it was a choice between going over the cliff or into the canyon wall and he didn't know what to do and he was too angry to do it anyway and besides it would serve her right if she got hurt and he felt so bad about Ray so why not just SMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSHHHHH

Silence.

Peter shook his head, dazed and confused, blood in his eyes. He checked his body. Nothing seems to be broken. He grimaced. Except the car. Porsche parts were everywhere, dented and twisted into tortured shapes. The entire front of the Porsche was smashed to the thickness of a pancake. He turned to his passenger, and felt sick. She was as bent and twisted as the car, blood gushing out of her ear, one of her arms at an extremely odd angle. Peter blinked, and looked again. It wasn't her arm that was out of whack, it was her neck. There was a look of terror in Lia's eyes, of sheer desperation. She wasn't moving.

"Damn! I'm sorry, Lia. So sorry," Peter babbled, guilt eating away at the rage he'd felt moments before.

Lia whimpered. "Help," she whispered. "Help." Something odd about her mouth...

Peter's flesh crawled. Her canines were pointed, sharp, white fangs. The blood was all wrong too, it was a darkish maroon, darker than normal blood, darker than arterial or venal blood. He stared, fascinated, at her eyes, which were glowing scarlet, the pupils slits. For a few seconds, he was frozen. Several thoughts came through in an instant: She did kidnap Ray. She's a vampire. SHE'S BEEN MESSING WITH MY HEAD. Then the fury came back in rolling waves, rage clouding his vision but not his mental processes. She was the one, the one who kidnapped Ray, hurt Egon, terrified Janine, hurt them all... Reason said he couldn't really hurt her in a dream. Reason took a vacation as he went for her throat.

"YOU BITCH!!"

Lia sat up on the bed, gasping, sobbing in hysteria, frantically checking herself for blood and broken bones. She collapsed, panting, back on to the bed, shoving her knuckles in her mouth to stifle her cries. Eventually the hiccuping convulsions of her diaphragm stopped, but the tears kept rolling down her face.

The last blast of anger had eroded enough of Peter's will that she had been able to escape. Tentatively, very, very carefully, she checked on Peter's consciousness. He was awake, she sensed; she also sensed, vaguely, that the blocks she had set up previously had snapped into place with her exit from the nightmare. Venkman would remember nothing except the crash, the interview before it was blocked and inaccessible to his conscious mind.

Peter. His emotions were still tainting her perceptions, even after the dream had ended. His hatred for Justin made her physically ill, it was so focused, so hard. Ray... He's really worried about Ray. He hates me. He hates whoever took Ray. To him, Ray is his family, and I am destroying that. He'd kill for Ray. Lia stared at the ceiling bleakly. He'd kill me now, if he could. Tears continued to fill her eyes.

Ray. I liked you, I did. You were so sweet, so kind. You were nice to me. And look how I have repaid that. Pain. Fear. Mockery. Oh God, why is this necessary? Why must my vengeance be bought with that man's blood?

She sat up, appalled. These were not her feelings, her thoughts. Or were they? Had Peter's emotional state contaminated hers, or were old emotions resurfacing through remembrance? This was justice. This was not vengeance. It wasn't. "It isn't," she said aloud, then covered her mouth quickly, though there was no one there to hear her.

The things that Ray and Peter had told her about Justin came back, sickening her. He couldn't have been like that. He was her love, he was her son. He had honor... there had to be a reason. Ray and Peter were wrong, they had to be.

They have to be.

Slowly, ever so carefully, she forced herself to get off the bed and walk to the door. She strode to the sauna where Ray would be sleeping and carefully, noiselessly opened the door.

He was collapsed on the tiled shelf, after the last session she'd thought it only fair to let him sleep as easily as possible. His hair was in his eyes, the three-day stubble and hollowed cheeks giving him a disreputable look. Lia stood for a moment, staring at him. He looked ill, sad and tired. She remembered the look of betrayal in his eyes that first night, when he wasn't sure if she was real or not. She stepped out of the sauna quickly, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it biting her lip. She closed her eyes in silent sympathy for what he had been going through.

They snapped open as her jaw went rigid. Sympathy? For Ray? What was she thinking of? He killed Justin, he murdered him... But she felt so sorry for him. He was like the people who worked for her around the world who were more than hired muscle, he was like Murphy and Esteban and Irena.

Lia held her head in her hands, whimpering in confusion. What did she feel? Were these her thoughts or Peter's? Did she check on Ray through concern or a need to see that he was quiet? And was it her own concern or was it Peter's worry for Ray? Can't get you out of my mind, she thought, wondering where the words came from.

Exhausted, numb, spent, she returned to her room, her thoughts in turmoil, her heart divided, and her body still aching with the after effects of the dream.

Peter jerked awake, breathing hard, furious. He didn't know why. He just knew he was angrier than he'd been since Ray had been kidnapped. Shaking, teeth grinding, he got off the couch, spilling the popcorn. Slimer still drifted above his head, sleeping. Peter walked over to the window, still gasping for breath, his muscles tense. Flight or fight response, he thought. Dammit, what did I just dream?

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember. There was a car, red, wild, plunging down a highway. The wind blowing through his hair. He remembered... someone else. He was talking to that person, but he didn't remember about what. Peter clenched his fists in frustration. Which part came first? And then what happened, why did I wake up furious?

A pen and paper that someone had left on the TV set caught his attention when he turned around, still strung out. Maybe if I write it down, try to work it out, I'll remember what it was.

He sat down on the floor, chewed on the pen, then started to write. The Porsche, the wind, the speed. And lots and lots of gears. Then, talking. Aggravation made him shake his head at this point. He couldn't remember who or what they talked about. Skip it, come back to it later. Then, a crash. Peter put the paper down, stunned. Man, what a crash. Car parts everywhere, blood, the impact, wow, a stupendous crash.

Something after the crash. Staring straight ahead, Peter ran the scene through in his mind again. Angry, so angry, the impact, checking himself for injuries, looking over at-

Lia! Lia had been the one in the car with him! He'd turned to look at her, and she'd been covered in blood. He'd still been angry about - Peter held his head in his hands, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring it to the front of his mind. He gave up in disgust, returning to the car crash. He'd turned to see what condition she was in and her neck had been broken, or at least hurt, and then he'd seen how terrified she was, and her eyes had been strange, and then he'd realized that she was a vampire...

Peter realized he was panting again, his chest heaving and his hands opening and closing like he still had her neck between his hands. Taking a deep breath, he held it, then let it out slowly, trying to calm down, trying to regain some equilibrium. Vampires. That was it. God, doesn't my subconscious ever let up?!? He frowned. Wait a minute, I was angry about something before the crash. What was it?

He wrote down everything, every detail he'd remembered so far, and recognized that the part that was missing was the conversation. Whatever they had been discussing was what had gotten him so upset. Try as he might, he still pulled a total blank when it came to that part of the nightmare. The surroundings were clear enough, and some of his emotional state throughout the dream was easy to recall, but there was no way in hell he could make that conversation reappear. "Damn, damn, damn, damn," he swore quietly. Then he paused. Why was this so important? Why did it mean so much that he remember this nightmare? Bleakly, Peter looked down at the description he'd written, and considered the concept that maybe he really was losing it. He knew Winston and Egon were being extra careful around him, trying not to set him off; they'd made it pretty clear they were worried about him. He'd ignored it, more wrapped up in trying to help Ray than in his own situation.

Not that you've been much help. Peter massaged the sore muscles in his neck, reviewing the past two days. One trip to a graphologist, one visit to file a missing persons report with the police, and the rest of the time spent worrying about Ray and pacing Central. And avoiding calling Janine, like Egon keeps suggesting.

"Peter," said Egon's voice just then, and a hand covered Peter's on his shoulder, "What are you doing?"

The psychologist looked up, surprised. His friend had entered the room so quietly, or he had been so absorbed, that he hadn't heard him coming. "Oh, nothing," he said airily, covering the scribbles with his other hand. "I thought you'd gone to bed. What are you doing up?"

Egon sat down on the couch, speaking low so as not to disturb Slimer. "I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd get up, run some more checks on the equipment until I felt sleepy. What's on that sheet of paper you're trying to hide?" he asked uncompromisingly.

Peter sighed, looking at his colleague in annoyance. There were days when he wished Egon was absent-minded when it was more convenient for him, and not when it came to the dishes. "Nothing important, just something I had to work out. A dream I couldn't remember." He wasn't quite successful at keeping his emotions out of his voice, even he could hear the strain underlying the flippant reply. Egon's attention sharpened, making Peter feel even more uncomfortable.

"A nightmare, you mean." Peter was silent, not arguing with him, so Egon pressed the point. "Mind if I take a look at those notes?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, Peter flipped the pages over to him. "There's not much. What's really frustrating is I can't remember the most important part of the dream. Something got me really angry, Egon. I remember what was going on and where I was, but not why I woke up furious." Peter ran his hands through his hair, exasperated. "Can you make anything of it?"

Egon pushed his glasses up, studying the wobbly writing. "Porsche. Wind. Speed. Music. Crash?" He looked up at Peter, who stared stonily back. "Lia. Teeth. Peter, this makes no sense. Why don't you just tell me what happened?"

"Because I don't remember!" Peter bounced to his feet, pacing tensely around the room. "I was in the Porsche, a really cool one, going very, very fast. Then I crashed. I looked over to the passenger seat, and Lia was bleeding to death..." Egon raised an eyebrow. "There was something wrong with the blood. It was too dark, too thick. And then I looked at her face." Peter shuddered, feeling a chill. "She had these teeth, like that bastard Tremaine, and her eyes were like... Like his were, when he jumped out the window. I remember trying to strangle her," Peter sat down again and sighed. "And then I woke up. That's all I remember of this dream. I've got vampires on the brain. First that dream last week, now this one. I just wish I could remember why I was so angry."

"That seems fairly obvious; you'd be angry at any vampire you came across right now, given our current situation." Egon did a double-take. "What dream last week? Peter, what did you dream last Thursday? You never did tell me. Was it more vampires?" Egon's tone was urgent.

Peter avoided his eyes, and the question, addressing the first remark Egon had made. "You don't get it. I was angry before she turned into a vampire. But I can't remember why! It's so damn infuriating. I feel like I should know what it is, and that it's important, but I don't know why."

"Don't avoid the question. Something weird is going on here," Egon said, steadily gazing at Peter.

Peter squirmed. "What are you talking about? It's more of the same, nightmares, bad dreams."

"No, it's not. Look at yourself, Peter!" Egon commanded. Venkman looked up at his friend, startled. "You're as tense and wrung out from this dream as if you had just run a marathon. These dreams are not normal." Egon stopped, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he re-focused on Peter. "It was as bad as that one you had on the camping trip, the one about the fire and Ray, wasn't it."

"I don't want to talk about it," Peter said abruptly, again getting up to pace, nervous energy driving him around the room in agitation.

Quietly, Egon said, "This is important. Very, very important. You have got to tell me about these nightmares, Peter." Peter stopped and spun around to face the physicist, feeling incredulous. He's got to be kidding. "I'm not joking, Peter."

"Not a chance, Egon. On a cold day in hell, got it?"

Egon mouth was set, drawn. He lifted his eyes to meet Peter's pain-filled and angry gaze. "There might be a clue in your dreams, Peter. You have to tell me about them. Not just for your sake, but for Ray's." Peter flinched, but remained quiet. "If there is a clue, we need to find it. If there's not," Egon paused, then said softly, consideration taking the edge from his words, "You have to talk about it to get over it. You're deteriorating, Peter. Keeping all of this to yourself isn't doing any of us any good. You won't see a psychologist or a therapist, and if I'm right, maybe they can't help you. But we can't have this eating at you forever. You've got to handle it, or you'll be in no shape to help Ray when he gets back."

The force of Egon's arguments made Peter feel mildly sick. His mouth twisted in a half-smile. Weren't you the one who wanted to do something concrete to help Ray? Well, Egon just gave you something helpful to do. Of course, it'll be sheer hell... Peter shook his head, then squared his shoulders. But it's probably nothing compared to what Ray's going through. I'm not such a wimp that I can't relive a dream if it'll help Ray. I think.

Peter started to speak, quickly, so he wouldn't chicken out. He didn't look at Egon; his eyes roved around the room, not focusing on the surroundings, but seeing instead the horrors of last Thursday night. "The only other bad one that I remember was about Tremaine. After that, it was sleeping pills and caffeine until tonight," he said.

The blond nodded at him to go on, his expression serious. "When was this?"

"Last Thursday."

"Before Ray disappeared?" Egon asked in surprise.

"Yeah," Peter replied, distracted for a moment, but then the memories took over and that detail became unimportant. "We were here in the firehouse, and I was standing... right about here, actually." Peter grimaced. "Tremaine was standing right in front of you, and Ray was on the couch where you're sitting. One of his arms was missing." Peter swallowed with difficulty, bile rising in his throat at the memory. It was all coming back vividly, the shape and texture of it still frighteningly clear after almost a week, unlike the dream he'd just awakened from. He was finding it hard to speak, but thoughts of Ray forced him to continue. "He was crying and moaning in pain because Tremaine had it in his hand. Somebody was screaming and sobbing and I couldn't figure out who the hell it was, and I made a run for Tremaine, to tackle him, take him out permanently, but I missed him, I don't know how, I ran right past him." He stopped talking, trying to catch his breath, and realized he'd moved over to where he had run when trying to grab Tremaine. Egon was looking at him worriedly.

"Take it slow, Peter. Just try to distance yourself from it," Egon said, watching him closely. "It's over now, and it didn't really happen. You're okay."

Peter shot him an angry glance, unable to help feeling disturbed. "It felt like it really happened," he said shortly, then went on with the story. "You were hanging right about there." He gestured to the ceiling.

"Hanging?"

"From the ceiling. By your hair. He had you tied up to the rafter. It looked like he'd been... chewing on you." Peter closed his eyes, swallowed. "And then you died. I was watching you breathe, you were having a hard time of it, and then you just stopped. I could tell." Peter paused, quiet, then opened his eyes and turned. "I turned around and saw Winston lying here. He was already dead, he'd had his throat ripped out. Like Janine's throat was after Tremaine attacked her in February. And somebody was still screaming, and I still couldn't figure out who it was. I turned around - I was going to make another run for Tremaine, try to help Ray, he was alive - and then I saw who was screaming. It was Janine."

"Peter?" The voice cut through his narrative.

Peter looked up and saw Egon staring at him in distress. But the memories had too strong a hold. He kept talking, seeing it all again, looking at the rug where Janine had crouched in the dream, his jaw tense. "She was on the floor, kneeling by my body."

"Your body?" Egon asked, troubled.

"Yeah. My heart was ripped out. There was a gaping hole in my chest. And at that moment, like he knew I was standing right there all along, like he was just playing with me, Tremaine spins around and says 'You're dead, Venkman.' That's when I woke up." Peter shuddered, trying to control his gag reflex. God, what a nightmare. He collapsed on the couch next to Egon, shaking, pushing his hands through his hair and trying to get a grip on himself.

Egon gripped his shoulder tightly, giving him a few minutes to quiet down. Then he said softly, "It's no wonder you've blocked tonight's dream if it's anything like last week's. You wouldn't want to remember it."

"Yeah," Peter said flatly, not looking at him, still feeling mad that Egon had convinced him to talk about it. What good did it do? he thought in despair and newly-remembered pain. I'm still shaking, what good is that supposed to be? Then his brain kicked in. "No, wait," he said, sitting up straighter. "It was different. Last week's, I woke up feeling sick, but I remembered all of it. Tonight, I woke up furious, I mean Raging-Bull-angry, and I can't remember the important part. Damn!" he swore in frustration.

Egon had been looking abstracted, but now his attention came back to Peter. "That's why you've gotten so addicted to those sleeping pills. Because of last week's dream."

Peter put his head down into his hands, staring at the floor. "The form I'm taking is good for suppressing dreams as well as making you sleep. They give these to kids who have night terrors. If I've had any other nightmares, I don't remember them. I know you're right, if I keep taking them I'll be in no shape to help Ray when we get him back." Don't think if, think when, Peter said to himself grimly.

"I wish I could do something to help you, Peter. I wish I could say something that would make it okay. I mean, you're not seven years old, but this is obviously terrible for you," Egon said quietly. Peter turned his head to him, surprised. The sympathy he saw on Egon's face went a long way to lessening his anger at being made to relive the nightmares, Egon was so clearly unhappy with his inability to aid Peter that it made it impossible for him to keep up his disgust and pain. He tried to smile.

"When I was five or so, I used to dream about monsters in the closet. Purple eyes, glowy fangs, the works. I'd wake up screaming, and then my mom would come in and tell me it was all a dream. And I'd believe her. If I wasn't scared, it couldn't hurt me. You always believe your mom when she tells you stuff like that. But," Peter looked up soberly, "They can hurt. I'm scared I'm losing it, Egon." Peter's voice cracked at the end of this speech, his inability to explain himself depressing him further. He stood up, slowly crossed to the window, and stared sightlessly out at the street. I can't even explain what's happening to me to myself, how can I explain it to Egon?

"You're not losing it." Egon's voice was matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing a mathematical treatise and not his friend's sanity.

"How can you be sure? I can't be sure. I'm having nightmares for no reason, I'm losing control of my reactions, I'm more tired than ever-" Peter pushed a frustrated hand through his hair, turned around and faced Egon. "Criminy, I haven't had a good night's sleep in a week! And you tell me I'm not losing it?!"

"Yes. This isn't what it seems. I'm getting a sense of something, of a change that's come over all of us. Me, also. I'm not right either," Egon said in a weary voice. Peter looked at him, watching his face as he went on. Egon didn't look like he was actually in much better shape than Peter was. "I should have figured this out ages ago. Usually I've at least got a theory by now. But I didn't even notice half of what was going on with you this summer, it went over my head the same way Janine's emotional state went right by me. And if I was unsympathetic before, that's unusual, too. I didn't even realize how worn Winston was until he had a nightmare as bad as yours on Sunday." Egon suddenly frowned. "Hmmm."

"What?" Peter asked, interested in spite of his anger and frustration. Egon looked like he was on to something.

"Nothing. I was just... Aargh. I keep getting glimpses of more of what's going on, but then I can't grasp it. It's very frustrating." Egon pushed his glasses up. His eyes regarded Peter wearily. "My point is, it's all connected. Your dreams, Janine's harassment, Ray's disappearance, it's all part of something larger." Egon didn't mention his suspicion that it was someone they knew who had kidnapped Ray. It was nothing more than a suspicion; and besides, if it had been someone that only Ray knew, there was no reason to tell Peter.

"It doesn't help to think that. Thinking that maybe something else besides stress and fear is responsible for these dreams doesn't make me feel any better, Egon." Peter let out a breath, then said, "You weren't there. You don't know what it was like. You can't understand what it's like, to feel that helpless, that out of control."

Egon stared back at him stubbornly, but the sympathy was still there. "Okay. I am not belittling what you're experiencing. I am not making light of it. If I could stop this from happening to you, I would. But we can't do anything about the dreams, Peter. The pills you can do something about. The caffeine I have seen you suck down like it won't be manufactured tomorrow, that's got to quit."

Peter groaned. "Egon, give me a break..." He met Egon's eyes, which were adamant. He's not going to budge on this. Either I promise to give up the pills and the coffee, or he's going to start hiding it from me just to make sure I'm not taking it. "Okay, okay. No caffeine, no pills." Not a chance. Not if it means dreams like that for the rest of this. It may sap my energy to take those pills and depend on the caffeine, but there is no way I'm going to have dreams like that again. Then the thought of what the 'rest of this' was came back to him. Ray was missing, maybe dead... "But what the hell are we supposed to do other than that?" Peter yelled in exasperation. "We can't talk to the cops. We've run down every lead we can, at Curious Goods, on the note, and everywhere else. We've got nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada!!" His loud voice finally woke Simer, who glared at them both in annoyance and then zoomed out of the room searching for a quiet place to sleep.

"You could talk to Janine," Egon said mildly.

"Oh no, no, no, no, Egon, no way am I talking to her," muttered Peter. "I can't forgive her yet. She should have told us. She should have trusted us."

"Peter, as badly as you have hurt all summer, Janine has been hurting worse. Someone has deliberately and with malice aforethought been tormenting her. She has been terrified. Maybe you half-thought you were losing your mind, but Janine has had a feeling of impending doom from the world around her for two months," Egon said, solemnly looking at Peter.

"She should have told us."

"Yes, she should have. But would it have prevented what happened?" Egon shook his head. "I don't think so. This was planned very, very carefully. What were we supposed to do, put a bodyguard on Ray because of a vague suspicion? It could have been any one of us. It could have been me, or you, or Winston. Or Janine. Or someone outside of Central, who we couldn't have protected, one of your girlfriends or a friend of Ray's or a member of Winston's family. There was nothing we could have done."

"Maybe," Peter admitted tiredly.

"No maybes. There is nothing we can do about these dreams. There was nothing we could do to prevent Ray's being snatched. What you can do is stop taking those pills and the caffeine. Stop making it worse. Watching you do that is making me scared, Peter, and I'm scared enough as it is."

Low blow, Egon. Guilt trips right now are definitely hitting below the belt. Peter gave up. "Okay, okay," he mumbled.

"I didn't hear you, Peter. Please speak up," Egon said.

"I said okay, all right?"

"You do know I'm worried about you, don't you?" Egon asked quietly, his hand squeezing Peter's shoulder momentarily.

"Yeah. I do know," Peter said, and realized in that moment that he had been conscious of it, but only as it affected his own worry about Ray. Cripes, I'm getting self-centered. Egon's as worried as I am about Ray, the last thing he needs is more worry that I'm coming apart at the seams. "And I'm not that angry at you for making me tell you about the dream. I just wish they would stop," he whispered.

"I know. All I can promise you is that I'm going to try my best to figure out what is going on, because I think your dreams are connected. I think it's all connected. Your dreams, Janine's harassment, Ray's kidnapping, they're all part of something big, something to do with Justin Tremaine. I just can't see it," Egon said. "And we need all the help we can get. That includes Janine. She cares about Ray as much as we do."

"Egon-"

"She told me about something you said to her in the hospital, about how what happened to her with Tremaine wasn't her fault. Did you believe that then?" Egon asked steadfastly.

Peter nodded, tired. He thought back six months to the sight of Janine lying in the hospital bed, white and scared, crying from guilt and shame. "Yes. Yes, I did mean it. It wasn't her fault." Suddenly, getting angry again, "It was Tremaine's fault. He attacked her."

Egon was watching him speculatively as Peter continued slowly, "This wasn't her fault either. It was the creep who kidnapped Ray's fault. Are you satisfied?"

"Tell Janine. She quit, remember? I think you owe our ex-secretary an apology, as soon as it's light. And ask her about the messenger service," Egon said as Peter got up, stretching his legs.

Peter turned around and regarded his friend soberly. My head would be in such bad shape if you hadn't listened to me spew for the last hour. When I think about the state I was in before I talked to you... "Thanks," he said suddenly, smiling spontaneously.

Egon looked surprised, but there was the beginnings of a smile at the edges of his mouth. "For what? I just told you you had to go see Janine."

"For listening, I guess. You never know how bad you are until you really take a detached look at it. I don't think I could have done that," Peter said, faltering, unable to look at Egon, and then he grinned again, cocky, tired but undefeated. "If you hadn't made me. I thought I was really losing it. I was starting to think that if this went on much longer I was going to do something bone-headed." Like act completely macho, the way I did in Reggie's office yesterday, he finished silently. "As for the other, the pills and caffeine, no guarantees. I'll try to cut down. But I can't do all of this without a few crutches, Egon. And they're relatively harmless." Seeing the look on Egon's face, he held up his hands, saying, "I'll try. That's the best I can offer you."

Dissatisfied but resigned, Egon nodded. "Very well. The best I can offer at this point is that I'll keep trying to figure out what's going on. If you can hold it together until I do, I guess I'll have to accept that."

Peter smiled tiredly. And hope our best is good enough. Hope that Ray can hang on. Hope that there's a reason to hope.

Thursday was a gray day, dreary, humid, and oppressive. Autumn was beginning to sneak into August, the year's end just around the corner. Lia had been out earlier, against Murphy's advice. Gathering storm clouds had made it perfectly safe. Usually, she enjoyed the opportunity to see a city during daylight hours---walking still-crowded streets, seeing the businesses open and busy. But today nothing could lighten her mood. She felt as gray and dull as the weather, as if fog had crept into her bones and stiffened her muscles.

Now she was sitting by the pool in the Black Diamond again. Slowly she turned the fork in her fingers, dipping the marshmallow into the chocolate fondue. Chocolate the same red-brown color as dried blood. Not that she could do more than taste it, she hadn't been able to digest anything more solid than wine for the last seven hundred years. She could taste it, chew it, savor it until she had to spit it out, though. Also, there was the added advantage of what it did to Ray, watching her nibble when he hadn't had anything to eat in sixteen hours.

Lia raised her eyes to Ray's. He was still tired. He looked like she felt. She'd been asking him questions off and on this morning, nothing he couldn't handle. He'd answered as he always did: that the Ghostbusters had done what they had to do to save Janine. She didn't really believe anymore he'd give her any other answer. Dr. Stantz had built up quite a tolerance for pain. Still, he would never be one of those victims who pretended to enjoy it. He was too sane, too smart to be able to fool himself that he wanted the fork to stab into his arm at uneven intervals. Strangely, she felt glad about that. Ray's brown eyes met hers with unadulterated pain and anger. There was no artifice there, no deception. He hated her.

Over the years she had seen many different kinds of violent death: stabbings, shootings, hangings. Executions and murders, accidents and suicides. She had caused many deaths. Some had been for vengeance, some were matters of self-defense. But they had never been like this, this long, drawn-out, torturously methodical death. They had been quick and clean, over in the minimum amount of time. It was a hard thing to find out at her age she didn't have the stomach for this. Quick death, forgotten and past as soon as it was done, that was what she was used to. Drink their blood, dump their bodies, finished. Enough was enough. If Ray wouldn't cooperate (and he won't, she thought in irritated discomfort) then she would simply switch to the second part of her plan: transform him.

Her gaze returned to the fork, twirling the marshmallow one last time. She brought it to her lips, licking it, sucking the chocolate off the marshmallow, watching Ray. She dropped the fork away from her mouth and detached the sticky mess, licking her fingers.

"One more time, Ray." Her eyes met his, steel to crystal. "Why did the four of you kill Justin?"

Something flickered in the back of Ray's eyes. That glimpse of something, rage or craftiness, didn't prepare her for what he said next. If it had...

"We couldn't stand having Janine leave us. We couldn't let her go, the same way you can't let Justin go. We had to prevent that-"

Quicker than thought, faster than any normal reaction, the fork stabbed down and through Ray's hand, spearing him in the palm. Ray screamed in agony, arm stiffening out in front of him, the blood pooling beneath his palm. Lia's lips trembled, her eyes slits of rage. Ray stopped screaming after a while, going limp in pain and holding onto his wrist with his other hand. They stared at each other in silence for at least a full minute. Ray looked pained and exhausted, his mouth set in stubbornness, and Lia was unable to glance away from the hurt on his face.

Finally, she forced herself to look away, feeling lost and scared. "Murphy," she said, her voice cracking on the second syllable, "Get that thing out of his hand. Treat him with antiseptic and bandage him up." She stood up and walked away from the table toward the pool, then stopped, her back to Ray. "Put him back in the sauna, but don't turn it on."

She listened as Murphy took Ray away, and thought of what she was going to do next. Her mind kept returning to the dreams of last night, and her emotional state afterwards. She couldn't care anymore. She literally could not summon the spirit to want anything anymore. Except, maybe, Paris. With a sudden rush of longing, she remembered the streets of the Boulevard after dark. To be gone, to have all of this over and done with--what a relief. She wanted out.

I promised myself, and Justin, that I would have justice. I don't know what that is anymore. Certainly Ray isn't responsible for Justin's death, that last lie proved that. Egon maybe, and Janine - he created the UV lamps, and she... Lia's mouth tightened, her fangs pushing themselves out of their hidden cavities. I have to make them pay. I want this over with. Soon. Now. Tomorrow I will begin the transformation.

When next they see Ray Stantz, he will be utterly within my power. But I will be long gone, far, far away from all of this.

One irrevocable act pays for all. Pays for Justin's death and my pain. My honor will be avenged, and Justin will rest in peace. And I can forget I ever heard the name Janine Melnitz.

The doorbell's ringing had woken her up. Janine poked her head out from under the covers, still feeling muzzy and half-asleep. Whoever it was outside her door was leaning on the doorbell as if they had nothing more to do than stand outside her apartment all day. Janine blearily checked her bedside clock. 9:04 AM. Too late to be justifiably furious with her visitor, too late to go back to sleep, too late to avoid the person at her door. Stretching, feeling her joints snap, Janine got out of bed, grabbed her bathrobe and put it on before she reached the door. She combed her hair through her fingers and straightened her glasses before checking the spy hole.

It was Peter Venkman. Janine's jaw dropped. What in the heck? The doorbell continued to ring. "What do you want, Dr. Venkman?" Janine yelled, crossing her arms and staring at her door as if she could see through it to her ex-employer outside.

"C'mon, Janine, open the door, I have to talk to you," Peter replied, taking his hand off the buzzer. He sounded tired and angry. Janine felt herself stiffen.

"Not a chance, you jerk. I'm not opening this door to some angry lunatic ex-employer, that's how people end up on the eleven o'clock news. You tell me why you need to talk to me and maybe--maybe--I'll consider writing you a letter in reply. We can talk perfectly well with this door in between us. Otherwise, go away."

"For godsake, it's too early in the morning for me to be having a conversation with a door," Peter grumbled. There was a pause, while Janine waited. Venkman wasn't stupid, he knew she was capable of ignoring him or leaving by the fire escape if she didn't want to see him. After a few seconds she heard him say wearily, "I came to apologize."

"Did Egon or Winston make you come here?" Janine demanded, her hand on the doorknob, biting her lip. If he was really here to say he was sorry...

"No!" came the angry response from the other side of the door. "No, they didn't. Now will you cut it out, Janine, this is important, it's about Ray."

She opened the door a crack, looking out hesitantly. Peter Venkman stood on her doorstep, looking disheveled and sleepy. "Has something happened?" she asked softly.

"No." Peter shook his head, putting his hand in between the door and the frame so she couldn't slam it. "Please can I come in? I have to ask you some questions about Justin so we can help Ray."

Janine's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were going to apologize," she said sharply.

"Let me in and I will," Peter said, holding her eyes with his. Janine considered. Venkman had deteriorated over the past couple days, and she would be willing to bet he still wasn't sleeping. Not that that excuses what he said to me, she thought severely. But maybe he is sorry. Well, we'll see. She opened the door and let him in, shutting and locking it behind him. She leaned her back against the door, studying him. "You look like shit."

"Thank you, I know I can always count on you to brighten my day with your cheery comments," Peter said sarcastically, then bit off whatever he was going to say next. He took a deep breath and, visibly steeling himself, said all in a rush of speed, "Janine, I'm sorry I blamed you for Ray getting kidnapped. I was scared and angry and I had to hurt someone, and you were the easiest target. I didn't mean it. I know it's not your fault, you didn't have anything to do with this." He let out a relieved sigh and smiled the famous Venkman you-can-forgive-me-I'm-too-cute-not-to grin at her. Fortunately, she'd always been immune to that trick.

"Not good enough," she said in a clipped voice, although what he'd said had made her feel a little better about letting him in.

"What do you want, blood?" Peter asked exasperatedly, then winced at his own words. "Look, Egon reminded me of something-" Janine folded her arms again, felt her face tighten, "-and no, he didn't make me come here. Do you remember what I said to you in the hospital?"

"Yes," Janine muttered, relaxing. How could I forget? It was the first thing anyone said to me that didn't feel like blame. The others were trying, but they didn't have the words. You did. "I remember. You said it wasn't my fault, that he was older and he'd set me up, and..." her voice trailed off at Peter's emphatic nods.

"Exactly. Janine, Egon and Winston and I, we've been over and over this the past couple of days. Someone's been setting us up for this, as surely as you were last winter. All summer weird stuff has been happening to you, Egon's been out of it, I've been... stressed, it's not all a coincidence. Someone's been working on you, too. That's why we have to stick together on this. If we're going to get Ray back we have to cover everything, and to do that we need you."

Janine considered, watching Peter while she did so. Ray was more important than any grudge she might want to bear Peter. He was a good friend and he didn't deserve what was probably happening to him. Venkman might be an obnoxious, full-of-it wiseguy but he really cared about Ray, and if he was going so far as admitting the Ghostbusters needed her, he had to be pretty desperate. Plus, he had apologized. Maybe that didn't make everything all right, but it was a start.

"Okay," she said, making up her mind. Peter's face sagged in relief. "Okay. Not that you're off the hook for some of the stuff you said, Venkman. But it's not important enough to stop me from helping Ray. But you're on probation as far as I'm concerned, buster. One false move and I'm out that door like lightning, got it?"

Peter grinned. "I love it when you're forceful." Janine grimaced at him. "Seriously, we know you checked on Tremaine's former girlfriends, the ones you know of, and we need to know if you found out anything about an older female that he might have mentioned."

"Female, huh?" Janine said speculatively. "I already talked to all of Justin's acquaintances, and asked them about any special friends of his..." She did a double-take. "How did you know I called them?"

"Great minds think alike. I called some of those people right after they got off the phone with you. I figured, why duplicate effort? I'd just ask you. After I apologized, of course." Peter was trying to look nonchalant, but not succeeding.

Janine snorted. "Of course." Peter shrugged innocently as Janine headed toward her bedroom. "Let me get dressed, and I'll tell you what I know on the way to Central." She turned around at her bedroom door. Peter was right behind her, looking at her with spaniel eyes. "Wait here, Peter. Sit. Stay."

"Yes, master," Peter panted. Janine choked back a giggle, feeling better than she had in days. At least that hasn't changed. Venkman is still that much himself. Maybe there is a chance, just a chance, we can get Ray out of this.

Egon and Winston had been relieved that Janine had returned with Peter. Egon hadn't been positive Janine would come back for anything less than abject begging on Peter's part, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know how close Venkman had come to doing that. For the rest of Thursday, Janine and Peter went over the little information they had and then gave it to Egon. They spent the rest of the day, as did Winston, trying to behave normally. Egon didn't try, he was too preoccupied with his list. Late that night, with the sound of the TV blaring mindless music to yet another Up-All-Night movie-a-thon on Peter's part, Egon sat at his computer, thinking.

Egon's list now had five more items on it. 5. Vampire is female, older than Justin by at least 200 years, possibly French. 6. Has at least two henchman helping her capture Ray. May or may not be vampires. 7. According to Janine, no information on places in Manhattan where an associate of Tremaine's would be likely to hide. No information about older sister, creator, lover. 8. Peter's nightmares suggest mental tampering by an extremely old, sophisticated vampire (see notes from Count Vostok). 9. Winston's nightmares also have an abnormally frightening and erotic component; he is also experiencing abnormal exhaustion. Possible avenues to pursue: Henchmen (are they being paid? are they vampires?) Tremaine's former life, possible infiltration by acquaintances.

It was the last line that made Egon's stomach clench. Possible infiltration by acquaintances, he read back to himself. Why don't you just say it: people who would betray us to vampires?

He didn't know. He couldn't know. But somehow, some way, he had to figure out who could have breached their defenses, gotten the information of Justin Tremaine's death to the enemy. It couldn't be solely through Ray; upon reflection, and rereading his notes, he'd realized something important. Justin and Janine's song, So In Love, that wasn't something Ray would have remembered or remarked upon. It wasn't unlikely that Justin could have mentioned it to his (theoretical) mentor, but Egon had an intuition that the vampire had gotten the information from Janine. Anyone who knew enough to send the statue, send the robe, and have the song played on the radio was someone who had probably met Janine in person. Which meant a great deal of work for him.

I'm going to have to make a list. A very large, very careful list of everyone we know, and then, by process of elimination, figure out who it could be. Who we haven't seen in full daylight, who we met since Tremaine's death, which woman had made friends with Ray, or dated Peter, or maybe been in Janine's group therapy. Who planned this.

Egon could feel himself closing in on the answer. He was so near to solving it. So why do I feel so apprehensive? What is that fuzzy part of my mind trying to tell me?

Or trying to hide?

Lia ground her teeth in frustration and dug her nails into the arms of her chair. She may have given up on manipulating Peter, she may have decided to throw in the towel when it came to torturing Ray, but she still had enough power to cloud Dr. Egon Spengler's mind. He was as infatuated with her as it was possible to be without having been bitten by her. There was no way he could possibly avoid her control.

Except there he goes, doing it again. The vampire steeled herself, willing the physicist to stop thinking about the things he'd forgotten. Giving him something else to think about might help. Something that wouldn't lead back to her, or Ray, or the problems the Ghostbusters were facing. Like - food. He had to be getting hungry by now, he'd been at this for hours.

Pizza. Chinese food. Hamburgers. Egon got up from the computer and headed for the kitchen. Lia smiled in satisfaction, mentally tracking him as he entered the eating area and opened the refrigerator door. His eyes scanned the interior, and lighted on the tuna salad Ray had gotten from the deli the week before. Which led to him thinking of Ray buying the salad, which led to thoughts of Ray and how much he missed him, which led right back to where she'd been trying to derail him. Blast, blast, blast. What else can I divert him with? There has to be something.

Experiments. Lia gently introduced the concept of looking over some of his PKE readings, correlating the data, and seeing what he came up with. Immediately his mind seized on the concept... and connected it to using Ray's biorhythm pattern to track him around Manhattan, and why that wouldn't work in this particular case but how it might be useful later on. Letting out a frustrated groan, Lia stood up and started to pace her office. No matter what I do or how I try to direct his thoughts, his entire concentration is focused on finding Ray. Or if not Ray, it's Peter or Winston or Janine and how their problems tie in to finding Ray. Every idea, every diversion inevitably leads back to Dr. Stantz. Even when I send direct commands, he circumvents them! Spengler thinks his way around mental roadblocks to reach conclusions he shouldn't be capable of contemplating! She opened the door to her office and stalked down the hall toward the pool, fuming.

At the pool's edge she sat down carefully, adjusting her skirt. Lia cleared her mind and tried to find a center of calm within herself. Slowly, she let the sight of the changing lights in the water lull her into peacefulness. When she felt ready, she tried again.

Resistance, a wall of concentration and concern so thick that outside thoughts could not directly pierce it, rose up to meet her when she tried to touch Egon's mind. Trembling with the effort, the vampire slowly wormed her way into his subconscious. The emotions she had induced in his mind had been the lever she had used to control his thoughts. They had been the screw she had turned and the pressure she had applied to different areas of his mind, making some areas go dormant and others become more active. Now, with Ray in danger, Peter on the verge of a breakdown, and Winston and Janine in genuine distress, his feelings for her were meticulously shunted off into a corner to be dealt with later. The impetus, the force to move his thoughts was still there, but she couldn't get to it. It was completely separated from the emotions he was currently experiencing, all of them concerned with the friends he loved instead of the 'girlfriend' whom he only cared about because Lia forced him to feel things that weren't real.

Suddenly, like a quicksilver snake, Egon's subconscious focused on her presence. Not actually aware of her, it nonetheless suggested to his conscious mind a train of thought connected with her presence at CURIOUS GOODS the evening of Ray's disappearance. No, that's not what I meant at all! Furious, Lia tried to block off the memory, but he simply accessed it by another association.

In disgust and frustration she withdrew from his mind. Slowly she opened her eyes, letting herself fully return to her body. Bemused, she contemplated the depths of the pool, the light flickering back and forth. I knew you were trouble, Egon. I knew it the minute I met you. And after all Ray told me about you I was sure of it. Why can't you be like most men, all ego and lust and no concentration? It's not even that you're brilliant. You are, but you actually use what you've got.

The ugly truth is, I can't control you. Lia rose to her feet, feeling drained and defeated. There is nothing more I can gain from this. Egon might never regain full command of his faculties when I'm around, but I will never be able to have total control, either. This was a waste of time.

No more games, except what I do to Ray. No more manipulation except that which is absolutely necessary to change Dr. Stantz. This match with Egon Spengler is officially a draw. And nothing more for Peter, either. That carries far too much risk. Lia trudged back to her office, considering the possibility of manipulating Winston, or terrifying Janine further, and then discarding both options. Why bother? They're already tired and scared. Anything more will cost me more than it's worth, and will probably alert the oh-so-astute Dr. Spengler as well.

She stalked into the office and collapsed in her chair, disgusted. None of this is working out like I imagined.

Light shafted its way into Ray's room. He tried to think of it that way, instead of as his prison. Somehow it helped him deal with the imprisonment to believe he would be out of here soon and thinking of this space as his own helped that belief. It further helped him cope with the imprisonment that he hadn't been tortured in the sauna since the first session with the curling iron. Lia tended to confine her mistreatment of late to the area by the pool. Ray opened his eyes, dazedly looking at the blankly cold face of Lia's henchman. Roughly, Murphy unchained his ankles and prodded him out of the room. He felt too weak to fight back and he had decided a while ago (a day? a week?) to save his strength for what looked like a real chance to escape. So far, there had been nothing.

Murphy pushed him into his accustomed chair, and chained him again to the lawn furniture. Part of Ray found that funny; he was so weak now that even if there had been a way out, he wouldn't have been able to take on Murphy and Lia to take advantage of it. Another part of him was sick at the thought he was so helpless.

A phone was placed in front of him by an expensively manicured hand with nails the color of blood. Just like in the movies, Ray thought crazily. Absolute talons. "Dial," said Lia's voice quietly from behind him.

Ray shook his head, trying to clear it of sleep and soreness. "Dial who?" he asked stupidly.

"You know who. Dial."

Shaking, Ray reached for the phone and pulled it into his lap. He looked up at Lia fearfully. Her face was an impassive porcelain mask. Disbelieving, he thought, It's a trick. She's going to grab the phone away from me. Or she's not going to let me talk to them. He bit his lip and picked up the receiver. But I have to try.

555. B-U-S-T. The phone rang. It was picked up halfway through the first ring. "Ghostbusters, whaddaya want?" It was Janine's voice, her familiar, Brooklyn-accented, terrific voice. Ray's throat froze. "Hello?" Janine asked in irritation.

"Janine? It's Ray," he said. "I-"

Lia made a slashing motion across her throat to Murphy and he grabbed the phone away. Lia's hand came up and over Ray's mouth, her fingers digging into his jaw. Murphy placed a device Ray recognized as an electronic handkerchief over the phone to muffle his voice and confuse the listener on the other end. He nodded at the vampire, then spoke. "Get the Ghostbusters on the phone. Fast."

"One word, Ray. One. Single. Word. One clue, one thing that will tell them who kidnapped you, and I take it out on your friends. They have to know you're alive for this to work. But you tell them anything and I do mean anything, and I walk into Central tomorrow night, rip out Janine's throat, and then work my way up the firehouse. Winston next. It'll be quick for him. It won't be so quick for Egon, it'll be long, and painful, and tortured. Then Slimer, I've wanted to put paid to him for a long time, there's so much you can do to a vulnerable nether entity if you know how. And Peter will last the longest of all. Think about what I've done to you the past few days and imagine if I had Peter to work on for weeks. It depends on you." Lia smoothed the hair over his forehead, her voice just a whisper of breath in his ear. "Just so you know."

"Got 'em," Murphy said briefly. He removed the electronic handkerchief.

Lia moved around Ray's chair and nodded at him. "Go ahead, Ray."

I wish looks could kill, because you'd be frying right now. Ray took the receiver, cleared his throat and said, "Guys?"

"Ray! Ohmigod, Ray, where are you!?!" Peter's voice blasted in his ear.

"Ray, are you all right?" Much less loud but every bit as intense, Egon was desperately asking for reassurance.

"They'll kill you if I tell," Ray blurted before he could stop himself, glancing up at Lia, sure she would cut the connection. She merely smiled and motioned at Murphy, who disappeared into her office. She seemed content to let the call continue. "I'm... okay. The food's not great. But it's better than camp..." Ray found he couldn't speak anymore, the relief he felt that they were still alive, still well after all the uncertainty of the past few days, washing over him like a wave. They were okay, they'd find him and then this would be over.

"Ray, we're going to get you back, try to hold on. I know you can't tell us much, but do you know why they're letting you call? What do they want?" Winston asked determinedly.

"I'm not sure," Ray said, a sudden feeling of dread crawling up his spine. Why had she let him talk to them? It couldn't be just to torture him. She said, for this to work, they need to know you're alive - for what to work?

"Do they want to know something?" Lia asked, her voice barely audible, her eyes burning into his.

"They want to know what you want. And so do I," Ray added, anger giving him the strength to face her squarely.

Murphy placed a tray with a hypodermic needle and a vial of dark-red liquid on the table. Ray felt the blood leave his face as Lia picked up the syringe and filled it from the vial. Murphy took the phone away from him and placed it carefully on the table, receiver facing upward so the people on the other end could hear precisely what was happening.

"No..." Ray protested. Lia didn't meet his eyes as she knocked the bubbles out of the needle, carefully adjusting the level of liquid. "NO, don't. What are you doing?!?" Ray yelled, moving the chair backward in his struggles. Her fingers were iron bands holding his arm in place but still Ray struggled, panic giving him the strength that had been denied him in the past few days. It can't be. She can't be doing what I think she's doing. It won't even work, she's got to know that!! She motioned to Murphy, who moved to hold Ray in place and expose his arm to Lia as she injected him with the red liquid. Fascinated, Ray watched as the thick, dark maroon substance oozed its way into his arm. "Why are you doing this to me?" Ray tried to move his arm, to flex the muscles, trying to resist in the smallest way, but Murphy held him fast and he could not escape.

Lia picked up the phone and shoved it toward him, mouthing the words, "Tell them what just happened." Ray got it then. Oh, no. Oh, you witch! Defiantly he shook his head, not about to contribute to his friends' pain. He hadn't told them he'd been tortured and he wasn't allowed to tell them Lia was to blame for the kidnapping, but there was no way she was going to get him to tell... get him to telllll... tell what?

His face felt numb and his eyes heavy. Ray could hear the blood rushing in his ears, the beat of his heart pounding through his body. Every breath rasped through raw, hypersensitive air passages. "What's happening to me?" he whispered, or did he shout it? There was no way to tell, there was something wrong with his hearing, and then his heart exploded.

Pain. Raw, shocking pain, through his throat and his torso, down through his arms and legs, back to his head. There was a resounding thrumming pain in his ears, his veins, his skin... Ray thought he would die of the sheer sensory overload. It was too much. It was much too much too much...

It all stopped abruptly. Ray opened his eyes, slowly, very slowly, and looked around. He had no idea how long he had been stranded in that unlovely space of pain and disorientation. His body felt so weak, so tired. And hungry. God, was he hungry. With difficulty, he focused his eyes on the table. The receiver wasn't there. Ray glanced up. The electronic handkerchief was on it again, cradled in Murphy's hands. Murphy was talking.

"Just a taste. If you don't cooperate, your friend will suffer. He hasn't had an easy time of it." Murphy's voice was an uncaring, unhurried monotone, simply reciting facts. "Wait for instructions. We'll get back to you." Before Ray could yell No, wait! Let me talk to them! the henchman had hung up the phone. Ray stared at it numbly, ignoring the hunger that ate at his guts, distracted by the mental anguish of knowing he was too weak to pick up the phone. Trapped. Helpless. How much longer? HOW MUCH LONGER? Guys, come and get me any time now, please.

"Very good, Murphy. You can go. Raymond and I are going to have a little dialogue."

Another wave of dizziness, but no disorientation. When Ray was awake enough to pay attention, Lia was already speaking.

"...went rather well. Peter was certainly upset. But then we knew he would be, didn't we?" Ray caught something in her voice then, like a scratch on a record, a catch, a break in control. "And Egon's reaction was everything that could have been hoped for. When I sue for terms they will certainly do everything in their power to comply. Good thing Janine was listening, she got quite upset when you started to scream. That'll make it a lot easier."

"Terms?" Ray croaked, coughed, then looked at her in confusion. "Scream?"

"Pay attention, Dr. Stantz. I don't like to repeat myself, as you very well know." Lia smiled like a shark and stretched her arms out, moving her shoulders to get the kinks out of them. "You're not staying here forever, you know." The casual way she said it took Ray's breath away. As if I'm a guest who's overstayed his welcome, he thought in amazement. That thought kept him from examining the alternatives she had in mind to his staying there. Lia went on, "The Ghostbusters have something I want. I have something they want. So we'll trade. They'll get you. And I'll get Janine."

The full import of her words hit Ray, shattering whatever composure he had left. "No," he whispered, then forcing the words out through aching lips, he said, "No. They'll never agree to it. They wouldn't trade my life for Janine's. They'll get me out of here, or I'll escape, but they will never, ever turn Janine over to you." Strangely, Ray felt calm about that. Dying, even, would be better than giving this woman anything she wanted.

Lia leaned forward, her eyes glittering with a not-quite-sane light. "Oh, but they will," she hissed. "Maybe not to save your life, but to save your mind? Your soul?" She leaned back, her body taut, her eyes never leaving his face. "You weren't aware enough to hear the explanation Murphy gave your friends. But then you'd already guessed, hadn't you? You guessed what I injected you with. You are an occult expert, after all. That liquid was my own blood." Lia held up her wrist, peeling back her sleeve to reveal a half-healed scar.

Ray felt his scalp contract as the hairs at the back of his neck rose. He'd known. But knowing and having that knowledge confirmed were two different things.

"There are three classic paths for you to take now. You can become a vampire." She laughed humorlessly. "Highly unlikely. You don't have the temperament for it and I don't intend to allow you to change. If you start to become a fledgling, I'll kill you quickly." Ray tasted acid at the back of his throat.

"You can die. I don't intend to allow that, either. I don't doubt you would choose that, given the other alternatives, but I am not going to give you the choice. There are ways, not pleasant, but there are ways, of taking that choice away from an initiate and still having a transformation occur. No, I intend to turn you into a mindless, ravenous, soulless zombie, Dr. Stantz. A bloodsucking fiend of the night, as Peter called me. Evidently they have been investigating a little, and anyway, that letter I sent them would have effectively removed any doubts about what kind of monster has you."

She smiled brightly, widely, her fangs showing. Ray swallowed again, aware anew of how hungry he was, how he would give anything for a burger or a pizza or some raw steak. She's got to be kidding, he thought in horror. This can't be for real. It can't be. But she was still talking, calmly, serenely now. Not a tremor, not a sign of remorse appeared to mar her calm as she outlined his death. "So don't tell me what isn't going to happen and what is. I have all the cards, all of the angles covered, all of the weapons pointed at you. And your friends have Janine. I will have what I want. Or you will pay the ultimate price."

Winston watched Peter hang up the phone, speechless with horror and hurt. Oh, Ray, what are they doing to you? They can't do that. He looked at Egon's ashen face. Can they?

A choking gulp to Winston's right distracted him momentarily. He turned just in time to catch a glimpse of the destroyed look on Janine's face before she ran up the stairs, half-tripping, half-running, and skidded into the TV room. Wild sobbing could be heard from upstairs.

Shaken, Winston looked at his colleagues helplessly. Egon was as shocked as he, by the look on his face. Peter was hunched over the phone and Winston couldn't see his expression. His shoulders were trembling and there was an odd sound coming from the psychologist. Reaching out a hand, Winston tried to say something but found that his throat was too dry for speech. Swallowing, he tried again. But what could he say? That it would be all right? It wasn't. It couldn't be. His eyes went back to Egon, praying he would have an answer, some idea of what to do about the horror they had just heard.

Peter straightened up, tears on his face. He was still cradling the phone between his hands. Winston had a flash of what was about to happen, but he couldn't find it in his heart to stop it. Peter ripped the phone out of the wall and threw it as hard as he could away from himself, toward the stairwell. It crashed into the balustrade, the receiver and cord dangling over the rail and the body of the phone trailing behind. An instant later, Venkman grabbed the tape dispenser and threw it past Egon into the far wall, and the stapler followed. The Rolodex was sent flying toward the front door, cards scattering like leaves as he grabbed the blotter and flung it frisbee-fashion into the fire pole. Egon tried to grab him as Peter grasped the desk lamp and rammed it into the filing cabinets, shrieking semi-coherently the entire time. Peter eluded his hands and moved around the desk, panting and gasping, spinning around and yelling, "WHY???"

"I don't know," Egon whispered, tears running down his face. The admission broke Winston's ability to cope, despair settling on him at the pronouncement. We're doomed. Ray's doomed. We can't save him. Egon was holding out his hands to Peter, who was backing away, a wild look on his face.

"Why? THERE HAS TO BE A REASON, EGON. TELL ME!! Why is this happening?" Peter grabbed at the pole and swung around it, then picked up the blotter and threw it with vicious force toward the front door. He started slamming his hands into Ecto-1, repeating "Why?" in a harsh sob with every punch. Any second he was going to put his fist through one of the windows. Better stop him from doing that, Winston thought in grim pain as he moved forward to grab his friend. Peter turned on him, landing a blow on his midriff with enough force to knock some of the wind out of him. He made a grab for the distraught man's arm and held on with all of his strength.

"Easy, Peter, easy," he found himself whispering. "C'mon, man, take it down..." and Egon was suddenly beside him, holding onto Peter's other arm. They wrestled him down until they were all sitting with their backs to the car, Peter cursing and crying, Egon with tears coursing down his face, and Winston still unable to breathe right, remembering over and over the sound of Ray's voice as he had screamed for them, yelling their names in an unhearing delirium of pain. He didn't know how long they sat there holding Peter down, saying soothing things, before he started crying too. It wasn't fair. He knew exactly how Peter felt. It was just so unfair. If he had been a different kind of guy, he would have ripped Janine's desk apart also.

Slowly, gradually, he felt Peter relax, his muscles loosening. Blinking his eyes, he turned toward his friend. The psychologist was tentatively trying to hug Egon, who seemed oblivious, his eyes tightly shut in pain. "Egon?" Peter whispered questioningly. The scientist's glasses were skewed, tears running unchecked down his cheeks, his head shaking back and forth. Peter's arms tightened around the physicist as Winston breathed out a trembling sigh of relief. Looks like Venkman is gonna be okay, he thought exhaustedly. He moved around until he was facing both men, Peter now holding Egon tightly as the physicist shook in pain.

"Peter?" he whispered. Venkman's eyebrows rose in a question, his eyes haunted but sane again. Swallowing, Winston said simply, "Stay with him."

Peter's mouth quirked. "You don't have to tell me," he said wearily, then jerked his head toward the stairs. "Go see Janine." He didn't let go of Egon, not even for a second.

Winston climbed up the stairs, feeling a thousand years older than when he had come down them less than an hour ago. Outside the door to the TV room he paused and looked in. Janine was collapsed face down on the couch, her body wracked with crying, face buried in the cushions. Helplessly, he walked forward and sat on the edge of the couch, stroking her hair. He remembered another time, another place, when he had done this; the hospital, after Valentine's Day. There had been nothing he could say then and there was nothing he could say now. Then, he had thought it was all over, that there was nothing left to fear, and still he had not known what to say to her in the face of so much pain. Now, knowing the nightmare was still happening, he wondered if there was ever anything anyone could say. He felt like screaming and cursing until the end of the world for what had been done to Ray, for the injustice of it. But there was nothing he could do.

His hand slowed, a thought percolating to the front of his mind. Nothing. Nothing? "Janine," he said quietly, surprised that his voice was steady. "Janine," he said with a little more force.

She raised her head, still crying. She'd lost her glasses somewhere before she'd fallen on the couch and her face was blotchy and red. "C'mon, we gotta get going," Winston heard himself saying. At her incredulous look, he took a deep breath and slowly, carefully said, "We can't let them win like this. Not without a fight. Are you going to let this happen?"

"I already did! Winston, this is my fault!" The words Janine had meant to scream came out as a whisper. "Mine! If Ray dies-"

"He's not gonna. We're going to make sure of it. We can't give up hope yet. If we do," he paused, then said the most terrible words he'd ever had to say, "it really will be our fault. Now come on. We've got work to do."

She sat up, rubbing at her face. "Work?" she asked dazedly.

Attagirl, Winston cheered in his mind. "We've gotta figure this out. There's a clue there somewhere. Let's go downstairs."

Supporting Janine, Winston slowly guided her back to the landing, where he stooped and picked up her glasses. "Here you go," he said, handing them to her.

She fumbled with them a second, her hands quivering, before she managed to replace them. She tried to smile at him, but her mouth couldn't stop trembling. "Thanks," she whispered, and then hugged him. They stood like that a minute, holding each other, then went down the stairs, their arms still around each other as they made their way over to Peter and Egon.

Egon had stopped shaking but he didn't look any better. His glasses were on the pavement beside him, and the expression on his face spoke of either extreme heartache or a migraine headache. He leaned against Peter as if he didn't have the strength to support himself. Winston was betting on both the headache and the heartache. Peter was still gray, showing the aftereffects of shock, but he wouldn't let go of Egon's shoulders. He grinned up at them as Winston and Janine came to a stop in front of them, the smile merely a dim echo of his usual cockiness.

"So," he said creakily, his voice still shaky, "Are we going to let that bitch get away with this?"

Winston found there was a smile somewhere inside him after all. "Hell, no," he agreed, meeting Venkman's eyes. It was bravado, all of it, but it felt better than what had gone before. He tightened his arm around Janine.

"What are we going to do?" Janine whispered, stretching out her hand to Egon. The physicist grasped it, clutching it tightly. Winston thought it had to be hurting Janine to have him hold it like that, but she didn't seem to care. She staring trustingly at Egon, hope on her face. Egon shook his head, his face bleak.

"Egon, you kidder," Peter said. His voice almost sounded normal. "You were working on something, I know you were. What was it?"

Egon's mouth twisted in misery. "Nothing," he said in an undertone. "It was nothing. I don't think it can help."

"But it was something," Winston said eagerly, jumping on the only shred of hope he had. "What?"

The physicist shook his head despondently, then turned his face toward Peter. "I just... made a list. Of clues. I thought it would help. But how..." Egon's voice broke, then he went on, "How can it help against that?"

"It'll help, Egon. They just did that to break us down, to hurt us," Peter said intensely, his eyes blazing conviction. "Egon, I believe in you. You can do it." He squeezed Egon's shoulders, his hand tightening until the knuckles whitened.

Egon raised an eyebrow, then shrugged himself into a sitting position from where he was leaning, let go of Janine's hand and felt around for his glasses. Carefully, he put them on his face. He looked from Winston to Janine, and last at Peter. "Okay, " he said, and his voice was deeper, but controlled. "We go out, we get some food. We take a break. We come back here and we go over the clues. Not now. We're too upset."

"It's a plan," Winston concurred, helping Egon to his feet. He turned to see Janine staring at Peter warily.

Venkman returned the look and smiled raffishly. "Give me a lift up?" he asked. Janine held out her hand and Peter pulled her down and off-balance, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Remember what I said yesterday," he stated seriously as he scrambled to his feet. Janine nodded, tears glistening in her eyes.

The four of them headed for the door, arms around each other. Winston blinked in the harsh sunlight and looked up into the sky.

It was eleven o'clock in the morning, six days since Ray disappeared, and it felt like midnight in Saigon.

Lia sat stiffly in her lawn chair the next morning, thinking of nothing. Deliberately blanking her mind. If you don't think about it, it won't hurt. Not thinking about Justin, or Ray, or Peter, or anything. Really not thinking about Paris. Especially not Paris.

Murphy walked toward her from her office and respectfully stopped in front of her. "I'm afraid there's a problem, madam. It seems Robert has been arrested."

She blinked, surprised for the first time in a week, and unpleasantly, too. "On what charges?"

"Theft. Nothing to do with us, but," Murphy hesitated. "That was he, on the phone just now. He said that if we didn't pay his bail money, and some 'extra', he was going to tell everything he knew about Dr. Stantz."

Lia throttled down the urge to screech. It was only the frustration she felt with her helplessness that made her angry. How dare he! That common, stupid clod. Does he think he can threaten me? Me! I'll show him. She finally had an outlet, a suitable outlet for all her frustration. After being foiled all week by Ray, unable to wring a confession from him, and then being unable to work up the strength and control to manipulate Egon any longer, and lastly the pain of Wednesday's dream, she was really not in the mood to have some penny-ante thug try to blackmail her. At least I can deal with this easily and quickly. "Tell him to go to hell. In fact, I think I'll see that he doesn't miss his bus to Hades. Personally."

Saturday morning the Ghostbusters were trying to work. Janine was collating PKE readings at her desk, Winston was reading over Egon's list, and Peter was sleeping. Egon was unable to stop worrying about him, Peter may have promised to try to stop using the sleeping pills but it didn't look like it was working. He was still staying up all night, catching an hour's sleep here and there, and gulping down Cokes and Pepsis like he owned stock in the companies. Slimer was watching over him, almost as concerned as Egon was. After yesterday's explosion they had all needed some rest, and nothing had been accomplished for several hours. This morning was the first real chance any of them had had to work and try not to think about Ray. Which was what Egon was doing at that moment: thinking about Ray.

He looked at the list again, trying to think of something else, anything more, that could lead him to Ray's captors. He had six names on the list. Six, out of a beginning tally of fifty-eight. Fifty-eight women the Ghostbusters had met either in passing or more personally since Valentine's Day. Some had been women Peter had dated, some were from Janine's support group, a few were acquaintances from lectures he had attended or given, and a few were women Winston had brought back to Central. Gradually, step by step, using the strictest curriculum he could come up with, Egon had eliminated all but six.

But six might as well be six thousand if I can't find them, and don't know which one is responsible for all of this, Egon thought. Item: none of these women have been seen during daylight. Item: all have met Janine, and were introduced to Ray. Item: none can be found at this time. Item: all of them became acquainted with us after March. Item:, Egon concluded wearily, I haven't a clue which one of them could have done these things.

There was something he was missing, he knew that. The pieces were coming together in a frightening pattern, a sinister tracing of purpose across all of the Ghostbusters' actions throughout the summer. What kind of person would plan all of this manipulation?

Someone of almost infinite patience. Someone who wants to see us suffer. Someone who knew I would be a threat and took precautionary steps to incapacitate me. Someone who is drawing substance, when they can, from Peter and Winston's dreams. Someone who knows what would scare Janine the most. Someone with enough money or power to acquire outside help. Someone who knew which buttons to push with that phone call. Egon gave a disgusted sigh. I need more information! This isn't quite enough, I need one more piece to the puzzle...

The phone rang. Egon ignored it. A few moments later he heard Janine's excited voice. "Egon! It's the police, they think they might have a lead."

Egon snatched at the phone by his computer, nearly sending the phone spinning to the floor. "Hello, this is Dr. Spengler. Who am I talking to?"

"Dr. Spengler? Are you the one who filed that report on Tuesday?" An older man's voice asked, shadings of the Bronx in his voice.

"No, that was my colleague, Dr. Venkman. Have you found out something about Ray?" Egon asked impatiently.

"Well, we've got this guy down in holding. I'm Sergeant Barnes, with the 15th Division in Queens?" The policeman's voice made it a question. "The thing is, we brought this guy in last night on a grand larceny charge. You ask me, he's making this up so he'll get off easy, but he said if we would give him a break on the sentencing, he'd tell us about the kidnapping of your friend." Egon stopped breathing for a second when he heard those words, but the policeman was still talking. "I dunno. We've got this Missing Persons Report with the APB on it for your friend and there's nothing here about any kidnapping, but we thought you might want to talk to this guy-"

"You're absolutely right, Sergeant. I would very much like to talk to him. We'll be there as soon as possible. Thank you." Thank you, thank you... You have no idea how grateful I am, Egon rejoiced. This is it, the break I've been praying for. Hang on, Ray! Almost there!

"Peter!! Winston!! Fire up Ecto!! We've got a lead!!"

"What do you mean he's DEAD?"

Peter's voice bounced off the walls of the precinct, blaring painfully in Egon's ears. He couldn't believe it. To be so close and have the clue snatched out of his grasp was more than he could stand. However, letting Peter talk himself into a jail cell wasn't going to help. "Sit down, Peter. Yelling isn't going to solve anything," he said in a conciliatory voice.

"Solve anything? Solve anything? You're talking about solving things in front of Barney Fife here, and you're telling me not to yell because it won't solve anything? I hate to tell you this, Egon, but it'll probably do more good than these geniuses have!" Peter griped loudly.

The police sergeant glowered at Peter but shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "It wasn't our fault. No one knows how he got that belt, all of his artifacts were taken away when he was arrested. If a man is determined to commit suicide-"

"Suicide?" Peter and Egon said at the same time, stunned. Egon got a very nasty chill at the coincidence. He threatens to tell all he knows about the kidnapping, and something very nasty happens to him a few hours afterward...

"He died a few minutes before I called you. One of our younger officers found him hanging in his cell. I'm sorry I got you out here for nothing. Internal Affairs is handling the case now. If it's any consolation, I hear they're upgrading your friend's status from missing to presumed kidnapped," the sergeant said. "If you want any more information, you better talk to Lieutenant Calloway." He nodded to a closed door with the words LIEUTENANT B.J. CALLOWAY stenciled on it.

Lieutenant Calloway turned out to be a woman in her early forties, tense and contained, and manifestly unimpressed by the Ghostbusters. "Look, I can't give out any information. Right now it's all speculation, we're still waiting for the official autopsy report and I've got I.A.D. breathing down my neck. But we need some more information from you." She passed a manila folder over to Peter while she continued to address Egon. "Do you know anything about this kidnapping? Have you received any phone calls or messages? Does Dr. Stantz have any enemies?"

"Nothing at all," Peter lied with a straight face. Egon stayed silent, listening to Peter direct attention away from them. "And Ray doesn't have any enemies, either. He's well-known and well-liked, ask anyone. Even our secretary likes him which, with her personality, is an accomplishment. Is this the guy? Robert Mansfield?" he asked, holding up the picture. Egon saw it was of a young blond man, tough-looking, in his early twenties.

"Yes. Do you know him?" the lieutenant replied, searching Venkman's face.

"Never saw him before," Peter said. Egon wondered, noticing that Winston was looking more tense than he had a few minutes ago, but Peter seemed oblivious, concentrating on charming the unsmiling police officer. "This report says there was a witness to the hanging?"

Lieutenant Calloway snorted. "If you can call him that. One of the local drunks was sobering up in the cell across from Mansfield's and said he saw it happen. Of course, he also says that a cloud of smoke choked him to death."

Peter's face didn't register anything more than mild bemusement. Egon was very grateful the woman was trying to pry information out of Venkman instead of him, because he knew his face probably showed something at that last statement. "A cloud of smoke?" Peter said in tones of interest.

"Mmm. The guy says a cloud of smoke formed in Mansfield's cell, turned into a woman, and then strangled him. Of course, he's also got an alcohol toxicity level well above legal drunkenness so we're not taking him too seriously. If Mansfield did have anything to do with your friend being kidnapped, he may have hung himself out of remorse." The lieutenant sounded like she was trying to convince herself and not succeeding very well, although her face remained professionally courteous and calm. Egon didn't believe it either. It was so much more likely the vampiress had gotten to Mansfield first. His palms itched to hold the file but Peter seemed absorbed in it and unaware of Egon's interest.

"He's even got a description of her in here. 5'7" or taller, long black hair, white dress, high heels, smoky brown eyes, beautiful... sounds like one of my dream girls. No wonder you don't believe him. He must have been hallucinating," Peter was saying as Egon's brain kicked into hyperdrive and the bottom fell out of his mind.

Egon listened to the rest of the discussion with only half an ear and went through the motions of departure mechanically, thanking the police for their help and walking down to the parking lot. All the while his mind was working furiously over the description of the woman he was certain was Robert Mansfield's murderess and Ray's kidnapper. He heard Peter and Winston discuss the possibility that Mrs. Kramer could identify the body, and how they would get around the police to make it possible for her to see a picture of him. Then, after they pulled into Central and after he calmly greeted Janine, he went upstairs and sat down at his computer, all without giving away what he was thinking. What he was fearing.

Dream girl. Peter's words and the description seemed to have connected in his mind and started a new train of thought. He looked at the names on the screen, then methodically erased them. Those young women weren't vampires. Egon typed a new name on the screen and ran the program.

The computer sent back a negative answer; the woman he had named had been seen during the daytime, he'd already run her name earlier and she had been eliminated. Egon pondered the evidence. I never saw her standing in direct sunlight. Occasionally I saw her during the day, but only in darkened buildings. I never saw her, and Janine never saw her, walking in the sun. He entered that information into the computer.

This time, the computer pointed out that she had a daytime job. But Egon had an answer for that, too. Lia had mentioned that she phoned in a lot of her work on her computer because she liked to work at home. The office where she worked was a warren of unlit space with an underground parking garage. She could easily get there before sunrise and leave after sunset. In fact, Egon thought abruptly, whenever I picked her up for a date, that's what happened. And whenever she came here or went out with Janine, it was after sunset. The therapy group meetings were always at the 5th Street center; if she bundled up and then walked in quickly, she could just make it without getting hurt.

Peter's dream girl. He even said something like that to her on Sunday when we called her about Ray. Ray was going to meet her when he was grabbed. She could have seen him get grabbed while she was in CURIOUS GOODS, and not mentioned it, just stood there gloating. I've been spending a lot of time with her, lots of opportunities for her to hypnotize and confuse me. She's Janine's friend, she was in therapy with her. Long, black hair...

Egon was holding his head in his hands, trying to deny what he knew. It made such perfect sense. Finally, he input the extra information and ran the program one more time. The computer came up with a probability figure of 87%. Higher, after all factors were taken into account, than the probability levels on any of the others. Not that he needed the computer to confirm what he knew in his gut.

He stared at the screen for a long time, feeling sick. Ray had liked her. Peter had even said once that Ray had a crush on her. Ray would have told her about Valentine's Day if she asked, if she had played it right.

Lia. Beautiful Lia. Beautiful, sick Lia, who he hadn't seen since before Ray disappeared. Who had called, full of concern and worry, and told them Ray never showed up for their shopping date. Who had claimed to have the flu that same night and who they hadn't seen since. Who showed up in Peter's nightmare on Wednesday and turned into a vampire at the end of the dream. Who was in therapy with Janine, and had known that the name of the man who had hurt her so much was Justin. Who had flirted with Peter outrageously and laughed at his jokes, and was probably trying to drive him crazy. To whom Egon had been about to explain why they shouldn't see so much of each other when he had suddenly, strangely, realized he loved her.

Love her? Egon examined the concept with detached interest, while his emotions were retching with nausea at the idea he could have ever loved her. He remembered what he'd felt when he was with her, and when he wasn't. He tried to remember why he was so fascinated with her. Nothing came to mind. Fuzziness, by now very familiar, seemed to cloud his memories of significant portions of their time together.

How could she do that? How could she pretend to care about me, pretend to care about Janine, and do the things that she's been doing? It's got to be a... Another memory abruptly surfaced. The delay of recalling it had less to do with imposed forgetfulness than it did with an old pain he had wanted to bury for a long time. He was remembering

picking up the statues Justin had knocked over in his leap for the window. One was a statue in alabaster of Janine Melnitz wrapped in a cloak, and his heart had stopped when he'd seen it for fear she was already dead. He had barely glanced at the other, but it had been very beautiful so he had remembered it later. It was ebony, a woman in an attitude like an Egyptian goddess with her arms folded. It had been arresting, commanding. It had been

Lia. Justin Tremaine had carved an ebony statue of Lia, who had to have been one of his lovers. And Lia had never mentioned that, and she had befriended the Ghostbusters, and now the world was falling apart.

"Oh, god, what have I done?" Egon whispered.

He sat there for what seemed like hours, but was probably a few minutes. Then he shut off his computer, grabbed a UV lantern case, and went downstairs and took out his jacket. Janine came out of Peter's office while he was putting it on.

"Where're you going, Egon?" she asked curiously.

Egon couldn't meet her eyes. He didn't look at her as he headed for the door.

"Egon!" Janine yelled after him.

He stopped at the door, but didn't turn around. "I'll be back soon, Janine. I have to check something out."

Egon stood in front of her door, considering. He didn't really expect her to be there. There was no doubt in his mind that she was somewhere else, somewhere in the city with Ray. But I'm not going to get caught unaware, he thought, powering up the lantern.

Peter had given him a set of lock picks as a stocking stuffer/gag gift last Christmas. Egon had spent several hours mastering them and then gotten bored. He'd never had a real occasion to use them before, but now looked like as good a time as any. Quickly, with no wasted motions, he sprung the lock on the door, opened it, grabbed the lantern, and stepped inside. Shutting the door behind him, he knew he had been right. Lia wasn't there; a definite feeling of emptiness pervaded the apartment.

He had only been in Lia's apartment two times before; once, for only a few moments to pick her up before a concert in June, and once for an entire evening sometime late in July, when he had been angry at Peter and irritated at Janine. Now, remembering those times, he marveled at his emotions toward his colleagues, and even more that he hadn't realized at the time the feelings were abnormal. Egon stood considering those times with regret. If he was right, Lia was largely responsible for those upsets too. So much she has to answer for, he thought fleetingly, then moved around the apartment.

It seemed a normal enough apartment, well-furnished, tasteful. But now, examining it closely, it seemed curiously devoid of personality or life. Predisposition on my part, or true perception? It was hot, and he walked over to the thermostat and realized the air conditioning was off. But that week had been hot even for late August, though a few days had been rainy. Which meant no one had been there recently to turn it on, it was still set on OFF and none of the controls adjusted.

He headed for the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was food there, but there was something missing. Egon's brow furrowed as he tried to recognize what it was. It's too neat. No one has this neat a refrigerator, he realized. This entire kitchen looks as if it's never been used. The expiration dates on the milk and coldcuts were almost a week past. He shut the fridge door, and turned down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Again, too clean. The shower looked like it had been used once or twice, but the soap and shampoo were hardly used, and the entire room looked like it had been done for House Beautiful. It could be she has a maid service, he thought. But he wasn't convinced of that. He absent-mindedly opened the medicine cabinet. Rows of bottles were lined up as neatly as in the kitchen. Egon's brow furrowed. Something...

Then he realized what it was. The bottles of aspirin, the band-aids, the sleeping pills--none of them had ever been opened. She had done a very good job. At first glance, this looked like a tenanted apartment. But at second glance, there was enough to make you doubt, and at third there was evidence no one had ever lived here. Stayed a while, maybe. But for the five months she said she had been in New York? Never. It was all wrong.

He walked out to the living room and picked up a magazine from the coffee table. It looked like it had never been read, its cover as glossy and perfect as when it was bought. But the date on it was May, almost four months ago. If she had kept it that long to read it, the pages at least would be wrinkled.

Egon threw the magazine down, breathing hard. Not enough to take to the police. Nothing that could convict her, even if he wanted to try it. But it was enough to confirm everything he had been denying all the way over to her apartment.

And last but not least, where is she? She claimed to be sick last Saturday and we haven't heard from her since. Granted, we don't have that close of a relationship, we're involved but we're not... intimate. But anyone else who had known Ray was missing would have called sometime this week to see if he turned up. Nothing. No calls. And she's not here, and the place is too neat. And there's everything else.

He sat down on the couch and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. But images of their time together kept intruding. Now, knowing what he did, he went over every conversation, every encounter, trying to find some indication in her behavior that would have tipped him off. Anything.

She had liked opera, as he did. An old-fashioned taste. Lots of people like opera, he protested. Her affection for the sciences. Well, she was a computer programmer. It fell within her area of interest. It didn't mean she was interested solely because of me. How she always seemed to know what he was feeling. She could have just been perceptive and sympathetic.

Face it, you were set up.

How can I tell Janine? How can I tell Peter and Winston? What can I say to them?

What am I going to say to Ray when we get him back?

Lia. I swear I'm going to stop you. And after that...

I want to know why.

Egon returned to Central hoping he would have a few minutes to think of how to break the news to the guys. The second he came in, Janine saw him and, putting her hands on her hips, demanded, "Where have you been? What's going on, and why did you take that UV lantern with you? Don't tell me you went somewhere after the vampire by yourself..."

Looks like I have do this cold, he thought as Peter came out of his office and crossed his arms across his chest, looking grim. "That's a question I'd like the answer to also," the psychologist stated sternly.

"Come on up to the lab. And get Winston, I have something to tell all of you," Egon said tiredly.

Sitting in front of the computer terminal, Egon reviewed what he knew, looking for an easy way to say what he had to say. There wasn't one. He turned when Peter and Winston entered, followed by Janine.

"I know who the vampire is," he stated baldly.

Peter had started to settle into one of the other chairs, but at this announcement he bounced up, grinning. "YES! Awright, Egon! Let's go get her!"

"It's not that simple, Peter," Egon said quietly. "I already went to her apartment and she wasn't there. I don't think she'd been there for some time before she kidnapped Ray."

"You went there on your own? With no backup? Egon, that was incredibly stupid," Winston said incredulously, shaking his head.

"I took a UV lantern. Besides, I was sure she wasn't going to be there," Egon said defensively. It was stupid, he thought. They'd have even more reason to think he was stupid after he told them who it was.

"It was still a dumb thing to do. But who is it? C'mon, the suspense is killing me," Peter pleaded. Janine was silent, hugging herself as if she was cold.

"I have to lead up to it, or you won't believe me," Egon said, not looking at the others while he cued up the files on the computer. He loaded the file with the six finalists' names on it. "These were the six women I had narrowed it down to before we went to the police department. I took into account when we met them, if we'd seen them in the full daylight, if they were close enough to us," Egon took a breath, "for Ray to have possibly told them about Valentine's Day... and a great many other factors, including where they work, where they were at certain times this summer, and what background we have on them. This is the list that I had before we learned some things at the police station."

Peter looked over his shoulder, his body tense. "Carol. Sharon. Melanie?" He glanced at Egon a second, then went on with difficulty. "Andrea. Lauren. Barbara. Okay. I dated three of them, one was in Janine's group, and the other two we met at one of those publicity things in May. So which one is it?"

"None of them," Egon said flatly. He touched a key on the computer and another name came up in neon green on the CRT.

LIA ESCOBAR

Peter's jaw dropped. Janine's eyes widened. Winston froze. Egon looked around at them, waiting for the explosion. He didn't have to wait long.

"Egon, you've gotta be-" "She can't be, I saw-" "You're wrong, Egon, dead-"

Egon waited out the storm of protest, then said, "Do you want to know why or don't you?" Three pairs of eyes regarded him stubbornly, unconvinced. How am I going to say this?

"I went to her apartment. She's not there. She was supposed to be sick all of this week and staying at home. Her place looks extremely uninhabited. Ray was supposed to meet her on the evening he disappeared. The drunk's description matches Lia's physical appearance. None of us have ever actually seen her standing in direct sunlight, and her apartment and office are set up so she'd never have to be in sunlight if she was careful." Egon pushed his glasses up, and looked back at the doubting but shaken faces of his friends. "There's more. She was close enough to all of us to have had every opportunity to mess with our heads, to manipulate us and confuse us." He looked at Janine, feeling sad. One more betrayal Janine had to endure. "She purposely maneuvered you into this situation, Janine. She made friends with you to get closer to all of us and betray you."

Janine's eyes had a glazed look to them. "No, you've got to be wrong. I trusted her. When I got the statue, I called her-" She went white. "Statue. Oh my god. The statue."

Peter's head swiveled around, his face showing concern. "What is it? What did you think of?"

Egon met Janine's eyes, knowing what she was about to say. Slowly, painfully, Janine said, "The other statue. The one mine was supposed to be a companion piece to. It was of Lia, I'm sure of it. I saw it so many times when I was posing... It's stylized, but it's her. I never saw the connection. I never realized it. I am so stupid," she whispered.

Peter shook his head. "No. Oh, come on. It can't be. I mean, how-" he stopped, obviously not believing his own protests. He met Egon's eyes, anger starting to grow. "She set us up. She dated you to get close to us." Abruptly, his face showed worry, his eyes studying Egon closely. "Egon? How are you handling this?"

Egon shrugged, turning away. "I can't believe I was that blind. Right now, I don't feel... whatever it was I felt for her. It seems to have disappeared, which confirms my theory that it was artificially generated by her. But I can't believe I didn't see that before, or that I went along with a great deal of what she told me." He glanced over at Janine, who was absorbed in her own thoughts. "Janine, I owe you an apology for most of my behavior throughout July. I thought you were jealous. I should have known better, we discussed the situation before and you didn't have a problem with my relationship with her. I can only say I was not completely responsible for my reactions." He stopped and swallowed hard, thinking of the entire summer. How much of what I thought and did was because of her? How far did her influence go?

Janine raised her eyebrows, then looked thoughtful. "I told her about Justin. And I kept running to her when things went wrong this summer. I told her everything. She knew about Justin from group, and I told her more about him later. She knew... about my feelings for Egon." Janine was silent a second, her head down. Then she looked up, her eyes blazing. "That witch!"

Winston leaned on the back of Peter's chair. "Is she the one who was sending those dreams? The nightmare I had about Ray and those weird ones all summer? And if she was, why did she do it?"

Egon rubbed the bridge between his eyes, squinting. "I think she needed to know more about us, and she needed to have us confused and weakened before she moved on Ray. So she worked on you and Peter all summer, scared Janine half out of her mind and confused me, all so that when she finally kidnapped Ray we wouldn't be able to deal with it. The same way that phone call was supposed to affect us, incapacitating us by making us too upset to think straight."

"Man, this woman thinks ahead." Peter got up and started to pace. "That dream I had... I should have known it right then. I mean, she turned into a vampire at the end of it, it was so obvious--" He spun around. "Wait a minute! I remember! Oh, man, I was out of it!!"

"What, what?" Janine asked, looking eager.

"One of the first, um, sex dreams I had in July, Lia was the star. That was the first one. I'm an idiot! Aagh!!" Peter stopped and turned toward Egon, a look of relief on his face. "I'm not going crazy."

"I told you that before, Peter."

"I know, but I didn't believe you."

"Why not?"

Peter paused, quiet. "Because... I felt so out of control. I couldn't stop the dreams, I couldn't seem to control my temper - if anyone asked me what it would feel like when I lost my mind, that would have been the beginning of it. Damn her, anyway. She thought of everything." He twitched his shoulders, looking unsettled. "What's she doing to Ray? If she did all of this to us, if she planned this since May and maybe before, what has she been doing to Ray?"

Janine compressed her mouth into a line, then spoke. "The phone call... that man explained what she was doing. Turning him into a zombie. But I didn't think she could do that!" She looked at Egon. "Can she? Well, can she?"

"I don't know." Egon found the admission hard to make, his voice pained and tight. So much I don't know, starting with why, how, where...

Peter looked at him sharply, picking up on Egon's anger at himself. "Hey, big guy, you're not blaming yourself for this, are you?" He went on without giving Egon a chance to talk. "Yes, you are, I can tell. Egon, you said it before: she manipulated us. She messed with our heads. Do you know what a relief it is to know that?"

Winston laughed, a slightly hysterical edge to his voice. "Pete, my man, I hate to think what you'd consider bad news. Why is that a relief?"

"We're not responsible! Okay, maybe if we'd known, but we didn't, I mean," Peter let out a frustrated breath. "Look, my behavior this summer was nothing to be proud of. I admit that. And I'm not saying she's entirely to blame, I probably contributed to the entire bad mood I was in all of July. But don't you see? If it weren't for her, it never would have gotten as bad as it did. You weren't out of it because you're an insensitive, cold clod. You were out of it because she hypnotized you! Winston wasn't exhausted because of overwork, she was sucking his energy out through his dreams." He stopped, looking a little green. "I wonder... the parts of the dream I can't remember, did we discuss her kidnapping Ray?"

"We'll probably never know, Peter," Egon interrupted. "And... I know I'm not responsible for all of this. But I still feel like I should have done something more." Listening to Peter absolve him made him feel a little better, but he still felt guilty. He should have known his feelings for Lia weren't real.

Thinking of her and their time together from a distant viewpoint, he found himself unable to forgive himself for not being able to tell the difference between reality and the false feelings she had created in him. It wasn't like he hadn't been in love before, he wasn't as experienced as Peter but you don't reach the age of thirty or more without having been in love at least once. He should have known. He should have been more careful, less trusting. It was just so unlike him, so completely uncharacteristic... he should have been more aware of the unlikeliness of going into an evening with one set of feelings and having the date end with another completely opposite set of feelings. That didn't happen except in bad movies. I should have known. I should have been more suspicious. I should have seen what she was doing.

"But what does she want?" Janine asked, looking scared now, no longer enraged. "Why did she go to so much trouble? If she wanted to kill us she could have done it a long time ago."

"Just to torture us?" Winston asked, then shook his head, collapsing into the chair Peter had abandoned. "Nah. This took too much planning. And if she wanted to do that she could have grabbed all of us. She's got something specific in mind."

"Yeah, but what?" Peter grimaced. "I'll say this much, we can't just wait around for that second phone call. We have to take this fight to her now that we know who we're dealing with. There has to be something we can do, there has to be a way that knowing who the vampire is helps us."

"Maybe. Maybe not. If nothing else, we have to concentrate on getting Ray back instead of our own problems, because now we know she wants us to concentrate on our anger instead of do something about it," Egon replied, shooting Peter a meaningful glance.

Peter was surprised, then rueful and a little angry. "Yeah. Okay. You were right. No more pills, no more caffeine. No matter how much it hurts. At least now I know I'm not going crazy. That should make it easier. But if I do that, you've got to quit blaming yourself. If it hadn't been you, Egon, it probably would have been me. Or Winston. Face it, whoever was in her way she would have seduced."

"I don't think it's that simple, Peter," Egon said, but didn't elaborate. You might have seen through it, and Winston might have been more aware something odd was going on. Me? I fall for her like a fool. "But we've got work to do. We've got to go over everything, all of our options, so we're ready when she calls. And I don't think we'd better let her know that we know who she is yet. Knowledge is power, as Lia has proven conclusively."

Sunday passed slowly, achingly slowly. The Ghostbusters waited in vain for a phone call that was never made. Peter collapsed on the couch late that night, finally sleeping on his own around 4 A.M. Janine paced, and paced and paced, until she finally gave up and went to sleep in the spare bedroom. Winston and Egon sensibly went to bed much earlier.

Ray didn't sleep, but none of them could know that.

Ring. Riiiinnggg----

"Ghostbusters," a breathy voice answered, as if someone had run to the phone.

"Listen carefully, I'll only say this once." Murphy patiently outwaited Janine's scream of "EGON! It's them!!" and then continued. "Everyone here?" he asked sarcastically. Affirmative sounds from the phone. "All right then. CURIOUS GOODS. Eight o'clock tonight. No tricks, no police, no one else. Bring Janine Melnitz. We'll bring Ray Stantz. There will be a trade." At that, Murphy nearly got his ear blown off by the yells of those on the other end of the conversation.

The cacophony finally resolved itself into Egon Spengler's voice. "No way. Not in a million years. Anything else, money, whatever you want, but we're not giving you Janine."

"Dr. Spengler, you seem to think this is a negotiation. It isn't. Those are our terms. Or we deliver Ray Stantz to you in a body bag as a zombie."

Silence. "How do we know you'll keep your end of the deal?" demanded Peter Venkman's voice.

"You don't. You have no choice. We could just take her any time we wanted, but we intend to be fair. A life for a life." Murphy looked at his watch, which read 7:15. "Your choice. We'll expect you at CURIOUS GOODS in forty-five minutes." He hung up, cutting off more expostulations in mid-sentence.

He headed over to Lia's office and knocked on the door. "Enter," she said.

Murphy closed the door quietly behind him, and studied her. The past few months had taken their toll; her beauty was as perfect as ever, but it was shadowed by sadness and strain. He hated that. She shouldn't look like that. She should always look happy. I wish this was over.

"Is it done?" she asked, not looking at him. She was studying a pencil drawing of Justin Tremaine. Tremaine, Murphy knew, had given her the self-portrait as a gift years ago. Lia was absorbed in it, studying the lines of the face with total attention.

Murphy nodded, even though she wasn't looking at him. "I told them the terms. They didn't like it but I think they'll be there. They'll probably try something funny, though. I don't trust them."

Lia smiled bitterly, her mouth stretched into a rictus. "Well, that makes us even, doesn't it? I assure you, they don't trust us. If I had the energy or the ability to care, I might visit Egon's thoughts before they leave. But I don't. And I'm not even sure I can anymore, the last attempt was such a dismal failure. I want this over with. One way or the other, tonight it ends. And then it will be Paris." She relaxed, put the picture down. "And peace."

She'll be gone again. She always leaves eventually. Murphy left the room, depressed. Someday, maybe, she'll come back to stay. But not now. I wish this was over.

The altercation that followed the phone call was brief, loud, and decisive. Janine was outvoted; there was no way her friends were going to let her walk into the clutches of a vampire, even at the cost of Ray's life. But Janine would not accept that, she was so angry she couldn't see. So angry she couldn't think, except of what she would do to Lia if she ever got her hands on her. So angry she didn't see it coming.

Peter was giving Winston a significant look when Winston turned and raised an eyebrow at Egon, who smiled calmly. The next thing Janine knew Peter and Winston each had an arm, Egon had her feet, and then she was in the closet.

"LET ME OUT!! What do you guys think you're DOING?!?" she yelled at the top of her lungs. She could hear them outside the closet, telling Slimer to guard her and not let her out, and to call them if anyone came to Central. She heard their footsteps, the sound of Ecto-1 leaving the garage, and then silence. Janine reached up, felt around, and tugged on the chain to the 60 watt bulb in the closet. I am not staying in here.

"Slimer? Slimer, are you there?" Janine said softly.

Slimer popped through the door, smiling. "Jan-ine! Need something?"

"Out. I want OUT, Slimer, right now." Janine glared, folding her arms.

"Can't do, sorry. Egon say-"

"Forget what Egon said. Slimer, we're talking pizza for lunch for a month." Slimer looked tempted, but torn. "Two months." He perked up, but was still uncertain. "'Til Christmas, that's three and a half months, plus a quadruple decker Antonio's special for Christmas if you let me out of here in the next two seconds, whaddaya say?"

Slimer got the keys in one second. Janine was out of the closet and out the door in five seconds more, and two minutes later she had flagged down a cab and was headed for Brooklyn.

It was early Monday evening at CURIOUS GOODS and, as he minded the counter, Jack felt tired. While it had been a relatively uneventful day, the weekend had been unusually long and stressful. He was looking forward to nothing so much as a quiet night alone with a good book when the three men strode in, armed and grim. "What on earth..."

They looked like exterminators, or back-packing pro football players. Very tense football players. They came straight up the first small staircase and onto the second, main landing that comprised the major part of the shop, spreading out as they did so like a military team. Jack's hand reached for the phone, then stopped when he recognized them. "The Ghostbusters? What are you doing here?" he asked in confusion and alarm as one of them, a tall, blond man with glasses, whipped out some type of scientific instrument and began to sweep it in front of him like a dowsing rod. "I hope there isn't any trouble-"

"Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but there is." A young black man walked over to the counter where Jack was standing and held out his hand. "My name's Winston Zeddemore, I talked with your partner Ryan Dallion last Tuesday."

"Zeddemore, yes, Ryan did mention you. What is all this about? Did someone report a ghost?" Jack was feeling more and more nervous. He didn't know what some of that equipment was for, but if any of them felt like experimenting on what was in the basement things could get ugly. He glanced up surreptitiously and saw Micki standing motionless above him on the second floor, leaning against the railing and listening. If there was trouble, he wasn't sure he could handle it alone, but if things got complicated (Jack grimaced internally at how complicated they could get) she would go fetch Ryan.

"It's nothing to do with you, Mr. Marshak," replied the brunet whose name-plate read VENKMAN. His face bore signs of recent strain, there were hollows under his eyes and his grin looked a trifle forced. "If you remember, a friend of ours disappeared in this neighborhood last week and, well," he smiled very charmingly, "We need your shop for the next hour or so, so we can get him back."

Jack's eyes widened in complete astonishment and disbelief. "Oh really? And just why do you think I'll give you the run of the shop? What are you planning to do with it? Who do you think you are, anyway?" Jack risked another glance at the second floor. Micki was gone. She must have gone to tell Ryan we've got trouble, he thought in relief.

"We're the Ghostbusters. A friend of ours is in a lot of trouble. Frankly, I don't think you can stop us. The only thing you can do is get out of the way. Trust me, it's better like this," Venkman replied, saying the outrageous words with an entirely too-easy smile. Jack had the uncomfortable feeling that the man might be right about what could be done to prevent it, even as he was gauging the distance between himself and Venkman. It's not as if I couldn't do some damage to this... kid if I tried, he thought with mild resentment and amusement at Peter's attitude. The Satanic tools that he, Ryan, and Mickey were hiding from the world, preventing their use, were not things he intended to allow to fall into the hands of strangers. Especially such knowledgeable and undeniably high-strung strangers, God knew what they might be able to accomplish if any of them got their hands on the cursed objects in the basement. All of them looked like they were under a great deal of pressure; after the initial introduction, Zeddemore and the last Ghostbuster (Spengler, Jack remembered from the phone call on Sunday) had proceeded to reconnoiter the shop like it was a battle zone. They might be decent people, they might not. He couldn't take that chance.

"I'm sorry, but that is out of the question." He leaned forward on the glass counter to punctuate his words. "I have no intention of abandoning this shop to total strangers, Dr. Venkman. If you need it to help your friend, that is quite acceptable, but I refuse to leave."

"Mr. Marshak," Venkman paused, and seemed helpless for a second. He glanced over at his friends, clearly trying to think of a way to convince Jack. "If you don't leave soon, this shop will be overrun with much unfriendlier total strangers who won't hesitate to eliminate inconvenient witnesses. Now will you please GO?" He ended the sentence on a shout, hands clenched as if he wanted to hit something. Just then, the instrument in Spengler's hands emitted an extremely loud beeping noise which became louder and louder, until the instrument was nearly shrieking as he approached the basement staircase.

The blond Ghostbuster turned a look of half horror, half fascination on Jack. "What do you have in your basement?" he asked in tones of awe, his gaze piercing Jack's composure.

"Um-hmm," Jack coughed, feeling panicked. We're in trouble now. "What do you think I've got in the basement?" he stalled.

"Something of incredible psychic energy. It's comparable to our containment unit, but there's relatively little shielding around it. What is it?" Spengler repeated, coming over to Jack. He turned toward Venkman, a worried expression on his face. "It's generating so much static we don't have a chance of detecting her before she gets here. It's bad enough we don't have accurate readings on her to begin with, but with all this interference we haven't a hope of setting up an ambush."

Who's 'she'? Jack had time to think before everything changed.

"Got that right," a laconic voice stated from the doorway in answer to Egon's comment.

Two beefy young men, one short and Hispanic, the other thinner, taller and red-haired, closed the front door behind them and grinned at the Ghostbusters and Jack. The newcomers were relatively well-dressed and clean-cut, but Jack recognized them for what they were: hired leg-breakers, thugs. Muscle-men.

"Forget the ambush," Venkman said shortly, flicking a switch on his thrower. Some kind of generator, Jack realized, then yelled as a hand came from behind Venkman and cut the cable from his pack to the thrower with a knife, and another hand spun the psychologist around.

"Unh-unh-uh, no weapons. Don't you guys listen to instructions?" a sarcastic voice asked as a young man in an all-black outfit landed a punch on Venkman's jaw.

For Peter, it was exhilarating. Finally, somebody he could hit.

The thug who had cut the cable on his pack had also managed to rip it part of the way off his back before Peter retaliated with a low jab to the gut. After that he had his hands full trying to keep from being beaten up and cut as the creep used every dirty trick in the book attempting to disable him. Lia evidently wanted them subdued before they started bargaining for Ray. Not a bad idea, Peter admitted to himself. Because if I'm still standing when she walks in, she's toast. Peter also noticed the thugs didn't seem to know what the lanterns on the Ghostbusters' waists were for. Or maybe, he thought abruptly, blocking his assailant's right cross with his arm and following up with a jab to the throat, Maybe they don't know what they're working for. Which could help us.

Peripherally, Peter saw Winston and the red-haired guy struggling by the edge of the landing near the top of the lower stairs, arms locked as they tried to push each other over the edge of the railing. Egon was having a hard time of it with the short guy, who must have known some martial arts. All of the muscle-men seemed to have been warned about the packs, because Egon's was hanging by one strap and Winston's was off and lying on the floor. His own was kicked off to the side, as well as the knife his opponent had originally cut the cable with; Peter didn't remember when the thug dropped it, but it must have been a little while after Peter punched him. Another dark-haired guy of about his age whom Peter didn't recognize was tangling with a big older man in a chauffeur's uniform who had come in through the back with Peter's opponent; Jack Marshak was on the second flight of stairs, egging the younger guy on and approaching the combat with a baseball bat.

The ting-a-ling of the door's bell distracted Peter for a second, and the guy he was fighting landed a painful blow on his nose. Janine was standing in the doorway looking determined, furious, and all-too-vulnerable. Peter had time for just one yell of "Janine! Get the hell out of here!" before he had to concentrate on his attacker again. He head-butted the guy in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and whirled around in time to see Egon's assailant land a one-two punch that sent Spengler staggering dizzily into the wall. In two light moves, the stooge abandoned Egon to make it down the lower stair case and had Janine by the arm, a smug grin on his face. Peter's heart sank. NO, that's what they want!

But it wasn't going to be that easy. Janine, her face contorted in rage, brought her stiletto heel down on the guy's instep with a sickening crunch, then elbowed him in the ribs sharply. The surprised goon whimpered in pain and gasped for air, curling up in a ball on the floor. Peter let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. Then he glanced around wildly, and relaxed when he realized Winston had his opponent pinned against the railing along the landing and that Jack and (Ryan, I guess, from what Winston said a couple days ago) had the chauffeur's arm behind his back and a baseball bat across his neck. The chauffeur was still, except his one free hand was moving in some sort of pattern that Peter ignored, thinking the man was just in pain.

"Everybody okay?" he asked, leaning on his knees and trying to get his breathing back to normal. Mumbled affirmatives came to his ears as he watched Janine climb up the short flight of stairs to the main landing and lean against the railing, toe tapping in irritation.

"What are you doing here, Janine?" Winston said irately, holding the redhead down with both hands. "You were supposed to stay at Central! You could have gotten hurt-"

"What am I doing? What are you doing!?!" Janine screamed. Whoa, Janine's steamed, Peter thought. Look out. Her ex-captor limped to the front door painfully, shooting the lock and leaning against it with a look of vicious satisfaction. Wait a minute. Why is that man smiling? Janine was still yelling. "Do you think I'm going to let Ray pay for my life with his? What kind of a monster do you think I am?"

"Janine," coughed Egon, leaning against the wall, "this isn't a smart thing to do."

Peter was still watching the door guard when he realized his own attacker had slunk a little ways back and was covering the door that led to the back entrance. "Guys," he said. "Oh, guys. I think we're in trouble..."

"Nicely put, Dr. Venkman," an icy-sweet voice said from above. Peter nearly got whiplash turning around.

Lia Escobar stood at the top of the third-floor stairway, smiling down like a madonna. Or a demon.

"Gentlemen..."

Lia had allowed herself to observe the fight before materializing. It certainly had been entertaining. Obviously the second-stringers she had been forced to hire hadn't expected enough of a fight, they had been hard-pressed to hold their own against the Ghostbusters. If it hadn't been for Murphy's hand signals to the thugs by the door they probably would have gotten further beaten to a pulp. Instead, they were felicitously positioned at the doorways, blocking easy escape.

Not that anyone would want to leave for a while yet.

She had dressed very carefully for this. After all, it was to be her last appearance, her grand exit. It had to be memorable. Too, it would be the unveiling of her secret, her well-thought-out plan. Her triumph. This last confrontation had been planned very carefully, the weird background energy of CURIOUS GOODS making it impossible for them to detect her (she made a mental note to investigate that further when she had some spare time, maybe a year or two down the line), her stupid stooges performing their tasks like well-trained seals and, to top it off, Janine had arrived just as Lia had known she would.

So why wasn't she enjoying it more?

Her red silk dress rustled softly as she descended the staircase halfway, draping her body provocatively as she leaned against the banister and surveyed the scene below her. She smiled at Peter, feeling confident and powerful. Those feelings abruptly deserted her when she saw the implacable hatred in his eyes. Somehow, when she had pictured this he hadn't looked at her like that. He'd understood, had looked at her differently, with sympathy, even. I knew he hated me. I knew he hated whoever kidnapped Ray. So why am I surprised? And then, frighteningly, the thought: Why aren't they?

Because they weren't surprised, they looked like they'd known it was she, like they'd been expecting her. They couldn't have known, she'd been so careful...

"Lia." Janine spit the name out like it was something filthy. Her hands were clenching and unclenching, her mouth trembling.

"Janine. Dear friend. Amiga. I am glad you could make it to my party." Lia could feel her canines trying to force their way out of her upper jaw, and had to stop and restrain her rage a moment. It felt so good not to have to pretend anymore. But no bloodshed, not yet. There were a few things that had to be cleared up first. "Although I realize it is not because our comrades here didn't try to stop you."

"Where's Ray? What have you done with him? You said you'd bring him!" Peter said through clenched teeth, moving toward the staircase. His action set off a chain of small reactions. Murphy pushed Ryan away from him and pulled away from the older shopkeeper. The red-headed goon broke free from Winston to lean against the balustrade. Egon straightened up, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, and directed a cold, hard gaze toward her which chilled her even as she struggled to regain her composure. Where was her sense of dignity, of accomplishment? This was what she'd been working for for five months. This was payoff time. Get a grip, Lia. Show them who's in control. "Well that makes us even, doesn't it? Since you never had any intention of giving me Janine." She found that she hissed the end of the sentence, unable to control her fury upon articulating Janine's name.

Peter's hand was moving toward that disgusting UV lantern at his waist, and Egon was doing the same. "Stop," she said peremptorily, holding up her hand. They froze for a second. "If you use those lanterns, you'll never see Ray Stantz again."

Peter was uncertain a moment, then recovered. "We can always get one of these bright boys to tell us where you've got him stashed. And frankly, lady, I'd really enjoy crisping you right now." His hand went back to the lantern.

Lia laughed. "Do I look as if I'm stupid enough to trust these buffoons with important information like that?" She smiled as Peter's face showed his consternation. "Are you ready to listen?" Their attentive and grim faces showed that all of them - Ghostbusters, Janine, and shopkeepers - were extremely interested. Even her dimwit dragoons seemed curious. "Here's how it works. You give me Janine." Egon's face went hard. "I walk out of here with her. I make a phone call when I'm far enough away. Murphy," she gestured to him, "will then retrieve Dr. Stantz from where I have put him."

"We're not giving you Janine," Egon said coldly, staring at her as if she were a reptile that had just eaten his favorite mold. Lia felt a stab of apprehension. He should be more disoriented, still infatuated. I know I didn't reinforce him this week, but still... Why isn't he more scared?

"No? Not a chance?" she asked softly, tilting her head. She tried to see into his mind, but it was closed to her behind a wall of coldness that wouldn't give beneath her probing.

"None." Egon said, crossing his arms. His face could have been carved from granite. She saw echoing looks of resolve on the other Ghostbusters' faces. Janine looked like she wanted to go with Lia, but only so she'd have the chance to kill her.

"Too bad." She sighed, shook her head, and started to fade.

Egon never felt sicker in his life than he did two seconds after Lia appeared at the top of the stairway. For one split-second, he forgot that he hated her. He saw Lia standing at the top of the stairs and thought, Wow. She looks gorgeous. I missed her.

The next instant he remembered everything, and remembering wasn't difficult. Because an instant later she was smiling like a cat who has done something naughty but knows you aren't going to be able to punish it. Egon felt the sudden and undeniably vicious urge to smash that smile off her beautiful face. Right that minute Egon understood what motivated Peter to physical expressions of emotion at such times.

Then he felt confused. And then sick. He couldn't think of a thing to do or say that would get them out of this mess. She had anticipated everything they would do, had timed it so they wouldn't be able to come up with a coherent plan, she'd probably even guessed Janine would follow them after they tried to detain her.

Egon listened, growing more and more angry, as she demanded Janine. Over and over, like a mantra, words kept repeating in his mind: How could I have been so stupid? How could I have ever thought I loved her?

When Peter moved, something in him came back to alertness. If they killed her now, they might be able to reason with her goons, find out where Ray was-

But then that hope was shattered as Lia laughed her throaty chuckle, the one he used to like, and set down the terms of exchange. All he could think of was that she couldn't possibly be allowed to get away with Janine as well as Ray.

"We're not giving you Janine," he said, folding his arms across his chest. He hoped his face didn't give away what he was feeling. Right now, he couldn't be sure it wouldn't show more of what he was feeling than even he would understand, for that matter. Like lingering infatuation, or coldest rage. Or absolute terror for Ray.

"No? Not a chance?" She tilted her head, looking thoughtful.

"None." But the second she started to fade he had to call her back. There had to be something he could do to save Ray Stantz. It couldn't end like this.

She rematerialized chillingly, easily, and Egon realized how effortless it would have been for Lia to have simply entered Central some night and murdered all of them in their beds. Extremely easy. So why hadn't she done that?

Egon noticed her goons were looking a little rattled by the Special Effect they had just witnessed. It seemed they hadn't known quite what they were dealing with, and his hopes rose. Maybe there is a way to use that to our advantage. But they continued to do what they were paid for, namely, make life difficult for the Ghostbusters. One of them had Winston's arm in a firm but non-restrictive grip, ready for him to make a move, two were covering the doorways, and the other, the one in the chauffeur's uniform, was standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at Lia with an expression bordering on adoration.

Ryan Dallion and Jack Marshak stood below the staircase, next to the chauffeur looking up at Lia, although Marshak seemed to be concentrating on something on the third floor balcony for a moment. Egon looked up there but saw nothing. Reaching deep somewhere inside, he found the strength to calmly challenge Lia.

"We need some assurance that Ray is still alive at this time. And before we let Janine go anywhere with you, we need an explanation of what you intend to do with her," he heard himself saying, hoping it was the right thing.

Lia raised a shoulder, smiling ruefully, and shook her head at him, trying to catch his eyes. If you think I am ever looking into your eyes again, you must think I am either truly stupid or completely under your control, Egon thought angrily. Then he wondered, Am I? Am I still being influenced by her? He brought his mind back to the business at hand as Lia spoke. "Egon. Really. Why do you think you are in a position to make demands? You certainly have nothing to bargain with. All I want is for the three of you," she gestured to him, Peter and Winston, "to allow me to leave here, undetained, with Janine. You have no choice. No one else can free Ray for you."

The vampire looked thoughtful a moment, then smiled girlishly, showing pointed canines for the first time. Egon felt his blood chill as she went on. "Now, granted, Murphy does know where Ray is, but if you kill me there is no way you could force him to tell you what you need to know in time for Ray to survive. We left him in rather a painful state in the sauna and if he isn't found soon, all of this bargaining becomes extremely problematic."

"You bitch," Peter said succinctly.

Lia's eyes narrowed, then her mouth twitched. Egon could have sworn, though, that he had seen a flash of pain for a moment. "Do you remember the last time you called me that, Peter? Right before the Porsche crashed?"

Peter looked like he wanted to vomit. I agree with Peter's estimate of her, Egon thought crazily. Reminding Peter of that nightmare and what she did to him in the others was completely uncalled for. Looking at her, so confident, so triumphant, Egon couldn't stand it. It made him physically ill to look at her. But one part of his mind kept working, wondering. Why is she being like this? For Justin, certainly. But why this complex plan? What is driving this crazy woman?

"Why are you doing this?" Lia shot him a look full of dislike but by now Egon was too curious and too driven to let it stop him. "For Tremaine, I know. But why like this? This drawn-out, complicated revenge? You could have killed us easily. You could have kidnapped and tortured all of us. But you didn't. So why are you doing this?"

I don't know.

She had to clamp her mouth shut over the first answer that came to mind when Egon Spengler asked her the question she had been asking herself for the last week. Lia felt she was too highly strung to trust herself to answer, so she remained silent. Did she want to answer that?

Looking down at them, she slowly stepped down the last few stairs until she was on the same floor level as the Ghostbusters and their erstwhile combatants. How could she make them understand? She'd planned this, planned to tell them, but somehow it was all spoiled. They'd been expecting her and hadn't been at all surprised when it was she who appeared at the top of the staircase. She'd had a speech she'd planned to give, about Justin and how much she loved him and what murderers they were, but Egon was asking more than that, he wasn't just asking Why? he was asking Why this way, and not that? How could you do this to us? But she couldn't stop herself from trying to make them understand, from trying to explain to Peter, justify her actions to Egon and Winston, and hurt Janine.

"I loved Justin. I really did." She looked at Peter, who had a skeptical expression on his face. "I couldn't just let you take away his life and not try to obtain recompense. I couldn't. It hurt so much to know he was gone. And then I thought," she looked at Janine, who was watching her as if entranced, "that he wouldn't have died if it weren't for Janine. If he hadn't loved her and she hadn't rejected him. It was your fault," she said to Janine, her voice cracking. "It was. You know it was."

"No, it wasn't," Janine whispered, looking Lia squarely in the eyes. "Justin was wrong. He tried to hurt me. You know all of this, I told you about it."

"I know what you told me," Lia said scornfully, finding it harder and harder to control herself. The room was silent except for the sound of the mortals' breathing as she continued, growing more impassioned with every word. "I wanted to make you pay. To suffer, as I had. It wasn't revenge! It was justice."

She closed her eyes a moment, and then went on talking, mostly to Peter. "The police wouldn't have done anything. There was no judge, no jury I could have gone to. So I decided to exact payment from Justin's murderers myself. Especially Janine. Death was too good for her, and she'd already passed up the chance to be a vampire." Peter's face was a study in horror and disgust. Lia couldn't bear to look at him anymore.

She turned toward Egon, who remained coldly unmoved by her anguish. You unfeeling toad, she thought at him. "So I was going to hurt her through the four of you. After Ray told me that he'd killed Justin," Egon's face cleared at this statement, an Ah-ha! look breaking through the grimness at that point, "I decided he would be the instrument I would use to hurt all of you. But it was because of Janine. Janine's fault, she's the reason," Lia stopped, unable to go on because she had been about to say, She's the reason you had to kill Justin.

Had to kill Justin? No, no, they didn't, they didn't have to, they just did it because they felt like it what am I thinking oh God, oh God, tell me I don't believe they had to do that...

"Justin tried to kill me! He would have killed me if they hadn't found me after he abandoned me! You're doing all this for a murderer and a fiend!" Janine threw the words at Lia, obviously trying to wound.

Lia wouldn't give Janine the satisfaction of knowing that some of her words had hit home. Justin really shouldn't have done that. It was... dishonorable. "Is that supposed to mean something to me? I killed a man this weekend." The room became more still as she looked around at her hired help and smiled meaningfully. "He betrayed me." The three stooges grew even more nervous. Murphy looked amused. "Justin was my youngest, brightest, bravest child. He was handsome and shining and talented and he had more reason to live than any of you! Even Peter, with all his vitality and wit, isn't as alive as Justin was." Lia paused, aware she had given something away in that last sentence, but then hurried on. "You did something irrevocable when you killed him. You can't bring him back! I had to take something from you. Something irreplaceable, something you couldn't retrieve. I had to find a way to destroy the five of you, change you forever. I had to take something from you!" She yelled the last, then turned and, looking at Janine, finished in a whisper: "Ray. I took Ray from you."

The room's stillness was oppressive, encompassing not only the Ghostbusters but Murphy and the hired help and the owners of CURIOUS GOODS. No one seemed to know how to respond to her admission of guilt. Winston was regarding her with horror, Janine with obvious hatred, Peter with rage, and Egon with that detached coolness that spoke of tactics and strategies being considered, which obviously masked stronger emotions.

"Is Ray still alive?" Egon asked quietly, and Lia realized his feelings were all tied up in Ray's predicament, not her outburst or her reasons.

Trust him to keep a cool head, she thought bitterly. "Yes." She felt infinitely weary. "Yes, Dr. Spengler. He is still alive. But I need Janine before I'll give him back to you." Lia suddenly burst out with the truth, still wanting them to understand though she had given up any hope of it when she had seen their reactions. "I don't want to hurt Ray anymore. I just want this finished. Give me Janine. Give her up to me and in doing so admit your complicity in Justin's death, and we'll be even. I won't hurt Janine, I'll just kill her. And then I'll tell you where Ray is."

"Can we reverse the damage you did to him?" Egon asked, his voice strange, almost pleading, but his face controlled and considering.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know." Lia found this hard to admit. She regretted what she had done to Ray. Of all the Ghostbusters, he was the hardest to hate. But he was also the biggest surprise of all, she hadn't thought he would survive as long as he had. She hadn't expected him to be so tenacious, so unyielding. Whatever she had done to him it hadn't worked the way she wanted it to, including her transformation of him. Let them find that out for themselves. I'm not even sure I could explain it. If they get to Ray in time, he'll tell them everything.

There was nothing left to say, except the inevitable. "Come here, Janine." Lia held out her hand to her former friend, her enemy, and the other woman took a step toward her eagerly. Her face was lit up with purpose and Lia knew what that purpose was. Janine was so transparent. She's going to try to kill me. She doesn't think she'll succeed, but she wants the chance. Everything is ending just the way I planned-

CRASH!

Peter turned and saw that the goon he'd beaten up was lying on the floor, a huge vase smashed to bits near his head. Blood trickled from the downed thug's temple. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion after that, including his thoughts.

I can't let Janine go with Lia. Lia will kill her and she won't give us Ray. I have to stop it. Peter had turned a little toward the thug when he heard the crash and moved closer, and he kept moving when he saw something in front of him that he hadn't noticed before. A crossbow, loaded, beautiful, on display in a glass case two feet away off to his right. Out of Lia's line of vision.

Wooden weapons can at least hurt vampires. I wonder if Marshak had that there for a reason?

Peter drove his fist into the case, splintering the glass and cutting his hand, and grabbed the crossbow. He didn't even look up to see where the distraction and well-timed blow to the goon had come from; turning, he brought the crossbow up and fired point-blank at Lia's heart.

Stupid. She'll just turn into mist. How could I forget that?

Someone else forgot it too. The chauffeur leaped in front of the vampire and the crossbow bolt buried itself in his uniform. Murphy fell to his knees, choking, one hand reaching out for Lia. Peter felt like cursing or crying. Now what? She'll probably kill us all. She's insane.

Lia shrieked, a horrible, grating noise akin to nails on chalkboard or dying bats, and stooped down to cradle the chauffeur in her arms. She didn't seem to notice anyone else in the room. Peter got the awful feeling that Murphy had meant as much to her as Justin had, he certainly wasn't just hired muscle the way the others were. One more thing to blame us for.

Time seemed to resume its normal proportions. Peter checked around to see what had happened while he was shooting at Lia and found the balance of power had changed yet again. Winston was standing over the prone and moaning figure of the thug who had been guarding him. Egon had moved forward a bit, he had probably been trying to block Janine's path to Lia when the vase broke. The Hispanic muscle-man who was guarding the front door had crept closer to hear part of Lia's tirade, and when the thug had moved, Janine had evidently socked him and pushed him down the small staircase, where he lay whimpering at the bottom. Peter finally glanced up to see where the vase had come from. A tall redhead with flowing hair, dressed in a strawberry silk pantsuit, was leaning over the railing staring down at Dallion and Jack Marshak with concern. Both of the storekeepers who had tried to restrain the muscular Murphy were grim, watching Lia hold the dying man.

"Oh, my friend," Lia whispered. "This should not have happened." Peter wasn't sure, but he didn't think the man was breathing anymore. Murphy was simply lying in the vampire's arms, gazing into her face and smiling. There was a short, spastic sound of expelled breath, and then Peter was sure. I killed him. Now there's no way we'll get Ray back, he thought in despair.

It's over. Lia quietly put Murphy on the floor and softly closed his eyes with her hand. All done. One more death. Somewhere in her mind grief was stirring, but now she was too removed to feel it. She glanced up to see Peter still holding the crossbow, an expression of hopelessness on his face. I should have seen it coming. I knew what Peter would do if pushed too far. I knew he wanted me dead. She stood up and sadly studied Murphy's body. And I knew what you would do if I was threatened. Why didn't I realize how this might end?

One of the hired idiots spoke up in a choked whisper. "Hey! Aren't you going to help us here?" She raised her head and glared around at her brave minions. All of them were lying in defeat on the floor, wounded and weak. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Peter is worth all of them put together. Her thoughts gathered rage and force as she continued that train of thought. Janine is their superior in everything except brute force. None of them come even close to Egon's mind. Winston has more strength of character, more steadfastness of soul. Abruptly, Ray's face came to mind. None of them would have lasted as long as Ray did. Why am I bothering with these contemptible worms? "Murphy was worth ten of you," she whispered bleakly. The room was silent except for her voice. "Why did it have to be him?"

Because he was loyal and brave, the way your adversaries are. He did for you what they are doing for Ray. Nothing made sense anymore. She despised her allies and respected her enemies, and she couldn't stomach another confrontation. She wanted this over with. Justin... abruptly, her grief came to the surface. "Oh, Justin, why did this happen?" she asked, then closed her eyes, turned away, took a step up the staircase. Her hand held tightly on the banister, supporting her. I can't do this anymore. They... aren't monsters. They thought they had to kill Justin. Maybe they did, maybe they didn't. I don't know anything for certain anymore. Maybe he was that awful, maybe if I'm honest I'll admit it's possible, in character even, for him to have abandoned Janine to die. So all of this, all of my planning was for nothing. But this ends now.

Egon watched in dread as Lia turned back to them, sure she was about to demand an even higher price for Ray's safe return. Her face was devoid of emotion, exhausted and spent. Still beautiful, he thought, then wondered, Did I think that, or did she make me?

"Ray is in the basement of an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn, near the waterfront. Stanwell Boulevard and Lowell, the southeast corner. There's a trap door that leads to the basement," Lia said. For a second, Egon didn't understand what she'd just said, and then it hit him. She was giving them Ray. "Take him. Maybe you can still save him. I can't care anymore. I'm certainly not going to finish the job on Ray. I've had more than enough pain for one day."

That's it? Egon thought incredulously. All of that pain, all that suffering, and she just gives us Ray? No price? I don't believe it. I can't. Lia was ascending the staircase, probably heading toward whatever window she'd entered or hole she'd oozed through when she came in. She can't leave. It might be a trick. We have to stop her. His hand moved to the UV lantern, flicking the switch. There was another click as Winston turned on his lantern. Lia's head snapped around. She smiled enigmatically, a Mona Lisa smile of mystery. Her eyes moved to Peter. "Good-bye," she said softly, and then faded into mist.

"I don't believe it," Winston said breathlessly. "Am I going crazy, or did we just win?"

"If that address is where Ray really is, we did," Egon said, switching off the lantern. He looked around at the mess they'd made of the shop. Yet another insurance claim we'll be responsible for, he thought trivially. It hadn't quite sunk in yet that they could find Ray now.

"We're outta here," Peter said, dropping the crossbow on a display case and starting to head for the door. Janine was there ahead of him, her hand on the doorknob. Peter's hand closed over hers. "Janine..."

"Don't even think it, Venkman," she snarled. "I am going with you to get Ray."

"That might not be a good idea," Egon said. If Ray is in as bad a shape as I think he might be, Janine shouldn't see him until after we've cleaned him up. She might start blaming herself again and she's upset enough as it is. "We need somebody at Central to act as a command post and call the police if it's another trick."

"Get Slimer to do it. You trusted him to guard me," Janine protested, fighting Peter for control of the door.

"And he did a spectacular job with that, didn't he?" Peter commented. "Please, Janine. We don't have time to argue about this. You'll see Ray as soon as we get him back, but we need backup, all right?"

Janine's stubborn facade crumpled. She leaned against the door, breathing hard. Then she nodded, and blinked back tears fiercely. "Bring him back in one piece, okay?" she whispered, then wrenched the door open and walked out of the shop.

Egon wanted to leave that instant, but then he remembered what was in the basement and ruefully studied the collection of fallen thugs. Uh-oh. Now what do we do with them? "Mr. Marshak, about what's in your basement..." he said as Winston brushed by him heading for the door. Peter was already firing up Ecto, he could hear it from where he stood.

Jack exchanged a look with Ryan, who glanced up at the redhead on the floor above. They all looked bemused. The older man spoke. "Tell you what, Dr. Spengler. You forget about our basement for now, and we'll tell the police some credible story, leaving you out of it. Then when your friend is back, come back and see us and we'll give you a guided tour."

Gratitude rushed up in Egon's chest. "Thanks. Thanks, you have no idea, I know this is strange for you."

"Not as strange as you'd think," commented Micki, leaning on the railing as she descended the staircase. "Go, go. We'll take care of it."

Egon had time for one last backward glance of apology and thankfulness before he was out of the shop and in Ecto, speeding toward the waterfront.

Back at the shop, Ryan and Micki tied up the three thugs and neatly arranged Murphy at the bottom of the staircase.

"What're you going to do to us?" demanded one of them, trying to look belligerent as Jack dialed 911.

"We're going to give you a choice," Ryan said, standing over them with the baseball bat. None of them were in any shape to fight him, even without the bonds and the bat. All of them looked like they'd been through a prizefight.

Micki grinned. Sometimes it was nice to know the good guys did win occasionally. "Either you plead guilty to breaking and entering, attempted burglary, and accidental manslaughter, or we let you think up your own story to explain all of this."

The three stooges looked back at her, confused. "Hunh?" one of them asked intelligently.

"To get more specific, how are you going to explain that you were working as muscle for two kidnappers, one of whom is dead and the other is a vampire who disappeared?" Ryan elaborated for their benefit. He smiled at them.

The thugs exchanged looks of dismay, then resignation. "Okay, but how do we know you'll keep your end of the bargain?" one of the less bright specimens demanded. "And how do we know the cops'll believe what you tell them?"

"Oh, no problem. Trust us. We do this all the time," Micki chuckled.

Peter was driving almost as recklessly as Ray usually did. He wasn't really paying attention to the street because he kept mentally replaying the few clues Lia had given them to Ray's condition. Sauna? Plus, she was trying to turn him into a zombie... Hang on, Ray. Hang on.

"This is it, this is it!" Winston yelled, looking up from the map. Peter slammed on the brakes, fumbling with the key as Winston and Egon tore out of the car. A second later he was right behind them, searching for the way in. It wasn't hard to find, there was a break in the fence which they crawled through, and then ran to the nearest door of the warehouse. It was locked. Oh, well, Peter thought cheerfully, and kicked in the door, splintering it completely off its hinges.

"That was not necessary, Peter," Egon commented as they charged in the door.

"That's what you think," Peter said under his breath. The warehouse looked abandoned and there were bits of ancient lumber and rotting tin piled against the walls, but for the most part it was just dust and darkness.

Winston switched the UV lantern on. "Glad these things are good for something besides killing vampires," he said, slowly circling the inner confines of the building. He tripped suddenly, and Peter heard him yell. "Guys! I found it!"

Peter turned and ran to the far corner where Winston was crouching. It took both of them to lift the trapdoor, which must have weighed 200 pounds. Winston shone his lantern down the stairs and slowly started to descend. Peter was hyperconscious of the fact Lia could have lied. He kept a tight grip on his lantern, alert for trouble. The ultimate trap. None of us would survive if this were a den for vampires. But he didn't really believe it was a trap. He was on guard, because there was still the chance it was a trick, but he remembered Lia's face as she faded away. That was good-bye. I don't think we're going to see her again. I hope.

The basement was a surprise. Peter didn't know what he'd been expecting but it wasn't what they found. A luxurious casino met his eyes; red velvet, green felt, dark mahogany, all of the finest materials done in the style of an old-fashioned speakeasy. Weird. We never would have known this was here if she hadn't told us where to look. Which, instead of being reassuring, made him even more nervous. He shone his lantern around the main gambling room.

"There's an open door over here, behind this chair," Peter said, moving over to it carefully.

"Watch it, Peter. We don't know that she was telling us the truth," Egon said, joining him. Peter went through the doorway first, and stopped. Winston bumped into him, started to protest, then gaped.

"A swimming pool?" Peter said, stunned. "This must have cost... must have cost..."

"A fortune," Egon finished for him, unimpressed. "There's a passageway over here, why don't you check-"

But Peter was remembering the word 'sauna' and was already moving toward a frosted glass door beyond the pool. It could be a trick, he thought. Screw it! I gotta know! He kicked in the door, which opened with ease. Holding his breath, Peter looked inside.

Ray was lying on a tiled bench, chained and naked.

Peter let out a whoop of delight unmitigated by the condition of his friend. Everything that had been done to him was over now, he was safe, it would all be okay! Egon would reverse the zombifying, Ray would recover... the psychologist took two steps into the room and Ray opened his eyes. Peter stopped, so happy he couldn't breathe.

"Ray?" he said softly. He looked around for a way to get Ray free of the chains. A key, a saw maybe, yeah, a saw. "We're going to get you out of here, buddy, don't worry, Lia's gone," Peter was babbling, he knew that. "Just hold on a second longer," the psychologist leaned out the door and yelled, "EGON!! WINSTON!! I got him, he's still alive!" He turned back to Ray, and moved toward him.

Ray flinched. Peter stopped. The look in Ray's eyes was indescribable. Peter didn't know how to classify it; it wasn't fear, or anger, or pain. Ray seemed to be dazed somehow. Strange.

"So you're going to kill Peter again?" Ray asked, a weary expression on his face. He sounded as if he couldn't care about anything, as if he didn't believe Peter was really there. "Boring, Lia, really boring. You killed him last time. Although I have to admit," he cocked his head to the side, looking up at Peter from the bench, "He looks a lot more realistic than the last hallucination. You've done a really nice job on him."

Peter's heart froze in horror. Oh, no. Oh, Ray. Lia, you bitch - "EGON!!! Where are you?!?"

The blond physicist crashed through the doorway, blinking, saying, "Ray, you're alive, thank heavens!"

Ray interrupted him, an amused but unpleasant smile on his face. "Egon too? Well, isn't that talented of you. And here I thought you wanted to kill them one at a time. I guess you're going in for mass murders now." As Winston joined them, his eyes filled with concern, Ray continued, "But, why not? I should have expected it."

"Expected what, Ray?" Egon asked unwillingly, studying Ray with fascination and sympathy.

Ray turned a knowing smile in the physicist's direction. "That you'd start killing them off en masse after the single murders stopped upsetting me enough," he explained as if to a small child.

Peter shook his head, his mouth dry. "Ray, we're really here, this isn't an hallucination. Why do you think it is?"

Ray closed his eyes and turned his head away. "I'm tired, Lia, can we do this some other time?"

He thinks he's dreaming, Peter thought. He doesn't believe we're here. We gotta get you out of here, Ray. "Come on, we're taking you out of the sauna," he said, hoping this would be enough to jar Ray out of the belief he was dreaming. Come on, Ray. Snap out of it. Please.

Ray had to give her credit, Lia had an unflagging imagination. You would think that after all this time, she would start to repeat herself, but she's not. She keeps coming up with new and different ways to make my life hell.

The hallucinations led him out to the pool. "Are we going to do the Dunkin' Donuts thing again?" he asked with interest. The ersatz Peter's face froze and only his eyes moved toward Ray's face, pleading. Very good, Ray thought. If that were really Peter he'd react just like that. Asking me if I were kidding, hoping I was okay.

"Dunkin' Donuts?" Winston said in horror, staring up at the winch and pulley positioned on the diving board. Egon looked sick. Ray had to admire the way Lia had gotten their expressions down, evidently practice made perfect. He couldn't tell them from the real thing.

Peter slowly guided him over to his accustomed lawn chair and Ray relaxed. Winston collapsed into the chair across from him and Egon disappeared through the doorway to where Ray assumed Lia kept her office. Any minute now the horrible events would begin. He knew that. But it was hard to remember. He was enjoying this part of the nightmare so much. He missed the guys a whole lot, and even the hallucinations were better than nothing. The only thing that would make it absolutely perfect was if Janine or Slimer were there. Oh, well. You couldn't have everything.

Ray tensed. Nothing happened. The fake Peter - and it is fake, don't kid yourself that it isn't - looked over at him, his face contorted with concern. "Ray? What's wrong?"

Really, really nice. She must be working from tapes of his voice. "Egon's going to die now, isn't he?"

The false Winston put his face in his hands, shaking his head back and forth. A low groan escaped between his fingers. Peter was completely still, then he asked in the calmest voice possible, "Why do you think Egon is going to die, Ray?"

"Because this is the point in the dream where someone usually dies," Ray said baldly. No sense fooling himself. Lia was going to see this scenario through but Ray couldn't stop himself from trying to fight her, from not buying into the reality of her constructed horrors. As long as it wasn't real, it shouldn't hurt to watch them die again. He tried to forget what it had been like the first couple of times before he had realized none of the scenes were real. Not my fault... anyone would have been fooled. But I know better now. The guys aren't going to get to me in time. Ray grinned.

The Peter-construct looked confused. "Ray?" he asked again, his voice sounding desperate. "C'mon, buddy. It's me, it's Peter. You're rescued. It's going to be all right..." Ray felt so sorry for him. It really looked like Peter. If Peter were here, he could explain to him.

"Lia, it's like this," he said confidentially. Ray heard footsteps from behind, and braced himself for the nastiness to come. But it was only Egon, holding a white terry cloth bathrobe. Ray had seen Lia wear it a couple times. Egon also had a saw in his hand. That's more like it, he thought with gallows humor. Now I'll bet he's going to attack Winston.

"I found this in a bedroom over there," Egon said, gesturing back into the passageway. He draped the robe around Ray's shoulders, handing the saw to Peter who was still staring at Ray with that horrified look on his face.

"Clothes. This is new. What next? Food?" Ray asked in curiosity. Hey, in dreams anything was possible, even that he'd get to eat something that wasn't raw and bloody. Carefully, Peter sawed through the handcuffs and chains. In a few moments Ray was free of his shackles. It felt strange. He'd gotten so used to them - he'd never liked them, he'd hated them, but it was too easy. The whole scenario was making him incredibly nervous. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"That's it," he said abruptly, putting his arms through the robe and tying it around his waist. "I've had it. Just spring the bloodshed on me now, I can't take the suspense." Winston lifted his head from his hands, giving Ray a look of mingled anger and anguish. Egon appeared as if all of his energy was gone and he hadn't the strength to deal with this. Peter grabbed the saw and chains and threw them into the pool, his expression murderous. "Nice touch," admitted Ray. "Peter does throw things when he gets mad. You're really keeping this consistent with reality. But it won't work."

"What won't work, Ray?" Egon whispered, leaning against the table, examining Ray's face as if he were a stranger. Or like he was searching for something he couldn't find.

"I'm not going to stay alive." Ray smiled as calmly as he could manage around the seething rage he felt. "I'm going to die, Lia, and you can't stop me. And if there's a God in heaven, he'll make sure the guys find out what you did to me and they'll stop you from ever doing anything like this again."

"Oh, man," choked Peter, his expression semi-hysterical. "Ray, what are we gonna do with you? How can we convince you everything's okay?"

Ray straightened up, folding his arms across his chest, feeling peaceful and detached. "You can't."

Egon couldn't help being fascinated by Ray's physical state at the same time he was appalled by his emotional condition. Ray's eyes in particular were frightening, now they had him out of the sauna it was possible to see his eyes were starting to take on a milky texture, as if cataracts were growing on them. He seemed able to see perfectly well... except he wouldn't accept the evidence of his eyes as reality. Ray was convinced they were illusions and he was going to die.

Ray kept flinching unexpectedly at sudden movements, as if he was easily startled or unable to handle sudden changes in his environment. His skin looked unhealthy, too, but Egon wasn't sure if that was because of his pre-zombie state or because he hadn't been fed recently. Winston, Peter and Egon were trying to make Ray as comfortable as possible in his chair by the poolside but it wasn't working, he kept looking around, waiting for the violence to start with a cynical, knowing expression on his face that Egon found very hard to bear. Ray Stantz is - was - one of the most open, optimistic people I know. If she's managed to kill that part of him... Egon couldn't finish the thought. Ray's assertion a few minutes before that the Ghostbusters would stop Lia made some part of Egon's heart ache. Even in his most downcast and defeated state of mind, Ray believed in them. How was he going to tell Ray that Lia had gotten away?

"I'm really thirsty," Ray said suddenly, turning those odd eyes toward Peter. "Not that it matters. You never give me anything to drink."

Peter looked aghast. "Ray, I'm sorry, I should have thought of it, you were in that sauna. Wait right here, I'll scoop you up some water from the pool-"

"No! Not that water!" Ray let out a weary sigh as Peter froze, half in and half out of his seat next to Ray. "Never mind. It tastes of chlorine. Though why it matters," Ray went on as Peter left the pool area, his face grim as he headed for the hallway Egon had obtained the saw from, "since you're not really going to give me the water, I don't know. As long as you're going to send pretend guys to pretend rescue me, you might as well give me some pretend water to drink." Peter returned at the end of this speech, a tumbler full of clear water in his hand. He handed it wordlessly to Ray.

Egon watched in concern as Ray gulped down the entire glass fast enough to almost choke himself. "Easy, Ray. We can get you more, you know."

Ray put the glass down, an expression of bliss on his face. Egon felt his chest lighten. If he can still feel, still think, he's not a zombie yet. It has to be reversible at this stage, it's taking longer than usual to transform him if Lia gave him her blood on Friday. There's got to be a chance.

"Oh, that was good. Terrific. Now if I weren't so hungry..." Ray was saying when Egon nearly jumped out of his skin. On the word "hungry" Ray's voice dropped an octave and lost all resonance, but that wasn't what had made Egon shudder. Ray's eyes had gone completely opaque and taken on a greenish-white tinge that put Egon in mind of unhealthy pond scum. Uh-oh.

"Yipe!" Peter yelped, stepping back and dropping the plastic glass, unable to keep himself from reacting. Ray's eyes reverted to what they had been before: visible pupils and irises with a milky coating.

Egon swallowed bile. "This is extremely bad," he said flatly. "We have to get him back to Central. NOW." He grabbed one of Ray's arms and helped him up, then started to steer him through the secret panel toward the main part of the casino.

"Bad? Whaddaya mean 'bad'? Define 'bad', okay?" Peter said, grabbing Ray's other arm. Ray smiled at them happily.

"Do I get to go outside now?" he inquired curiously with an amused look.

"Yeah, Ray, we're taking a field trip," Winston said, holding the secret door open. "We're going back to Central."

"That'll be nice. For a while. I guess." An expression of extreme suspicion crossed Ray's face, then he smiled grimly, knowingly. "Car crash, am I right?"

"No, Ray, no car crash," Peter said gently. "Egon, what do you mean BAD?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Egon shot a look at Ray. He doesn't believe I'm real. Why should my opinion of his mental state matter to him? "It might be too late."

"Too late? Too late? C'mon, you don't mean... he'll stay a zombie?" Peter said quietly. Ray looked at him with concern, and Peter smiled at him reassuringly. "Everything's okay, Ray. I promise. You're okay." Peter raised an eyebrow at Egon as they started to climb the stairs. "Egon? Help me out here?" He jerked his head at Ray, his expression pleading for extra reassurance.

Egon braced half Ray's weight as they ascended the stairs. "We're going to get you help, Ray. We'll do everything possible."

Winston scooted by the three of them and climbed up into the warehouse, turning back to say, "I'll start up Ecto. Just... keep him steady."

"Egon? It's gonna be all right, isn't it? Isn't it?" Peter pleaded when they reached the top of the stairs. To Ray, he said, "Careful of your feet, there's some nails and stuff, last thing we want is for you to bust something else on anything in here."

Egon studied Peter in the streetlight when they exited the warehouse. He looks almost as bad as Ray. He's been off the pills and caffeine for a few days now and I think he's starting to feel it. He needs Ray to be okay. He focused on Ray. Ray is not okay. And I don't know what will bring him back to normal. I can't lie to Peter about that, it'll just make it worse later. "I don't know," he said in a low voice.

Peter's voice held an edge of desperation. "C'mon, Egon. Be brilliant, it's what you're good at."

Egon winced, but what he was about to say got lost when Ray spoke again. "The lights are really good," Ray said in a confiding tone to Peter. "They're pretty. I'm cold though. But it's nice," he said after reflecting a bit. "It's a change from the heat."

"That's good, Ray," Peter said in a gentle voice. "Just keep talking, we'll figure this thing out, we'll cure you, but you've got to help us." Ray nodded at him calmly, the glazed look not changing one iota.

Egon opened the door to Ecto-1 and helped Ray inside, then settled himself, thinking black thoughts. I'm almost as messed up as Ray is. How can we assume that Lia isn't still messing with my head? How can I find a cure for Ray when I don't know the cause? Zombies aren't supposed to be like this, so he isn't one yet. But what is he? How far gone is he? Peter shut the door and Winston started the car, slowly pulling away from the curb.

By the time they reached Central, Winston felt ready to collapse. It's not enough we get beat up by some bad guy wanna-be's, it's not enough we face down Lady Macbeth herself, no, we've got to find out Ray's almost a zombie too. I can't take much more of this. Zeddemore shut off the engine, took a breath, and turned around in the seat to speak to Ray and Peter. "We're home, Ray. Do you feel any better?"

Ray blinked slowly and looked around. "It looks real..." he said hesitantly, but then finished with a definite, "But I know it's not."

Peter opened his car door and helped Ray out of Ecto-1. "Come on, Ray. Let's get you to bed."

"RAY!" Winston nearly hit his head on the car ceiling when Janine yelled. She came cannoning out from behind her desk obviously intending to give Ray a big hug, but then stopped a foot away from him. "Ray?" Janine was reaching out one hand to him, a painful expression on her face, confusion mixed with guilt and empathy.

Winston got out of the car and put an arm around her. "He's a little confused, Janine," he said quietly. Ray was looking at Janine and although his face blank his entire body was tense. Winston looked around. "Where's Slimer?"

Janine's eyes were still on Ray. "I sent him to my house, he was getting too upset and I didn't know what shape Ray would be in. Why does he look like that?"

"This is different, too," Ray said in a wondering tone of voice. "Janine didn't show up in the other hallucinations very well. And we never got to Central..." his voice trailed off, and then, very softly, "Janine?"

Blinking back tears, Janine took one of his hands in both of hers and squeezed it. "It's going to be okay. You wait. Everything will look better later." She glanced at Peter, whose mouth was taut with concern, his attention solely on Ray. Ray smiled at Janine and nodded calmly. She released his hand and Peter started to guide Ray toward the staircase.

"Up the stairs, Ray, that's it, take it slow," Peter advised as they ascended the stairs. Winston studied Janine. Her expression was bleak. She turned to Egon who was just getting out of the front seat, moving as if he were very, very tired or feeling extremely old.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked the physicist, her eyes begging for reassurance. Egon shut the car door and leaned against the hood, watching Peter and Ray reach the top of the stairs.

"I don't know yet, Janine. I hope so," he said as Peter and Ray disappeared around the corner to the third floor staircase. To Winston he said, "We'd better help Peter with Ray, I have a feeling this won't be easy."

When they reached the bedroom Winston saw what Egon meant. Ray was standing in the center of the room, his expression fearful but controlled, arms across his chest. Peter was holding out Ray's pajamas to him, exasperation warring with desperation. "Ray, it is okay. If you don't want to wear the pajamas, that's fine. I just thought it would make a nice change." Peter looked over his shoulder as they entered the room, his expression relieved at their presence. "He's terrified we're going to do something violent. Will somebody please say something to make him believe we're not all gonna die?"

"Like what? We can't die, we still owe income tax?" Winston shook his head. "Give it up for now. He'll snap out of it in a bit." I hope, he added mentally. Something worse than voodoo zombie rites had happened to Ray; Winston wasn't sure what it had been but now wasn't the time to worry about it. Egon was exhausted, Peter was still hyper from the confrontation, he personally felt like hell, and there was no way any of them were going to think straight until they got some sleep.

Ray reached out a wary hand for the pajamas Peter was holding out, then snatched them to his chest, his eyes roaming the room. Winston yawned and Ray twitched at the sound. Like Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Winston thought unhappily. No, it's worse. For him, it's still happening. And we don't even know exactly what 'it' is.

Egon crossed the hallway and turned on the light in the bathroom. "You can change in here, Ray," he said quietly. Ray moved past him, looking suspiciously into the room first, and then closed the door.

Peter flopped down on his bed, letting out a huge breath. "Oh, man, what a night. I don't know about you guys, but I feel," a yawn overtook him, "as if I could sleep for days." Peter turned his head toward Egon and blinked a couple times. "Without sleeping pills. Now that Ray's back..." he stood up again and crossed to Ray's bed, picking up his Dopey Dog doll. "It'll be all right. Tomorrow we figure out how to cure him, get him feeling better, and then maybe we go after Lia."

"I don't know about that last, Peter," Egon said. His face was drawn, spent. "She's probably long gone by now. Out of the country, even."

"You aren't serious. We can't just let her get away with this." Peter's expression was incredulous. At his words Egon's expression grew doubtful and unsure, as if he were considering the hunt for the vampire.

"Let's concentrate on Ray for now. Later..." Egon let the thought trail off unfinished, and knocked on the bathroom door. "Ray? Are you okay? It's safe to come out."

The door opened a sliver, and then very carefully Ray stepped into the bedroom, trepidation in his every movement. He's scared of his own shadow, thought Winston. Ray looked around slowly, then smiled slightly in relief. "Nothing bad yet, huh?" he said.

"Nothing bad at all, Ray," Peter said, holding Dopey Dog out to the occultist.

Ray took the doll in his arms cautiously, and then moved over to his bed. Watching all of them, he climbed under the covers but made no move to relax as the rest of the Ghostbusters prepared for bed. Winston noticed that he seemed to grow more alert minute by minute. Finally, he couldn't suppress his curiosity any more. "Ray, why aren't you relaxing? Aren't you tired? We would have thought that after the day you had you'd want to catch some zzz's."

Ray smiled at him. Winston still couldn't get used to the way Ray's eyes looked. "I'm waiting for the bad stuff to start."

"What bad stuff? Ray, nothing bad's going to happen." Peter had come out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in his left hand, darting a fierce and protective look at Ray. Across the room, Egon turned around to face them, one arm in his nightshirt.

"That's what you said the last time," Ray stated calmly.

"What last time?" Peter put the toothbrush on the dresser, sitting down at the foot of Ray's bed. Egon finished changing and joined Winston on the other's bed across from Ray.

"You know, the last time you rescued me," Ray said, cocking his head and clutching Dopey Dog to his chest. It was the only outward sign of distress he gave; his face maintained the half-anxious, half-suspicious expression it had held since they'd brought him into Central.

"Ray, this is the first time we rescued you," Peter said slowly. "There was no other time." Then, quietly, "What do you remember as the first time?"

"You know." Ray said in a flat voice. "It was the time you came alone to rescue me. You came into the sauna and said Lia had gone for a while and you'd knocked out Murphy. Then you said we had to hurry, she'd be back soon, and unlocked my chains." Ray paused for a second, glancing at Egon and Winston. "You guys weren't there that time. I think she'd already killed you." Winston felt his spine prickle in fear. "So we ran up the stairs, and that's when..." Ray faltered, a fleeting look of distress crossing his face, but it was gone after a moment. "Your arm burst into flames. You reached out for me, yelling 'Ray! Help me! You gotta help me!' and then you fell down the stairs, and your shoulder burned, and your back, and when you turned over your face was melting."

Ray stopped, let out a breath. "And then all I saw was Lia's face, saying 'Very nice, Ray. Well done.' I remember it very well. You died that time, and you're going to die this time too. But this time I'm going to die too, Lia. You just watch. I can choose to die if I want to. If I don't believe in these hallucinations, I'll just get tired and more tired and then I'll die."

Peter's face was a study in rage as he got up and began to pace the room. "That..." Winston was pretty sure he knew what Peter was thinking, but it looked like Peter couldn't come up with a word bad enough to describe Lia.

"Witch? Monster? Fiend?" Janine's voice came from the doorway. Winston shifted to face her and saw that she was leaning against the doorway, her countenance agonized as she studied Ray. I wonder how long she was there. "I'm with you, Venkman. I say we kill her." She walked over to Ray, holding out a glass of milk in her hand. "To help you sleep."

Ray gave her a puzzled look. "I can't drink that."

"Why not?" Janine asked in concern, looking at the glass. "It's just milk."

"I can't. I couldn't before." Ray took the glass, sniffed it doubtfully. "Maybe I can now?" he asked hopefully, putting it to his lips. He took a sip.

Milk sprayed out of his mouth as he gagged on it, his face turning purple. Ray coughed as Winston whacked him on the back, and then he said disappointedly, "I don't know what it is, but I can't drink it."

"Uh-oh," Egon muttered, taking the glass away from Ray and putting it on the nightstand. "He can't swallow the milk - I wonder - Ray, are you hungry for anything at all?"

"A nice raw steak sounds good," Ray said, his voice flat and lifeless, eyes glowing a sickly lemon. Winston swallowed, nervous, as Egon paled. Then the light in his eyes subsided and Ray sagged against the headboard. "But I'm so tired and all, I don't know, maybe later?" he asked, tucking Dopey Dog under his arm.

Janine was looking upset. "What just happened?" she asked, her voice thin with strain and fatigue.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, a worn expression on his face. "You remember what the henchman said on the phone. Well, it hasn't completely gotten to Ray yet, but it seems he's started to change."

"Change? Into-" Janine's voice dropped in horror, her eyes large. "What are we standing around for? Why aren't you guys helping him?" she demanded, staring at Egon.

Egon adjusted his glasses, meeting Janine's gaze stoically. "Ray is in no shape for the tests I'll have to do on him to help him." He looked at the weakened Ray, grimacing. "And I'm in no shape to administer those tests. Tomorrow when we've had some rest I'll start, but tonight will probably be a struggle just to get him to eat or sleep. We're going to need somebody to be okay tomorrow." Egon looked back at Janine, weariness slurring his words. "Go home, Janine. Sleep. Come back tomorrow morning when you're up to it. The rest of us aren't going to get any rest so we'll have to count on you."

Janine was watching Ray, her body trembling with tension. Winston wished there was something he could say to her. Lia wanted her dead. Ray got kidnapped because Lia was trying to revenge herself on Janine, so right now she's probably feeling major-league awful. But there is no way any of us can bring that up until she does. Egon's right though, if she stayed here tonight she'd just be one more person too exhausted to help Ray. "Egon's right," he said gently.

Peter was nodding. "I know you want to stay but let's face it, we have to be here and you don't. There aren't enough people on this team that we can afford to waste unnecessary resources. We need you alert and awake tomorrow when the rest of us are still recovering."

Janine's jaw was shivering and her eyes darted from Peter to Egon to Winston. Then she glanced at Ray, and her face sagged in defeat. "All right. I'll go. Ray?" Ray looked up at her, no longer expressionless but still seeming odd and distracted. "I'll be back in the morning. Everything-" Janine's voice caught, and she cleared her throat and then went on, "Everything is going to be okay." She kissed him on top of his head and left the room without looking back.

I wish I knew that, Winston thought pessimistically. I hope so, I think so, but Egon's looking like more is wrong with him than worry about Ray, Peter's about ready to fall into a coma or kill someone, and I'm too tired to think.

I hope Janine comes back rested, because no one else will be.

The soup bubbled, little alphabet noodles floating to the top. Egon turned down the heat on the burner. Janine had left almost an hour before, but Ray had not shown the slightest indication that he was going to sleep any time soon. He was too hungry. Egon was not about to feed him the requested raw steak without trying him out on everything else first. Maybe it's just the malnutrition, milk isn't exactly easy on the stomach. Maybe some light chicken broth or some toast will stay down and he'll be able to sleep.

Egon took the soup pan over to the table, ladling out a steaming bowlful for Ray. The toast popped up with a click, and Peter grabbed it and put it on a plate he then placed in front of Ray. "Eat up. It's good, Ray. Just try it." Peter was watching anxiously as Ray gingerly lifted the spoonful of soup to his lips.

SPLLLTTTT! He didn't turn purple this time, but there was no other improvement from his performance in the bedroom. Egon let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. "Have a bite of toast. A small one," he cautioned.

Ray's expression was that of someone being forced to eat paper. He spat it out, mouth turning down apologetically. "I'm sorry, guys. This stuff tastes like cardboard. I can't swallow it." Then he did a double-take, his face becoming apprehensive once more. "What are you trying to feed me, Lia?"

Peter rhythmically banged his head against the table and let out a groan. "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray. How many times are we going to go through this?" he asked, his voice ragged. "We are not dead, you are not a prisoner, Lia is long gone-"

"Skip it, Peter. We've got bigger problems," Egon interrupted. "Ray, try some of the cold cuts Winston has there."

Cold cuts, fruit, vegetables, the results were all the same. Ray would chew a few bites and then have to spit whatever it was out of his mouth. Egon was starting to feel desperate. Forget whatever else she did to him, Ray has already said he's starving. The physicist stole a glance at Ray. Aside from the obvious zombie effects, he did not look well. He had definitely lost weight and his eyes were ringed with dark circles, plus he needed a shave. Ray looked exhausted, like a convict after doing hard labor. He might die of malnutrition if we can't get some food into him. There has to be something he can eat. Maybe... Dreading what might happen, Egon took a steak out of the freezer and put it in the microwave to thaw out.

"What are you doing?" Winston asked, cradling his head in his hands.

"Giving Ray what he thinks he wants. At least it'll tell us if his inability to digest food is due to malnutrition or a zombie's metabolism. I hope he won't be able to eat this. If he can," Egon didn't get a chance to finish the sentence, because he had placed the small red steak in front of Ray. Ray picked up the meat, smiled, and sank his teeth into it, ripping gobbets off the bone like a rabid dog. Egon watched in mesmerized alarm as his friend consumed the meat in fifteen seconds flat, then licked the juice off the bone. Peter looked mildly nauseated, and Winston appeared to be in shock. Well, looks like that answers that question. To Egon's added dismay, Ray's eyes had again assumed their zombie-like pallor and glow. They didn't appear to reverting back, either.

"Ray? Ray!" Egon said sharply, grabbing Ray's shoulder and shaking him.

Ray turned a grease-stained but happy face to him. "E-gon," he said, sounding like a bad imitation of Slimer. Egon's heart sank in horror. Oh, no. Oh Ray, what did I do? Then Ray's eyes gradually lost their glow and he blinked. "Egon? I'm awfully sleepy," he said, yawning.

"That's good." Egon had a lump in the pit of his stomach. "That's really... good. Peter. Peter!" Peter turned a blank and drained face to him. "I think we can put him to bed now."

Later, after Ray had been tucked in after washing up and Peter and Winston had collapsed into exhausted and well-deserved sleep, Egon stood looking out the window, wondering. How close did I come to completing the process? How close is Ray to becoming a mindless zombie? And even if we cure that, what is it going to take to bring him back to us? He leaned his head against the window, eyes closed, seeing Lia again in his mind's eye. So beautiful. So evil.

If I didn't hate her before, I would hate her now. But even hating her and what she did to Ray, I still can't be sure she isn't influencing me. I just don't know. The emotions that welled up in Egon at that moment were unfamiliar, and painful. Uncertainty and anguish and fear, all centered around his abilities as a scientist and his own self-control and knowledge of himself.

How can I help Ray?

I can't even help myself.

Peter kicked out, lashing at something, and then he was awake. He lay still a minute, disoriented. The light was just beginning to come through the edges of the blinds. Nightmare... just a nightmare. He tried to recall exactly what it had been about, what he'd been trying to fight, but the definition of the dream was already starting to blur around the edges. One thing he did realize clearly: this hadn't been one of Lia's little love-notes. It had been a normal, ordinary bad dream, not a hyped-up sex-and-pain trip. He closed his eyes and let out a breath, just enjoying the feel of the bed and the sheets for a moment, just enjoying the knowledge that Lia was gone. Then memories of the rest of what had happened the night before hit him and he tensed, opening his eyes.

He glanced over to Ray's bed where Ray lay still asleep. Peter got out of bed and crept over to Ray. There were still purple shadows under his eyes, and the pallor and unhealthy tint to his skin was not reassuring. But to Peter, he looked terrific. Grinning, Venkman looked around the room. Winston and Egon were still sacked out too. What the hey... may as well take advantage of being the first one up, for a change. Whistling softly so as not to wake them, Peter walked over to the window and yanked the blinds up, expecting to startle his comatose friends.

"AAAAIIEEEEE!" Ray writhed on his bed, shrieking in pain, his eyes wide and staring, hands batting at his skin. Peter stood dumbfounded, then realized what was hurting Ray. Trying to pull the blinds back down, he inadvertently pulled them off the window frame. Oh, great, now there's no way to block the light, he thought in panic. Egon and Winston were completely awake by now, they could hardly help it. Egon was obviously thinking fast. Hurrying over to Ray, he bundled the agonized occult expert up in his own blankets, then yelled, "Winston! Grab his feet!" Together the two of them got Ray out of the bedroom and into the hallway where no direct light hit him.

"Ray? Ray? Speak to me, buddy, I am so sorry," Peter babbled as he joined them. The blankets fell away from Ray's body and Peter got a glimpse of Ray's skin, looking as if it had been sunburned to a nice neon-pink.

"Is this the part where the pain happens?" Ray asked plaintively, blinking hazily. For a second, Peter thought Ray's eyes were back to their normal chocolate-brown and he'd somehow recovered in the night. After a couple more blinks though, guilt and concern warred with anger as Peter saw that Ray's eyes were still zombified. Looks like one night's worth of sleep and food isn't gonna cure what ails you, he thought grimly.

"No, Ray, this isn't the part-" Peter shut up when he saw the look Egon was giving him. It was the kind of look he always used when he had some extraordinarily bad news. "Egon?" Peter stood straighter and flipped some of his hair out of his face, looking the physicist in the eye. "Tell him this isn't what he thinks it is."

Egon grimaced, and helped Ray to his feet. "Let's get you downstairs, Ray. Then we'll discuss it."

"I knew it," Ray said in resigned tones.

A while later, after Ray had been installed on a cot in the basement and everyone else had had breakfast and gotten dressed, Peter examined the equipment Egon was starting to set up. The collection included a sun lamp, a PKE meter, electrodes connected to every part of Ray's body, an EEG, an EKG, and a light meter. Peter was starting to get nervous. "Egon? What... exactly... are you going to do to Ray with all this stuff?"

The physicist stood up from hooking one of the connections to the power strip on the floor, and pushed his glasses up. "I have a working theory that may lead to a way to cure Ray."

"Yes!" Winston grinned, and exchanged a high-five with Peter.

Peter felt as if his face would split. Then he got a look at Egon, and remembered what he'd said upstairs when they'd gotten Ray out of the bedroom. "Why aren't you happy about this?" he said, crossing over behind some of the equipment to lean against the EEG machine and stare at Egon. "What aren't you telling us?"

Egon's gaze went to where Ray sat, upright and still on his cot, clutching the Dopey Dog doll. "It's only a theory. And..." Egon actually fidgeted, adjusting his suspenders and then twiddling with some of the knobs on the equipment. "I'm not sure how reliable I am right now." He looked at Peter, his face somber and a little scared. "Lia did a good job of confusing me, and I didn't even notice. She manipulated my emotions and coerced me into actions I wouldn't normally have taken. So when I explain my theory to you, keep that in mind. If it sounds completely ridiculous, she could still be directing my thoughts."

"Cut to the chase, will you?" Peter said, watching Ray. "Anything is better than what's happening to him now."

"Did you notice that Ray's eyes went back to normal after he was hit with the sunlight?" Egon asked, making a few final adjustments on his monitors. "I think exposure to direct sunlight, or some portion of the electromagnetic spectrum, can erase the psychokinetic energy that's causing the change. But I don't know how much, or in what quantities, or if it's sunlight or some other side factor, so I have all of these monitors hooked up to Ray." He let out a breath and glanced up, his expression apprehensive. "I took a blood sample, and there is definitely an etheric attribute present interacting with Ray's blood chemistry. If we can eliminate that, we can hope Ray will revert to his normal self. But you're going to have to check my work. I... can't be sure Lia's not influencing me, re-routing my thinking toward conclusions she wants me to draw."

"I don't like this," Peter said tightly. "I don't like it at all. You sound like you're winging it, Egon."

Winston shook his head too. "What's this going to do to Ray? You saw how he reacted this morning. Sunlight hurts him, a lot. I mean, what you're saying sounds reasonable, Egon, but how can we be sure Ray will survive the treatment?"

"A small quantity of light, just to test him," Egon said in a plaintive voice, looking from Peter to Winston. "It can't hurt him more than it did this morning. Two minutes, maximum, and I should be able to get a large enough reading to analyze."

Peter went over to the cot and sat down next to Ray, taking his hand. "Ray?" he asked quietly. "Are you up to this?"

Ray met his eyes dully. "Why are you asking when you're going to do whatever it is whether I like it or not? You didn't ask any of the other times."

"Tell me about the other times, Ray," Peter said quietly, giving Ray's hand a squeeze. I have to know if Ray can handle any more of this, and how close to the edge he is. If he can't stand it, we'll have to figure out something else. Peter refused to think that there might not be something else Egon could do. But if Ray couldn't deal with more pain, there was no way he was going to let Egon try this.

Very slowly Ray blinked, his clouded eyes making it impossible to tell what he was focusing on. "Some of them were real. I know that. I wasn't going to tell you." He turned his head toward Peter, seeming to watch his face. "But you're not real. Some of the other times, with the pain, weren't real either. I don't know which was which. I told you all of this the last time there was pain."

"Go over the last time," Peter said. "I don't remember it very well." I am going to kill her, slowly, if I ever see her again, he thought, and this time it was not in white-hot rage but with a feeling of freezing calm.

"Last time you played tic-tac-toe on my back with one of those hearth lucifers. You know, one of those long gas torches about the size of a punk. You drew the board and then burned in the marks, taking turns with Winston." Ray's recitation was chilling by its very lack of emotion. Any feeling, of anger, pain, betrayal, anything, it seemed to Peter, would be better than that calm, numb description of atrocity. Carefully, moving slowly so as not to startle Ray, Peter peeled part of the robe back from Ray's shoulder.

Much to his relief, there were no scars of tic-tac-toe on Ray's back. "There's nothing on your back," he said, turning Ray back to face him.

"Well, I guess I imagined that time," Ray said. "The same way I'm imagining this." A peaceful smile wreathed his face.

Peter really didn't want to break that calm. "I hate to tell you this, but this time is real."

"How real is real, Peter?"

Aargh. What a question. "Do you mind not starting on the philosophy before I've had my second cup of coffee?" Peter rubbed his head with his free hand. "Are you ready to start?"

Ray just shook his head, not meeting Peter's eyes, staring off across the room with that calm look of disbelief.

It doesn't matter to him, because he can't believe it. None of this is touching him. Looks like I have my answer, even though I hate it. Wincing, Peter nodded at Egon. "Do it. Do it fast. We know it's going to hurt, let's see if does anything else."

Ray's screams were heartrending. By the end of the two minutes Peter felt as if every bone in his already lacerated hand had been broken, Ray was holding it so hard. When Egon finally turned off the lamp, Peter cleared his throat, trying to get his breath back. He glanced at his hand. Nothing broken, but he could see where he was going to have a hand-shaped bruise in a couple of hours. Ray was panting in short gasps, his eyes closed, head back against the wall, his skin beaded with sweat. "Ray? Ray!" Peter said in panic.

Ray tipped his head back down and opened his eyes. They were back to normal, pupils and irises unfilmed and clear. But as Peter watched, the cataracts slowly, very slowly, started to reform. "It's not working," Peter said, turning to where Egon was frowning over a printout. The physicist didn't respond, absorbed in another graph on the CRT. "Dammit Egon, did you hear me?" Peter demanded, letting go of Ray's hand and walking over to the computer boards. "He went back to normal for a couple seconds but he's already zombifying again. No more of this."

"I think it is working," Egon stated, leaning back and crossing his arms. He pushed his glasses back into place, meeting Peter's accusing gaze and Winston's uncertainty staunchly. "There was an increase in etheric activity in the first ten seconds after the light hit him, but over the next two minutes it not only returned to the pre-light levels, it decreased below the state Ray was in before I turned the lamp on him."

Winston looked back over at Ray, his brow furrowing, and put a hand to his chin. "So what made the zombie state start get worse right when you put the light on him?"

"You're not going to like this," Egon sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"We already hate it," Peter pointed out, striding back over to Ray and sitting down next to him. Ray was now watching all of them warily with an expression of deep distrust. Whatever serenity he had managed to build up over the last night was shattered, and he was plainly waiting for the next horror show to start.

"Ray? You said before that Lia," Egon stumbled over her name but doggedly continued, "Lia wanted you to stay alive and to believe in the nightmares she was giving you. Do you know why? Did she ever explain it to you?"

Ray brought his head up, and shook it as if to clear it. "She said she wasn't going to give me a choice. She said she wouldn't let me die. That she wouldn't let me change into a vampire, but she wasn't going to give me the chance to die."

Peter's mouth thinned. Witch, he thought, cold with rage but not about to let Ray see that. He was upset enough as it was. Egon was nodding thoughtfully. "What? What does that prove?" Peter snapped, having to take his anger out on someone.

Egon raised an eyebrow. "I think she was scaring him to get his adrenaline up, to accelerate the change. When he was in pain, his adrenaline and respiration rates went up and the PKE readings increased in intensity. But as he got used to the pain and the sunlight stayed steady, the electromagnetic rays killed off the etheric activity."

"How sure are you of that?" Winston asked, joining Peter near Ray's cot.

Peter couldn't see Egon's face when he answered, because the physicist's hand was shielding his face. "Not very," Egon said, his voice muffled. He dropped his hand from his face and moved over to part of the equipment, disconnecting a hand-held PKE meter and calibrating it. He pointed it at himself.

"I read normal," he said, studying the readings intently, "So I should be thinking clearly." He pointed it at Winston and then Peter. "You guys read as normal." He moved over to an oblivious Ray. "Ray reads as an almost-zombie. So what does this tell us?" His words were getting faster and faster. "It tells us Ray is almost a zombie and the three of us are supposedly normal. But suppose the equipment just isn't sensitive enough to read the kind of interference that Lia might cause? What if we aren't all right and all my conclusions are flawed? What do we really know? What can we know? What the hell do I know about anything anyway?" Egon was breathless by the end of his speech; he hadn't raised his voice at any point but the anguish came through all the same.

"Calm down, Egon," Peter said. The big guy needs to chill, he thought, feeling weird at the role reversal. Usually he was the one going off.

"I feel we should call someone else in to check all of our suppositions," Egon said. "We can't trust our own judgment-"

"Who're we gonna call?" Peter interrupted. "We're the ones people call when they ask 'Who ya gonna call?' Do you have someone in mind? Dr. Who? Doc Savage? The Banzai Institute? The Fantastic Four? Anyone we could ask is either too far away or not qualified enough. Face it, we have to deal with this ourselves. Besides," Peter concluded, "What's the worst that could happen if we're wrong?"

"Ray could complete the transformation to zombie state," Egon answered, glancing over to their friend.

"Did I really want to know? Did I? No, I didn't. Can we keep this discussion on a hypothetical level for now, Egon?" Peter blew out his lips in an exasperated sound.

Egon's eyes stayed on Ray as he returned to the subject of Ray's treatment. "The sunlight can't possibly be helping the transformation, vampires can't abide sunlight. There's no reason why it should help the change..."

"Zombies hated sunlight on Night of the Living Dead," Winston said, grinning as he leaned back against one of the tables.

"I saw that! Now there is a classic flick. See, Egon, the zombies have these idiots trapped in this house," Peter explained, gesturing animatedly, momentarily distracted.

"We're getting our treatments for a real problem from TV!? This is not good, not good at all. We are not Remington Steele and Laura Holt, people, this is not going to work!" Egon stated forcefully. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, squinting. Determinedly, he went on, "Lia was giving Ray those nightmares for a reason, a specific purpose. Getting his adrenaline up was one possibility."

"Maybe she just wanted to make him miserable," Winston suggested darkly.

"Works for me," Peter said, grimacing. "At least it would be consistent." He peered at Egon. Spengler was studying the PKE meter again, a helpless look of indecision covering his features. Concerned, Peter rose and went back over to Egon.

The blond physicist wearily raised his face to him, eyes holding a bleak expression. "It all makes perfect sense, it fits. The sunlight, the hallucinations, his reactions... but I don't know. I could be missing something, overlooking a vital fact. Maybe it's something chemical, another factor affecting him that I'm not monitoring." He gestured to the graphs on the screen, the printouts from the laserwriter. "Am I missing something? Peter, you have to check."

"Hey, this is not exactly my field," Peter protested, bending closer to the screen with the adrenaline/ sunlight/ PKE curves on it. "It makes sense to me, but c'mon. You're the expert."

"The expert can't even trust his own feelings," Egon flared. He got up and started to pace in the small area between the computers and the wall. "I thought I was in love with her, Peter. I thought she was terrific. How could I be so wrong?"

"This is still really bothering you, isn't it?" Peter asked, watching his friend grow more agitated with each word. "Egon, she was messing with your head. She's not doing it anymore-"

"How do we know that?" Egon demanded. Peter opened his mouth, and then closed it, unable to frame a reply. Egon scanned the room, his eyes moving over to Ray and Winston. Ray was rigid, Winston talking to him in a calming undertone.

"Ray's extremely confused. She completely disoriented him, making him incapable of telling the difference between reality and dreams. I thought I loved her." Egon's expression grew bitter with this statement. "I thought you were acting irrationally, that Janine was jealous and everything was fine with me. But now, examining Ray, I can see how much she was capable of. So tell me, how am I supposed to know she's not affecting me now? How do I know?"

"You don't," Peter said, trying to recapture Egon's wandering attention. Egon leaned against the wall, shoving his hands deep into his hip pockets. "But Lia isn't so talented that she can affect all of us when we're aware of her and looking for her influence. Especially in the daytime. I checked Count Vostok's notes too, before we went over there. There are limits to what she is physically and psychically capable of. Although I'm pretty sure she hasn't got any ethical or moral limits," Peter concluded dryly. He glanced back over to the computer. "Much as I hate to say it, I think you're on the right track here. I don't know what else it's going to do to Ray, but I think the sunlight is at least going to eliminate the zombiesm."

Egon looked relieved, but tried to appear calm. "The other problem is to get something nourishing into him. Since the only thing he'll eat is steak, which happens to assist the change into a zombie, feeding him that is out of the question. I think we're going to have to give him blood transfusions with glucose supplements." He walked over to Ray and took a few of the electrodes off him. "You can relax for a while, Ray. After we finish giving you a blood transfusion we might start this up again, but not soon. Okay?"

Ray smiled resignedly. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. I'm still going to die, Lia. It's only a matter of time."

Frowning, Egon drew Peter back over to the monitors and spoke in a low undertone. "Pretend you're looking at one of these screens." Peter raised his eyebrows, but complied.

Egon's expression was calm, but he pretended to read information off of one of the computer screens in a tense voice. "We've got bigger problems than Ray's physical condition. If I manage to reverse the changes and make him fully human again, that's not going to repair the damage she did to his mind. He's completely disconnected from reality." Egon glanced back over to Ray, who was staring blankly ahead into space, ignoring everything around him. Peter nodded carefully. "This is your ballpark, Peter. You have to get him back to reality before I completely humanize him, or-" Egon stopped.

He didn't have to finish the sentence, Peter had a very good idea of what that "or" involved. Probably better than Egon did. Suicide or complete mental breakdown, or maybe he'll just will himself to die. God knows we've seen weirder stuff this week than someone choosing to check out of Hotel Reality. And Ray's got a lot of reasons to avoid a confrontation with the colder side of life. "I'll give it my best shot," was all he said aloud. "How, I don't know, but then that's never stopped us before, has it? You wing it, and I'll improvise the best tap dance I can."

Peter reached the top of the stairs, tired and drained, just as Janine walked in. "How's Ray?" she asked, unloading her purse and flipping on her computer.

Rubbing his eyes, Peter leaned against the filing cabinets and watched Janine sit down and rewind the answering machine. "Egon thinks he might have found a solution." As delight started to blossom in Janine, he added, "It's not pretty, though. Sunlight does it. But it's extremely painful, so-" A yell of pain rose from the lower level. Peter winced and finished, "Try to ignore the sounds from the basement."

Janine felt sick. "Why is he doing it, then? There has to be a better way. Egon just isn't looking hard enough."

Shaking his head, Peter picked up the phone. "It's working, okay? And it's consistent with all of the evidence. Believe me, we're triple-checking Egon's conclusions, at his insistence. Right now the problem is just fine-tuning the instrumentation so we get the most change with the least amount of pain." He tapped out a number on the phone and waited for the call to be answered.

"Lieutenant Calloway?" Janine rolled her eyes at Peter, shaking her head as Venkman turned on the snake-oil. "This is Dr. Peter Venkman. I just wanted to thank your department for all of your help with Ray's disappearance. He was returned to us last night." Peter listened for a moment, and pulled the receiver away from his ear as the policewoman on the other end started to become demanding. "Now, Lieutenant, you know that if we had to pay a ransom or make a deal with the kidnappers, one of the conditions of such a deal would be that we not inform the police afterward." The phone emitted a loud, sharp expostulation that Janine could hear from three feet away. "I know, I know, but what can I say? Actually," Peter grinned wearily, "I have a feeling the perpetrators will be paying for their actions very soon. How do I know? Instinct. Plus, maybe we fixed it so they'd end up very, very sorry." Peter listened for a few more seconds, then cut her off in mid-sentence. "Good-bye, Lieutenant. It's been real." He hung up.

Another yell came from the basement. Janine flinched. "How long is this going to go on?"

"Egon says maybe a week. We can't rush it or Ray'll collapse. Plus, we have to get some blood into him, feed him up without helping the process, plus I have to try and get Ray back to reality." Peter rubbed his forehead and grimaced. "Do you have any aspirin in your desk?"

"Sure." She opened up a drawer and pulled out her bottle of industrial-strength aspirin, the stuff she usually saved for tax time when Peter was yelling about the I.R.S. being backed by the mob. The psychologist took three and popped them into his mouth, swallowing them without water. Janine examined him critically. Not that she'd ever let him know she cared, but he wasn't looking so hot. "Are you feeling okay? You look like something the cat dragged in. And how's your hand?"

Venkman stared back at her blankly a moment, evidently not remembering his own injury from the nigh they recovered Ray, then looked at his bandage-covered hand. He clenched it into a fist, a few cuts still visible around the edges where the glass on the cabinet had cut him. "It's okay," he said shortly. I shouldn't have reminded him of that, Janine thought in dismay. Mistake! Peter was speaking. "I'm better off than Ray is, this is exhausting him and he's more convinced than ever that none of it is real. He thinks Lia's hiding around a corner somewhere, torturing him for the fun of it." He glanced back toward the basement. "I've got to find a way to bring him back. I have to figure out something that'll connect him up to reality again. But how can I do it when I don't know the right questions to ask, when I don't know what he's been through..." Peter faced Janine wearily. "Maybe there's a way to reach Ray, but I don't know how I'm going to find it. I just know I have to try."

Ray eyed the hallucination of Peter wearily, waiting for the next bout with the sunlamp to begin. He wondered what the sunlamp was in reality. An electroshock device? A Bunsen burner? Maybe it really was a sunlamp and Lia had finally succeeded in turning him into a zombie. Maybe the pain he felt was due to actual sunlight.

I don't feel like a zombie, Ray thought detachedly. But then, I'm not feeling much of anything right now. So how would I know if I felt like a zombie? He frowned. Come to think of it, what would a zombie feel like? Would a zombie even think?

Ray spent a few entertaining minutes trying to visualize what a zombie would use for emotions and if it had an IQ higher than vegetable life, before the Peter-illusion reclaimed his attention. Great. Now what?

"I'm going to try to hypnotize you, okay?" asked the Peter-thing. "We need to know some of what happened to you, and why you're so convinced this is all in your mind. But I'm going to need your cooperation, Ray. Do you think you can handle going over some of the early events of your kidnapping?" He held a candle in his left hand and lit it while he spoke.

Ray wished he could believe this was the real Peter. The hair, the eyes, the smile was right, the voice was perfect, and the outfit was exactly the kind of thing Peter wore. If Peter were really here, I'd know everything was better. But he's not. He's not. I have to remember that. The impostor was looking at him expectantly. What was the question? Oh, yeah, could he handle remembering how he'd been snatched. Considering what's happened since then, this should be a piece of cake. I know there's got to be a catch, there always is.

"What's the catch?" Ray asked warily, tightening his grip on Dopey Dog. I'm enjoying this scenario too much. Even with the pain from the sunlamp this is too easy. She's up to something. "What do you want from me now?"

"I just need to know when you started to get so disoriented," said Peter/Not-Peter in a soothing voice. "And why. We'll take it slow, Ray. Just watch the candle-flame and listen to the sound of my voice..."

It was ridiculously effortless to relax when listening to Peter's voice. Probably how he lulls his girlfriends' suspicions, Ray thought with a private, inner grin. 'Listen to the sound of my voice. When you wake up, you will forget anything you ever heard about someone named Tricia.' It only took a short time for Ray to relive his initial kidnapping, and waking up in the sauna to find Lia there. "You're doing good. Let's go forward a few hours. What's happening now?" The photo session. The curling iron. Feeling betrayed. Praying for the guys to come rescue him. "Take five, Ray." Ray heard sounds: pounding, shouting, cursing. Then silence. "Okay. I'm back. I want you to remember the first time Lia let you call us, do you remember that?"

"Sort of," Ray responded. Uneasy emotions were starting to twist inside him. You didn't say anything about having to remember the blood. Or the nightmares. I know this isn't real, I knew there would be a price to pay for this. I couldn't get to enjoy being with the guys again without there being something awful, truly awful, at the end of it. But I don't want it to end yet. "I was pretty out of it for a while there. It hurt, you know."

"I know. Just try, that's all I ask." So Ray went through what he remembered of the phone call and Lia's explanation, word for word. It seemed to make the Peter illusion happy, and Ray was relieved. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad...

"O.K. Last thing, Ray. I need you to remember