by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1992
Originally published in Of Dreams & Schemes #8

It was poker night at Ghostbuster's Central, and Peter was currently winning. Ray had two queens and two jacks, but the look on Venkman's face said that there was no chance that anyone was going to beat what he had. Maybe he's bluffing? Ray Stantz glared at the pot, then at his own dwindling stack of chips, then at Peter's haul of markers. Maybe not.

"I fold," he said, throwing his cards in.

Winston was concentrating on his cards, then he looked up at Peter. He and the parapsychologist locked eyes. Winston grinned. "You've got nothing," he said with assurance, then threw three chips on the pile. Peter's grin got wider.

Ray watched Egon, who was considering the pot and looking ruefully at his own stack of chips. The blond had lost the last two hands because of bad cards. Egon shook his head. "I fold, too," he said, throwing in his hand and glancing at Peter.

Three more chips were flipped onto the pile by the confident Venkman. He smirked at Zeddemore. "Your call," he sang out happily.

Winston Zeddemore raised an eyebrow, studied the cards, considered the pot, looked at Venkman, and then evidently decided that discretion was the better part of valor. "See it and call," he said, putting three more chips in and laying down his cards. Ray mentally wiped his brow; Winston was showing a straight.

The expression on Peter's face grew even more blissful. "I love winning. Take a look at this, you probably won't ever see it again."

Ray leaned forward. Ace of hearts. King of hearts. Queen of hearts. Jack of hearts.... Ten of hearts. "A Royal Flush!" he blurted out. "You've got a Royal Straight Flush! I don't believe it!"

"Oh, man...." Winston groaned as Peter reached for the pot with both hands. "You don't believe it? I don't believe it! Stuff like that never happens! I dealt, he's not wearing a shirt with sleeves, so he can't be cheating, and he still gets cards like that!"

"Hey, just because I'm lucky at love doesn't mean I'm not lucky at cards," said Peter, picking up some of the chips and dripping them through his fingers.

Egon raised an eyebrow. "Luck has less to do with it than odds, Peter. The odds are against anyone getting one of those, but it's still possible," he said in a pedantic tone.

"No, it's not, Egon. He shouldn't be able to do that," protested Zeddemore. He glanced in disgust at the triumphant Venkman. "Some things are just impossible, and a Royal Straight Flush is one of them."

Ray grinned, glad he'd folded when he had. "In an infinite universe, anything is possible," he said cheerfully, earning a weary look from Winston.

Frowning, Egon looked distracted by Ray's comment. "Actually, given the improbability of most events, saying anything is possible is an inaccuracy," he pointed out, ignoring the cards Winston put in front of him.

"Your deal, Egon. So what you're saying is, is there are some impossibilities, but telling them apart from improbabilities is practically impossible?" Peter wound up with a flourish. He intercepted Ray and Winston's looks of disbelief. "Just askin'," he added sweetly.

"Yes. Of course, some things never do happen," Egon answered, shuffling the cards.

"Like what?" Ray said, straightening his stack of chips. Poker night was always good for free-roaming brainstorms and bull sessions. He still found out the wildest stuff on the nights when his colleagues would let loose on their different areas of interest. Ray still remembered --- vividly--- Peter's description of how to get into Disneyland for free.

"Oh, you know, Ray. Like the stories you hear about people who load up their cars and put their kid on top in the car seat, then drive off with the kid on top of the car," Peter said, watching Egon out of the corner of his eye, trying to see his friend's reaction.

Winston grinned. "Or how about the one about the escaped maniac, and the couple who go parking somewhere, and when they get home there's a hook hanging from the car door?"

Egon dealt the cards. "That isn't exactly what I meant, gentlemen. I was referring to events that only happen when all of a certain amount of random factors coincide in the right time and place." He looked thoughtful, pausing in his dealing. Peter glared at him impatiently, waiting for his card. "Of course, that could correlate to what you just mentioned. Those things could happen, but they're so unlikely, and have passed into such common knowledge, that their actual occurrence can be regarded as quite improbable." He came to himself with a start and continued to deal.

"Well, I don't know about that, but I do know that everyone knows someone who knows someone who knows someone who something like that happened to," said Peter, picking up his hand and studying it.

"Some of those things probably did happen," Ray protested, glancing at his cards distractedly. Three eights, he noted. Not bad.

"Oh, come on, Ray. It's practically guaranteed that someone made those stories up originally," Winston said, studying his cards hard.

"Yeah. Like the hitchhiker, right, Winston?" Peter said, anteing up.

"Exactly. Everyone's heard about her, but no one actually has met someone who's picked up a ghostly hitchhiker. Things like that are practically impossible," replied Winston.

"You mean the story about the girl who was trying to get home?" Ray asked, suddenly interested.

Egon nodded. "An urban myth. A hitchhiker is picked up at the side of the road. An address is given to the driver. When they arrive at the destination, the driver goes up to the house and says that the girl is in the car, which is when he or she finds out that the passenger has been dead for several years."

"I know someone who that happened to," Ray said tentatively, looking across the table at Egon.

Egon gazed back at him tolerantly. "Ante up, Ray. Whoever was telling you that story was pulling your leg."

"No, really. I do know someone it happened to." Ray looked around at his colleagues' skeptical faces. "It happened to me."

Dead silence. Peter broke it by saying, "Ray? Are you serious? I mean, did you actually meet the hitchhiker?" Disbelief oozed from every pore.

"It was my third summer back from college. You remember, you were in the Bahamas on that study trip...."

"With Trini Castleman. Oh, yeah. I remember," Venkman said nostalgically. Winston rolled his eyes.

"... and Egon was at a seminar in Boston. I didn't tell you guys about it at the time because it was a little weird, but it really did happen," Ray concluded, feeling apologetic. He'd never felt like telling the story until tonight. Not that he'd thought they wouldn't believe him; but it had just been something he didn't talk about.

"How did it happen, Ray?" Egon asked, ignoring the by-play.

Ray cleared his throat. "It was a dark and stormy night---" In response to their groans, he protested, "Well, it was!" After they quieted down, he continued. "I was in the car I'd worked on all that summer, a rebuilt 1959 Nomad...."

* * *

Ray peered through the windshield, trying to see the white lines in front of him through the rain. The right windshield wiper was stuck, and the rain was coming down so hard that he was afraid he was going to drive off the road. I knew I should have left before the storm, he thought ruefully. His job at the Morrisville town library, cataloging and organizing the stacks, occasionally went until past ten, but Miss Bridges, the librarian, was usually pretty good about letting him go early if he had to. After all, she knew he was working two jobs so he'd have extra money for college.

The rain continued to pour, splattering against the windshield. Ray turned up the radio, hoping to catch a weather report. ".... and the rain is predicted to continue well into the night, with possible hail later on tomorrow. This is WXXQ, Wicked Rock Radio, the station that only brings you the best in rock. I'm Dennis Dark, your DJ 'til midnight. And now, one from Bob Seger, 'Wait 'til the Midnight Hour.' Yessss!" The music started, and Ray was bopping along happily, when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Ray almost swore, and swerved the car to avoid a shape in white, stopping up the highway.

He turned around, and looked back through the rear window toward the side of the road. A girl stood shivering by a highway marker, looking soaked to the bone and miserable.

"Poor kid," he muttered, then backed up the car. He leaned across and rolled down the window. "Can I help you? Give you a lift back to Morrisville?" he asked, trying to see her through the rain. There wasn't enough light to get anything more than a general idea of what she looked like.

"Actually, I live out by the lake. If it's not too much trouble...." The girl's voice trailed off into a quaver. Ray felt sorry for her. She's probably scared I'm some kind of psycho.

He opened the door. "Get in. I'll take you where you need to go," he said in a soothing voice.

The girl squirmed into the car with alacrity, trembling on the far edge of the car seat. Ray could see she was pretty, with long, blonde hair down to her waist. She had a pale, thin face, with a pointed chin and high cheekbones. Ray thought that her dress looked like something a girl would wear to a prom, or a fancy dress party, but it seemed a couple years out of date. She was maybe one or two years younger than Ray. He smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion, and put the car in gear.

"So, what are you doing out here in the rain?" he asked, feeling silly, but thinking that there was probably something wrong if a kid like this was all alone on the edge of the highway. She looks pretty lost; I wonder if anyone knows where she is?

The girl glanced at him from behind her hair. "I had a car accident," she said softly, twisting her hands together. Ray stole a look at her. She looked wretched, but unhurt. He wondered where the car was.

"Where? Are you okay? I didn't see a car...." he said, studying her covertly. Something is definitely wrong, he thought.

She shook her head, dismissing the question. "It's back on the side of the road, I don't know how far. I hiked at least a mile. I feel fine, but it was so rainy, I couldn't see the road!" The last ended on a wail, the girl wringing her hands, tears forming in her eyes.

"Hey, I understand perfectly. I nearly went off the road a couple times myself," Ray said calmingly. He realized he didn't know her name. "Ummm, I didn't introduce myself. My name's Ray Stantz. I work at the Morrisville library. Where am I taking you?"

The hitchhiker calmed down, smoothing her skirt. "Out on Point Hollow Lane, by the country club. Number thirty-four." She fell silent, staring out the window into the rain, watching it streak the glass.

Ray concentrated on the road for the next few minutes, wishing that he could help the girl. She seemed to be unhappy about more than her car, and she didn't want to give her name. He turned up the radio, trying to think of something to ask that wouldn't be upsetting. ".... and now, and oldie but a goodie, from the Moody Blues. 'Nights in White Satin.' On WXXQ, Wicked Rock!"

"I love this song," she said abruptly, her thin face lighting up. "It's a little old now, but it's one of my favorites."

Stantz smiled. "I know what you mean. The ones that stay with you are the ones worth remembering. I love sixties songs." The girl was looking at him oddly. "You know, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding...." He stopped when she nodded, looking disturbed, her forehead creased by a frown.

*Cause I love you
Yes, I love you ...*

The continued silence unnerved Ray, making him decide to take the plunge. "Look, are you in some sort of trouble?" he asked suddenly, pulling the car over and stopping. He turned to face her. She was biting her upper lip, trying not to cry. "Maybe I can help."

"My mom's going to kill me," she said, then looked horrified. She swallowed, and turned a brave face to Ray. "I borrowed her car without asking," she admitted, her mouth quivering.

The lights went on in Ray's mind. "And you're scared of getting in trouble," he said sympathetically. The hitchhiker nodded, brushing tears off her face, trying to push her hair back, her shoulders hunched in distress. "Hey, don't cry--- what did you say your name was?"

She hiccuped. "Hil-Hilary," she said, trying to hold back her tears. "I knew she wouldn't let me have it if I asked; she loves that car. It's an Astin-Martin," she confided to Ray, her eyes glowing with pride. The glow dimmed. "And I killed it!" she sobbed. "Completely wrecked it! She's going to kill me...."

"Cars can be fixed," said Ray, trying to comfort her. "I'm a mechanic myself, I rebuilt this car. I can fix an Astin-Martin, no problem. Really, it's going to be okay, Hilary." Ray stopped, reminded of something. Where had he heard the name Hilary recently?

"Do you really think so?" Hilary asked anxiously, clearly wanting to believe Ray but not sure she should.

Ray looked back at her. Blonde hair, white party dress... "Where did you say you wrecked it?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Back on that curve, the one near the turnoff for the fairgrounds. I went into a skid and the car went into a tree," she gulped, twisting her hands together.

"Hilary... Neilson," Ray said, watching her face. At her surprise, he said, "Somebody described you to me."

Somebody who had written a newspaper account of the accident over ten years ago. Ray knew where he'd heard of her now. Coming home late one night from a party, Hilary Neilson, only daughter of two of the richest people in the county, had driven off the road into a tree. She had been killed instantly. Since then, on rainy nights, people would see her by the side of the road, trying to get home to her mother.

I don't believe it! Ray thought incredulously, staring at the girl as she wiped her face on her tulle skirt. I've got a ghost n my car! A real, live ghost. I wonder if... Ray wondered if she would show up on the PKE meter that he was thinking of building, when she started to cry again.

She had both hands on the dashboard, her hair falling into her eyes, hiccoughing sobs forcing their way from her throat. Pity wiped any scientific thoughts from Ray's mind. Aw, the poor kid. She is lost. And she doesn't know she's dead. I've got to help her somehow. He held onto that last thought. But how?

"It's okay; it'll be all right, you'll see," he said desperately. "Your mom won't be mad at you, she'll just be glad you're alive." //Well, sort of.//

The girl turned a scornful, tear-streaked face to him. "You don't know my mom. She's so strict. She'll ground me forever and ever. She'll never forgive me, never, never, never..." Hilary sat up straighter and turned away from Ray, staring out the window again.

He took a breath, knowing he had to help her, trying to remember what else he'd heard about her. "You might be surprised. If you tell her it wasn't your fault---" He shifted the car into first and pulled back onto the road.

Hilary interrupted. "I wasn't supposed to have the car in the first place. You don't understand, she's not your mother. I have to do everything perfect, and all I wanted to was to impress Steve Seldon, just this once, but she'll never let me forget this!" She hunched into the car seat, biting her lip again, trying to stop herself from shaking.

The other things he was trying to remember about her fell into place. Every time someone picked her up on the highway, they would take her to her house, and then she'd ask them to ring the doorbell for her, saying she would wait in the car. The driver would get to the door, her mother would answer, but the car would be empty.

I've got to get her to go up to the house, Ray thought worriedly. She really wants to see her mom. Maybe she'll rest if she actually gets to see her. Ray hoped that was true; he was starting to like Hilary, and he was sure her mother wouldn't be mad at her. Wait a minute! She's dead! How can you like her? He glanced at her again. She was very pretty. I guess... I guess people are people, whether they're alive or dead. And she's nice; she's what? Sixteen? Of course, if she hadn't had that accident, she would be twenty-six or so. Way too old.

"Hilary?" he asked softly. He was looking through the trees at a well-lighted, large house. "Is this the place?"

She looked up from her hands, expressionless. "Yes," she whispered. Ray drove around the car park, up to the front of the manor. It was a beautiful Georgian-style mansion, with trees obscuring the sides. The rain was slacking off, and Ray could see the stars through the clouds. He stopped the car.

Hilary grabbed his hand. It felt normal, warm and slightly clammy, Ray noticed. Perhaps he could be wrong. Maybe it's a hoax? he wondered. Then he looked at Hilary's face, twisted in misery and apprehension. Nobody's that good an actress, he thought decidedly.

"Could you... Could you go ring the doorbell, and talk to my mom? I'm scared. Would you please tell her what happened?" Hilary pleaded, looking into his eyes. Ray wanted to give in, to help her in any way he could.

"No," he said, surprising himself. The girl looked angry, but mostly devastated. "I'll go with you up to the door, though. You have to face her sometime. Now is the best time to do it, Hilary. If you tell her everything, she'll be mad, but more than anything, she'll be glad you're okay," he concluded, hoping she would believe him. He didn't know what he'd do if she didn't go up to the door.

"You have to! I can't do it! You can't make me!" she cried, clutching the dashboard with one hand and the back of the seat with the other, facing him down as if trapped. Ray thought she probably did feel trapped, but that she didn't know why, exactly.

"Hilary, I'm your friend, and I want to help you," Ray said slowly, gazing straight ahead. "But I can't do this for you. You have to do it for yourself." He stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was shivering, staring at the lights on the front porch. "Don't you want to see your mom?" he said softly.

Hilary wiped her eyes. "More than anything," she said, her eyes fixed on the house.

Ray turned to her and took her hand. "It'll be okay, I swear. I'll be with you, right next to you." He smiled. "I'll even fix the car. And if your mom ever ungrounds you, I'll take you out for a milkshake, okay?"

She looked at him solemnly, measuring him. Finally she smiled, hesitantly. "You won't leave me? Promise?"

"Cross my heart," Ray said, making an X across his chest with the hand that wasn't holding hers.

"Okay," she whispered. Ray opened his car door and slid out, pulling her along by the hand. He slammed the car door behind them without letting go of her.

As they reached the front door, Ray risked a look at her. Hilary looked pale but determined. Here goes everything, he thought in dread. He pushed the doorbell.

An older woman with silvery-blonde hair answered the door, with a weary but long-suffering look on her face. "Yes?" she said quietly, as if she had been expecting him.

Ray cleared his throat, and turned to Hilary. She was shaking. "Mom?" she asked.

The woman's head whipped sideways toward Hilary, whom she hadn't seen standing half-way behind Ray. "Hilary," she gasped, her hands reaching out.

"Mom, I was so scared," Hilary sobbed, collapsing in her mother's arms. Mrs. Neilson's hand went up of its own accord to stroke her daughter's hair, her eyes meeting Ray's incredulously. "I didn't mean to wreck the car!"

"Honey, you had me so worried. Don't ever do that again," whispered her mother, holding her tighter. Her eyes closed, and tears started to run down her face.

"You're not mad at me?" came Hilary's voice from where her head was buried on her mom's shoulder. The woman shook her head, speechless. Hilary pulled back a little to see her better. "You're really not angry?"

Mrs. Neilson took a deep breath. "I'm furious. But that doesn't matter. I love you, Hilary. I'll never be so angry at you that I won't forgive you," she said, her voice breaking.

Hilary smiled, then turned to Ray. "This is Ray Stantz, he gave me a ride back," she said, then looked back at her mother. Suddenly, a look of realization dawned on her face. "Mom, you look older."

"I am older, a little," her mother answered, cupping Hilary's face in her hands, staring at her intensely.

Looking back at Ray, Hilary was quiet a second. "I'm dead, aren't I?" she asked, staring at Ray questioningly. He couldn't find his voice, so he just nodded. "I didn't know it until just now." She looked back at her mother. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to."

"I know, I know," Mrs. Neilson said, hugging her daughter to her. As Ray watched, the girl became thinner, more insubstantial. Mrs. Neilson's arms kept closing, until there was nothing there. She folded them across her chest, and looked at Ray for the first time since her daughter spoke. "Thank you," she said softly.

* * *

Everyone at the poker table was silent, watching Ray. Then Peter spoke up. "That's it?" he asked, staring at Ray disbelievingly.

"What more is there?" Ray asked, shrugging his shoulders. He smiled a little sadly. "She'd been trying to get home for ten years. After that, no one in Morrisville saw her ghost again. Oh, there'd be reports of a white shape on the fairgrounds road, but nobody has claimed to have picked her up since then. She just... wanted to go home."

"Incredible," Winston said, leaning back, shaking his head. "That of all the people in the world, you'd be the one to pick up the Hitchhiker, that's just too---"

"Improbable?" Egon asked, tilting his head. He rubbed his chin. "Actually it makes a kind of bizarre sense. She needed help. She wanted to stop being a ghost." He leaned forward, smiling kindly at Ray. "Who better to help her than an occult expert with a heart of gold?"

Ray shook his head, remembering. "I wish... I wish I could have met her before she died. Of course, I would have been about eight or nine, but still. Anyway, after that, I never thought of ghosts as ghosts. I mean," he said, looking around the table, "they're people. Sad people, angry people, confused people. They're not just things." He turned to Egon and grinned. "And sometimes, impossible things do happen. In spite of the odds against it."

FIN

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