Letting Go

 

The young man stood at the podium, considering his words carefully. His parents were sitting in the section for the pallbearers, as well as Uncle Winston and some of his brothers. To the young man’s left, he could see Uncle Ray’s Aunt Lois, as well as most of the Spengler clan and Winston’s family. Everyone was openly crying, though the chapel was more silent than the one who lay in the casket.

Peter could see his son fidget, blond eyebrows lowering in thought over bright green eyes. He wasn’t lanky, and had more of a runner’s body that filled out some of the tuxedo, and he was getting as tall as Egon was. The young man glanced over at him and he nodded silently.

He cleared his throat a little nervously and spoke into the mike with the calm, measured tones his father used when lecturing about his fungus experiments.

"Uncle Ray is a good man." He began slowly. "I speak of him in the present tense because I feel that he is still here, in our hearts and minds, as well as our memories." Running out of steam, his eyes lowered again to the podium. He could feel the tears wanting to leave, but strangely, they didn’t.

"Most of you may think that Uncle Ray is now residing peacefully in Heaven now, and you may be right. He could very well be speaking with his parents about what he has done here and wishing that his parents could meet his friends." He stopped again, this time with a sly smile. He lifted a hand to point at the double doors at the back of the chapel. "Or he could be right there. Leaning against the door. Above this casket," He swept his hand down gently on the casket, now bedecked in flowers, "amazed by how roomy it is, or how beautiful the flowers are." He could see his parents’ secretary, Janine, dabbing at her eyes and wiping her face. He gave her a solemn wink before continuing.

"Uncle Ray has taught me many things that I’ll value. One of the most striking things I remember here and now is how he supported me. Father said responsibility and duty should come first in a man’s life. Dad said the world isn’t always as wonderful a place as most wish to believe. Uncle Winston said that the world will move for the man who knows where he’s going. Uncle Ray said to chase my dreams, no matter how impossible they may seem at first."

"From my parents’ line of work, I have come to know that ghosts do exist, and while some may be malevolent beings hell-bent on destruction, there are a few that are gentle and kind. Uncle Ray, I know you are here, now; that you are witnessing this in some way, shape or form. And even though Dad and Father and Uncle Winston tell me that you’re dead, you’re still here."

"Yes, Uncle Ray, they got the ghost that caused you to fall. Even now, Father is conceiving plans on how best to torture it before sending it to the containment unit, with Dad and Winston right behind. And yet," The young man turned to his parents with a surprised frown. "Uncle Ray wouldn’t want that."

"He’d want for you to forgive the ghost for what it did. He’d say that it wasn’t the ghost’s fault, if he was capable of speaking on his own behalf. And that you shouldn’t blame yourselves for what happened to him. He was killed in the line of duty, Father."

Egon blinked in surprise at this comment, dabbing at his eyes with a carefully folded handkerchief, and then his blue eyes grew shadowed. Peter’s hand slid into his own and squeezed his comfortingly.

"He knew the world wasn’t great, but he tried to have fun while he was here, Dad."

Peter didn’t react visibly except to nod slowly, as if suddenly understanding something. The grip on his hand grew tighter.

"He knew where he was going, Uncle Winston. He was going to save the world as best as anybody could." The young man smiled.

Tears that had been running unchecked down his face kept flowing and Winston made no move to stop them.

"Uncle Ray, you aren’t here in the physical sense now, but I still wanted to say thank you for being there for Father by showing your enthusiasm for science. Thank you for being there for Dad, who would’ve turned into the coldest son of a bitch without your seeming innocence of the world and your exuberance for life. Thank you for hiring Winston, because without Winston’s patience and levelheaded guidance, I would’ve ended up a lot more foolhardy and a lot less intelligent."

He smiled, his face dry. "Ray, all of the eulogies have been said, all of the totally depressing farewells known to Man have been spoken. All of the memories have been silently shared, as well as tears. But, not the laughter that you represented."

With that, to the utter shock of most present, including Winston and Egon, he burst out laughing into the mike. There was a quickly suppressed murmur, and after a little while of laughing, he composed himself again and cleared his throat.

"These fools don’t think you’ll be back, but we know the truth. See you later, Uncle Ray." Grinning, he hopped off the raised dais where the podium was, patted the coffin rather irreverently and headed back to the pallbearer section.

"Cyrus Trenton Spengler-Venkman, have you taken leave of your senses?" Egon whispered furiously to his son as the pastor returned to the podium to say more about Ray. "I do not see any wisdom in laughing at your relatives and calling them, as well as your immediate family, fools."

Cyrus leaned back on the pew back and stretched his arms in a style reminiscent of Peter’s. "Father, if you don’t think Uncle Ray won’t fight hell and high water to get back here and watch over us, you are a fool."

"Trent," Winston sighed. "I get where you’re coming from, but don’t forget that we rarely come across Class 3’s."

"Uncle Ray will be powerful enough to make Class 4. If his enthusiasm doesn’t make him that, his desire to see us will." The blond-haired young man turned to his dad. "Anything you’d like to add, Dad?"

Peter shook his head. "Nah. I think Spengs said enough for both of us."

Cyrus nodded. "Okay."

Feeling his father wrapped his right arm around his shoulders, Cyrus leaned his head on his father’s shoulder and sighed with a smile. The service continued and when it finished, he got up with Winston and his parents and joined in the carrying of the casket. Silently, they lifted the casket and hefted it slowly onto their shoulders.

Out of the whole procession, Cyrus was the only one whose face was dry.

 

"Cyrus?"

"Come in." Cyrus looked up from the comic book he’d been reading. "Yes, Father?"

"Shouldn’t you be asleep, young man?" Egon opened the door and leaned against the door frame, his arms folded over his chest.

"I’m waiting for Uncle Ray."

Egon’s eyes grew dark, and his face solemn. He unfolded his arms and walked over to sit on the edge of his son’s bed. "Very well, then. Good night, and try to sleep." Egon took Cyrus in a big hug, and the teenager could feel a kiss on his hair. The young man returned the hug more for his father’s comfort than his own.

"I’ll be sure to tell Uncle Ray that you miss him, Father." Cyrus said, looking solemnly into his father’s eyes. Egon gave him a long, steady look before nodding once and letting him go to leave. Cyrus sighed and went back to the comic book.

"Gee, Egon’s really sad, isn’t he?"

Cyrus didn’t lift his eyes from the comic book. "Yeah. He and Dad’ve been like that all day." He looked up to see a translucent figure sitting on the corner of his bed near his right foot. The figure looked back. "They don’t get it, Uncle Ray."

"How did you know I was here?" Ray asked curiously.

Cyrus pulled a PKE meter out from under his pillow. "Borrowed it from the lab."

The ghost frowned. "You know you shouldn’t take equipment without asking."

"Yes, Uncle Ray." Cyrus smiled. "Sorry about rummaging through your comic books. I thought it might be better for you to come here first."

"Well, I’m pretty sure I left the comics to you in my will, so go ahead and read them." Ray’s cheerful smile faded slowly into a sad expression, his gaze straying to the door. "Why don’t they understand?"

"I guess it’s because they still believe in death." At Ray’s puzzled look, Cyrus shrugged. "You and the others have been busting ghosts since before I was born, right?"

Ray nodded.

"Well, even though they’ve been busting ghosts for the past twenty years or so, they still believe that when someone dies, they’ll never come back, and the survivors have to move on without the deceased. I guess it doesn’t matter how many Class 3’s and 4’s they meet, Father, Dad, and Winston still think like everyone else that you’re gone. For good."

Ray heaved a deep sigh. "But, I’m still here."

"Well, how did Dad handle this kinda situation?"

"He’d always talk with the ghost alone, and normally, he’d say something like something not being taken care of or leaving a loved one behind."

"Well, I guess it’s both for you, isn’t it?" Cyrus cocked his head to one side as he asked the question.

"Well, yeah, but I don’t know if I want to leave you guys." Ray frowned.

"Everyone goes sometime, Uncle Ray." The teen smiled a little sadly. "And what about your parents? I’m sure they miss you."

"Well, yeah…" Ray scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "but I think they know that the you and the guys are important to me, too."

Cyrus nodded in understanding. "Yeah…"

Ray frowned. "What do you think, Cyrus?"

Cyrus fell into thought, slightly frowning as he did so. "I don’t think that they’d want you to stay here when you could be with your family—"

Ray shook his head. "I wasn’t asking about the guys, Cyrus. I was asking about you."

Cyrus’ face flushed a little and he absently scratched the back of his head. He didn’t speak for a long time. "What I want shouldn’t matter." He said. "It should be what you want."

"You’re avoiding the question, young man."

Cyrus looked down at the bedspread, his long, blond hair falling forward in a curtain over his eyes. "I want you to stay."

Ray smiled. "Me too, Cyrus."

"But, that isn’t fair to you." Cyrus protested, raising his head. "You haven’t seen your parents since you were ten. Don’t you deserve to see them too?"

"Cyrus, when I see them, I won’t be able to come back."

"Dad and Father and Winston can take care of themselves." Cyrus reminded him.

"Yeah, but I want to be here with them."

The teen sighed. "Uncle Ray… I dunno what to tell you. Part of me wants you to stay, but part of me wants you to go." He looked up from where they had strayed to Ray’s hand and the quilt visible underneath it to meet the ghost’s gaze. "Does that make any sense?"

"Of course it does, Cyrus." Ray nodded.

"Do you know if you’ll ever decide one way or the other?"

Ray shrugged. If there was one thing that Cyrus valued, it was Uncle Ray’s honesty. "I’m not sure, and I know that’s part of the reason I’m here."

"Part of the reason?" Cyrus asked. "What’s the other part?"

"I think you need to let go."

"Let go? You mean all of us?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah. None of you can."

"Well, what do I have to do to let you go?"

Ray shrugged. "I’ll be darned if I know."

Cyrus snorted a little. "Wouldn’t we all." His gaze drifted to Ray’s translucent hand that was resting on the quilt. "Can you actually feel the quilt?"

"A little. It’s kinda hard to explain." Ray frowned. "Gee, being dead sure is hard."

"I’d imagine so." Cyrus grinned, but soon sobered. "Could you feel me if I touched you?"

"I dunno." Ray blinked. "Wanna see if it works?"

Cyrus shrugged. "I’ve got nothing better to do." He watched as Ray stretched out his hand, and shyly reached out as well.

When they’re fingers touched, Cyrus gasped and snatched his hand back. With a glance, he could see that they were an angry red. "Jesus, that’s cold!"

"Well, I don’t have any blood." Ray looked at his ‘nephew’ with a grin. "But, I could still feel your skin."

"Really?"

When Ray saw Cyrus’ eyes light up, he smiled gently.

"Well, I should get goin’."

"Where?" Cyrus frowned.

"Don’t worry about it." Ray said cryptically. Before he could react, Cyrus found himself in a blisteringly cold embrace as Ray’s arms wrapped around him. Despite the fact that his teeth were chattering, Cyrus leaned into the hug and burrowed his face into Ray’s shoulder.

Tears that had remained buried began to flow free…

 

Winston grabbed for the wrench with a muffled curse, squinting his eyes to peer up under the Ecto’s engine. I could’ve sworn that bolt was tightened a second ago…

"Uncle Winston?"

Winston sighed and grabbed the front fender to wheel himself out from under the car. "What’s up?"

"Uncle Ray told me to tell you he was the one who left the lights on when you guys were busting that goober a month ago."

Winston blinked, stunned. "How did you know about that?"

"I told you…Uncle Ray said." Cyrus replied calmly. Before Winston could say another word, the young man turned on his heel and marched toward the circular staircase. The black man looked after him with a frown, but froze when he felt any icy chill wrap itself around his chest. He started to panic, but then the sensation disappeared.

Winston started to frown which quickly gave way to a smile, and returned to working on the Ecto. For some reason, he couldn’t stop himself.

 

"Father?"

"I’m rather busy, right now, Cyrus." Egon muttered, twisting the screw in the new device that he and Ray had designed. Ray* He started to reach out for the flashlight, but found one thrust into his field of vision.

"Uncle Ray said for me to tell you that he’s sorry he didn’t warn you in time about the were-chicken before it bit you."

Egon stopped and turned slowly to his son. "Cyrus, who told you about that?" That event happened before you were even born!

"Apparently, you weren’t listening, Father." Cyrus sighed. "Ray did. And he said that he doesn’t blame you for what happened during the bust. The ghost could’ve killed somebody else if you didn’t split up. You couldn’t take that risk."

"Cyrus—"

"Father, Ray doesn’t blame you. And that is final." Without another word, Cyrus turned and left.

Seconds afterwards, Egon felt a sudden chill wrap around his chest that held for a minute. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Slowly, for the first time since the bust, Egon began to smile.

 

Peter sat at his desk, holding a picture of Ray, completely decked out in a fisherman’s outfit, with Egon right beside him and Winston holding up a line of trout. He himself was between Egon and Ray, grinning openly.

"Ray…"

"Dad?"

Peter jumped, stuffing the picture into one of the drawers. "Yeah, Trent?"

Cyrus smiled at the nickname. "Ray says that you couldn’t have done anything. You aren’t to blame."

Peter frowned at his son. "What?"

"He also said that he was going to push you away regardless of whether you would’ve dived for him or not."

"How do you know that, kiddo?" Suspicious green eyes stared him down, but Cyrus stayed firm.

"I told you, Dad. Uncle Ray wanted you to know that." He turned to go, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Trent?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"…Thanks."

Cyrus smiled, much like Egon did whenever he was proud of an experiment that had worked. "Yer welcome." The young man left, with Peter watching after him with a slightly confused gaze.

When he felt a warmth capture his chest, he looked up with a smile.

"Bye, Tex."

 

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