Holes in the Firmament 

Part XI

Egon Spengler

Time stopped.

It is an experience that everybody has had, sometimes more than once; when everything seems to freeze in place in a shining moment of anticipation, or surprise, or clarity. It's the moment at the peak of the rollercoaster's climb, just before the drop that should be fatal but isn't. It's the division between the past and the future, when the doctor looks up from the test results and smiles congratulations. It's the instant when all the pieces of a puzzle suddenly rearrange themselves and drop into place in an entirely unexpected configuration.

"Dr. Spengler?"

And then the moment passes, and suddenly time moves forward again. Air rushes harshly into starving lungs and the heart finishes its interrupted beat. Distant murmur of conversation rushes overhead like a quiet tide, its ebb pulling one back into the current of humanity that has flowed past.

When time stands still, it must do so only for one, two at most, I thought, when thoughts finally began to flow along with my breath.

"What time is it?" I asked, and glanced at my watch, ignoring the concerned look from across the table.

Venkman frowned, but obediently glanced down at his wrist. "A little after one. Why?"

"No, exactly."

He looked again. "One oh seven on....mark." He looked up. "Plenty of time before you turn into a pumpkin."

One twelve. Rats. I would have to brainstorm with Raymond on the idea. But how to induce the same state of awareness, and how to measure it? And where did the lapsed time go? Was it added to the end of the lifetime? Or did it just average out, blending in with all the other instances that occurred to others? Perhaps an electrode implanted into the brain of the subject…did I know anyone that was familiar with trepanning?

"Dr. Spengler?"

This time the voice penetrated my thoughts and brought my attention back to the present. When I glanced up, it was into green eyes dark with concern and amusement, framed by the white carnation on the table on one side and an unruly lock of hair on the other.

"Are you all right?" While I must have stared, still caught in the edges of my shock, Venkman's expression went from concerned to confused, then shaded into embarrassment. I could see the man pulling back into himself, the guarded look in his eyes. But behind the whipped dog façade of a rejected suitor was the same impenetrable barrier I'd seen before; all of it, from embarrassment to concern, was only on the surface, a barrier concealing a prison wall.

Prison. Not a word I expected from my subconscious. Shrugging mentally, I tucked it away for later and focused on Venkman instead, but it was still some time before I could formulate a response.

"Why?"

"Why?" he echoed, sitting back. "Because you're white as a sheet and I think you stopped breathing for a minute!" He waved for one of the passing waiters and motioned at my water glass. Neither of us spoke while the white-jacketed server obediently filled both glasses and faded back into obscurity.

I shook my head then gulped my water gratefully, happy for anything to give me time to put my thoughts in order. "No, not that, although I appreciate your concern and apologize for alarming you. I meant why would you want to…," I waved one hand, vaguely indicating myself and Venkman, "…sleep with me?" I finally concluded, surprise making my words awkward.

Both of my hands came to rest on the edge of the table. I don't know what he made of it, but a moment later he leaned a little further back and let his shoulders slump slightly. Venkman pursed his lips and played with his water goblet, looking like he was considering my question and choosing his words with care. I caught a slight gleam from under his eyelashes, and I realized his attention had never wavered from my own actions.

"Do you mean why do I want to sleep with you? Or why do I want to sleep with a man at all?" A slight smile crossed Venkman's lips and he sipped his own water briefly, casually catching a drop from the edge of his glass with his tongue. The move caused a small hitch in my own breathing, but he seemed not to notice, a pose I could not find myself accepting under the circumstances.

"Either. Both." There was the slightest rough edge to my voice and I cleared my throat, realizing as I did that they were both excellent questions, given what I knew of the man. "Your-- reputation—," I hesitated, and Venkman jumped into the breech.

"—precedes  me." He flicked a careful look up, finally meeting my eyes. I held myself composed and calm, trying to pretend to myself that this was no more than a discussion of gravity. Gravitational force. Force of attraction between two bodies. One body in motion, while the second writhed beneath him…me.  I snapped back to the present with the vision of Peter Venkman sprawled across green silk the exact color of his eyes still lingering in my imagination.

"It also protects me, to some degree." Venkman set aside his glass and folded his arms on the table, leaning forward slightly. "If I'd actually had sex with half the women who claim I've graced their bed, I'd never get anything else done. But fortunately for me, women gossip: toss one on her bed, and by the next tennis lesson it's all over the clubhouse. Very few of them want to be the one that couldn't catch me once I've shown an interest, so they either ignore me or make something up, usually vague enough that their audience can fill in the blanks from other things they've heard. Some of which are even true."

He leaned forward just a little more and tilted his head back. "Now, why would I want to sleep with you?" he expanded on my question, his voice dropping intimately.

I leaned forward involuntarily, caught in the deep forest pool that was once again pulling me down, wondering how that low, smoke-edged voice would sound moaning my name.

"I want to sleep with you because I find you highly intelligent, incredibly well-spoken, and possessed of a wicked sense of humor." He leaned forward just an inch more and I found myself doing the same. His lips were just slightly parted and each breath brought me just a hint of garlic and heat, something warm and spicy under it that made me want to close my eyes and roll around in it. The thought flashed across my vision and I wondered if I dared make a quick little swipe at them, just a sample, before sucking his lower lip into my mouth for a longer, deeper taste. Venkman leaned forward slowly, keeping his eyes on mine, and I watched the green ice thaw in a flash of heat, saw the intent there and held my breath waiting for him to close those last inches.

Suddenly a pained hiss ghosted across my lips, the sound as soft as I imagined his lips to be, and Venkman flinched back, shuddering like somebody had poured ice down his back. One hand went up sharply and I jerked back just in time to avoid being hit by it. His head was turned, eyes shut tightly, pale skin going even whiter than usual, and for a moment I thought he would lose consciousness.

"Dr. Venkman? Are you all right?" I started to reach for him, understanding better his earlier reaction, but dropped my hand slowly to the table when he suddenly blew out a huge breath and relaxed back in his chair, color slowly returning to normal.

I watched Venkman run one hand through his hair, first rumpling then smoothing it back into place and give me a wry grin. "Sorry, muscle spasm." His smile became softer, more speculative. "Of course a little pain is a small price for such a prize; maybe I should try again." He toyed with his glass a moment before flicking his eyes back up; they held a mixture of humor and pain that mixed to yield derision, but directed at whom? "Did I happen to mention you're also incredibly attractive?" He sipped at his water and watched me over the rim, grinning when I lifted one eyebrow.

Muscle spasms, I thought, do not normally cause one to react as if warding off a blow. But except for the lingering tightness around his eyes and shoulders, the man didn't seem to be in any physical difficulty. I felt myself wander off into a momentary fantasy, wherein I offered to massage the psychologist's shoulders and Venkman accepted. Lost in a sensory illusion of oil on warm, smooth skin, and myself beginning to gently nip my way down the curve of his spine, it was a moment before I realized just what he was saying.

"Attractive?" One eyebrow was up as high as it could go, and I felt the other one trying to go with it.

Venkman grinned openly and seemed to relax at what I knew had to be a near-boggled expression. "While I find your mother impossibly charming, and your incredibly myopic uncle nearly as entertaining, you can't possibly think that I've been flying out to the wilds of Ohio almost monthly for the last four years just to see them?"

Four years? "Why so long? And what about," I waved my hand over the stack of papers still in front of me, "all this?"

He laughed, although to my ear it sounded just a tad forced and didn't reach Venkman's eyes. "I had to be sure, first of all; yes, I've heard the rumors, but I know first hand that frequently rumor and reality are very different things. As to that," he nodded at the certificates, "I really didn't want that between us, didn't want any chance that somebody might think I was using you for inside information, or that a rival could use you to try and force me into a decision that might hurt Spengler Labs which would, in turn, hurt your mother." He looked up before adding gently, "or you."

I could only frown and straighten in my chair, then removed my glasses and gently polished them on the fine linen napkin before replacing them, where they promptly slid to the end of my nose. The action reminded me of the old adage about fools, wise men, and pipes, and I briefly wondered which category I fell into. Venkman certainly seemed sincere enough, but there was still something that rang off-true; not the desire, there was no faking that level of lust, the physical reactions made it too obvious. But four years? I'd never known the man to take that long in a seduction, although really the only proof I had was Mother's gossip and the maunderings of a dozen society biddies. Which reminded me--.

"So have you ever, ah, been with a man?"

A smile of what might have been appreciation flickered across Venkman's face. "Is your hair as soft as it looks?"

"What?" I caught myself reaching to brush at my hair and returned my hand to the table. Damn the man, but I was going to end up with mental whiplash if I didn't do better than this.

Venkman glanced down at his watch, then back up. "It's almost two. My calendar is clear the rest of the day. Blow off your class and come back to my place."

There was an intensity to the look and the statement that startled me. Somehow this was more important to Venkman than he'd implied. Could he--? I felt the slightest brush of hope start to bloom, and just as quickly squashed it down. If I expected to be able to walk away from this man intact, I couldn't take this as anything more than it was: an offer of a short affair, nothing more. But when the time came, I couldn't help but wonder would I be able to not look back?

But to ignore my responsibilities, that was something else. I started to shake my head, explain that I couldn't leave my students out on a limb, when I caught a flash of something in those green eyes I so loved. Disappointment or frustration?

On the other hand, the lecture was one my assistant had given in my stead dozens of times. I changed my mind, and opened my mouth to agree, hoping to see the look on Venkman's face lighten, when we were interrupted.

"Dr. Spengler?" The exceptionally discreet maitre de magically appeared at our table.

"Yes?" I answered him, although he never seemed to doubt that I was the one he sought.

"You have a phone call, sir." Our dapper host snapped his fingers and one of the pristine bus-boys appeared, carrying a white phone on a silver tray.

I exchanged a look with Venkman, who shrugged. Who knew I would be here? I hadn't left the name of the restaurant with Arlene; I hadn't even known which restaurant we were going to until after we left the building. Only one way to find out.

"Dr. Spengler."

"Egon! This is it! This is definitely it!"

"Ray, what's 'it'?" I had no difficulty identifying my more excitable friend and colleague. "Is it Winnie? Is everything all right?"

"Oh, no, no Egon, Winnie's fine! She told me where you were. Listen, you gotta get over there right away, Winston's on his way with the gear now, and I'll meet you guys!  This is really it!"

"Raymond," I interrupted as mildly as I could, "just what are you referring to?"

"Oh wow! Egon," and I could hear Ray restraining himself, "at exactly 1:40 pm, at the main branch of the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue, ten people witnessed a free-floating, full-torso, vaporous apparition! It blew books off shelves from twenty feet away, and scared the socks off some poor librarian! Egon, we gotta get down there!"

I glanced down at his watch. "Raymond, it's just now 1:50, how did you find this out?"

"Janine was there, dropping off some books. Egon, she saw it! Look, I gotta go, I'll see you down there!"

Suddenly I found myself holding the receiver, the buzz of the dial tone loud in my ear before I gently replaced it in its cradle. I could only sigh softly to myself: had ever Ali Baba had such an embarrassment of riches presented to him at once? The responsibility for my class commitment or an afternoon with Peter Venkman? Not a true choice, given one was a lecture my assistant could give, and the other was a chance I'd waited close to fifteen years for and never once truly believed I'd have.

But Raymond's news--that was something I'd been waiting nearly a lifetime for.

I tapped my fingers absently on top of the phone, waving off the busboy with two fingers when he appeared to take it. But perhaps a compromise could be reached. I studied Venkman over my glasses for a minute, taking in the open pose and inquiring tilt to his head.

"Bad news? Anything I can help with?"

"No, thank you." I felt a smile tug at my face. "I offer an alternative."

Venkman looked intrigued, interested enough that he leaned forward again, resting his chin on one hand, eyes intent and sparkling with humor, if one ignored the stillness behind it. "Your office? If there's a couch, I can wait. A nap will do me good before I take on any more—strenuous—activity." He grinned. Incorrigible, truly.

I felt myself smiling back, but shook my head. "No, join me this afternoon. That was Raymond Stantz on the phone, there's been an—interesting—event at the library, something that I think will intrigue you."

"And if I decline?" Venkman was frowning slightly; apparently he wasn’t used to being put off by his current romantic interest.

I took a deep breath and winced internally, trying to stay as pleasantly calm on the surface as ever. "Then I'll catch a cab and hope we can continue this fascinating discussion another time." I'd done it and now I waited for Venkman's dismissal; but my determination to prove the existence of the supernatural was something I'd had all my life, and after Venkman left me in pursuit of his next conquest it would be all I'd have for the rest of it.

Venkman just studied him for a long, silent minute, frown deepening minutely. "This is really that important to you?"

There were no words to answer that. I nodded.

The psychologist looked unhappily like he was about to throw himself into a pit of ravenous lions. "All right then, I'm yours to command." Suddenly the clouds cleared from his expression. "Hey, it's bound to be more interesting than sitting at home going through case studies," and he grinned.

"I should hope so," I said, quickly placing a call to the university to arrange for my TA to take the afternoon class and containing my relief at his agreement to the change in his plans.

Venkman just as quickly arranged the check, and that simply I found myself standing outside the aged brick façade, waiting under the awning for the valet to bring the car around.

“So where to? And do I get a clue about what I'm getting into? And who’s Winnie? Somebody I need to worry about?” Venkman threw the questions out casually, but the look he gave me was anything but.

"Winnie? No, not somebody to worry about, just a good friend married to another good friend," I replied a bit absently, sliding into the car.

Now that it came down to it, how was I going to explain this? Yes, Venkman had a degree in parapsychology, a doctorate no less, which meant his base of reference would be similar to my own in an academic sense; but Venkman's emphasis had been on psychic phenomenon, the effect of the paranormal on the human mind, not its physical manifestation as mine was. Even Raymond's was closer to mine, the occult and religious implications at least taking the possibility of such things into account in the form of angels and demons, as well as other mythical beings. Oh well, in for a sheep.

"First, we need to meet Raymond and Winston at the library on Fifth, they are going to meet us there with the equipment Ray and I have developed. Raymond, I believe, is coming from his house as Winston is stopping by the University; he must have had a class this afternoon."

Venkman shot him a look then turned back to maneuvering through the afternoon traffic. "Winston? I don't remember a Winston from the other night. A student?" he questioned.

"Of sorts," I admitted. "He's in the doctorate program in history, and one of Raymond's protégés, although at the moment he does most of his work with the family company, Zeddemore Construction."

"Zeddemore Construction. Sounds familiar, I wonder if I own stock in it?" He commented cheerfully, and if I hadn't been watching I would never have seen the change come over him. In a moment his entire body seemed to relax, some unknown tension draining away although his posture remained erect and alert. His hands upon the steering wheel held the only sign of any stress, and that could have simply been the worry of any driver attempting to negotiate his way through New York.

"It's possible, I suppose. They have a number of maintenance contracts throughout the area, as well as doing new construction."

"Hmm," he acknowledged my comment absently then glanced over as we hit a red light. "And once we get to the library, what then?"

This was it. "Apparently there's been some sort of—paranormal event that Raymond wants to investigate."

"Paranormal event? So what happened, Edgar Cayce showed up to sign autographs?" His tone was light, teasing, but still very distant.

"Something like that." I took a deep breath. "It would seem that a one of the librarians and a number of patrons saw what they believe to be a ghost."

The rest of the drive was silent except for the quiet background music coming from the stereo and the distant humming of traffic. Occasionally I would glance over at my companion, but little could be discerned from his profile; for all intents he was absorbed by traffic, although I do not believe he was concentrating on it as thoroughly as he seemed. More likely, I thought a bit sourly, he was wondering how soon he could retract his offer and lose the geek.

Soon enough it came to an end, and we were walking up the steps of the library, between the two great lions that guarded the doors. Detouring, I gave Patience a pat before I joined Venkman at the top of the stairs. He waited there, leaning against one of the great columns, hands tucked in his pockets. Several steps below I stopped and studied him, absorbing the way the wind wrapped around him, running breezy fingers through his dark hair and caressing the lines of his suit. This was it, the last time I'd see him since he no longer had an interest in Spengler Labs and I wanted it to last, to put off the good-byes as long as possible.

"You know, Dr. Spengler, umbrella or not, if you stand out here much longer you'll catch your death of cold." Then he smiled, brilliantly, as if he could read all my doubts and was determined to erase them.

And so we did.

Just inside, a tall, dark-haired man in what had once been an impeccable and conservative blue suit rushed up to us. Neither Raymond nor Winston were with him and I glanced around for them, certain they would be there before us.

"Dr. Spengler?" he asked looking between Peter and myself while wringing his hands in distress.

"Dr. Peter Venkman," the psychologist stepped forward, hand extended, his voice and manner warm and soothing without being patronizing. "This is Dr. Spengler," he nodded in my direction and raised an eyebrow. "Mr. --?"

Hastily I cut short my search and took the man's hand. Then the sound of Ray's cheerful voice pulled my attention to a small office off the main reading room.

"Delicore, Roger Delicore, I'm the library administrator." Glancing quickly between the two of us, the distraught man finally seemed to fix his attention on Peter. "I'm glad you could all make it from the University, we'd like to clear this up quickly and," he forced a laugh, "quietly."

"Egon!" Raymond's excited call put an end to Mr. Delicore's hopes of 'quietly'. Ray was standing in the doorway of the small administrative office waving his hands. I waved back to acknowledge him, and started in his direction, hearing Peter excuse himself behind me and follow, catching up before I'd crossed the floor completely.

Since when, I asked myself sternly, did you give yourself permission to think of him by his Christian name? I glanced around and caught him looking back at me, amused skepticism on his face. I stopped, and he stopped with me, head tilted inquiringly. Peter waved a hand in an "after you" gesture, and I shook my head briefly before letting Raymond hold the door open for us.

Inside the small office I found Janine and Winston talking in the corner, or rather Janine talking in her usual mile-a-minute manner, hands waving expressively, while Winston smiled and nodded in all the right places and busied himself with the video camera. I noted he'd brought a wide assortment of lenses, including the special UV one Raymond had just recently purchased.

“Dr. Venkman, I believe you’ve met Dr. Stantz,” I said, indicating Raymond, “and of course his wife, Janine, at the university last week.” I waited while Peter and Raymond shook hands. Janine looked up at the sound of her name, and I waved Winston over. “This is Winston Zeddemore, whom I don’t believe you’ve met yet. Winston, Dr. Peter Venkman.”

Winston leaned over with a smile to shake the other man’s hand, giving him a casual, “Hi.” Winston froze, and cocked his head in inquiry. "Have we met before?"

Peter's eyebrow went up and he smiled slightly. "No, no I don't believe so. I'd like to think you'd remember if we had."

Winston chuckled warmly. "Well, nice to meet you now. Enjoy the light show," he added, nodding at Raymond and myself, then returned to his work ignoring the look I shot him.

Spotting the small case on the desk that held my own particular contribution to our quest, I picked it up and opened it, removing the psycho-kinetic energy, or PKE meter, from its cushioned recess. Turning it on, it bleeped at me cheerfully before going into automatic diagnostic mode. Already I could feel the pleasant warmth that came with an adrenalin surge, and I felt a small smile on my lips when I turned back to Peter.

He had knelt down and was speaking with an older woman I took to be the librarian Raymond had mentioned earlier. While I watched he took her hand and pressed it between his briefly, along with a smile of such understanding and compassion I couldn't help but feel a pang in my own heart. Then he looked up at me, and I could only wonder why she couldn't see that there was nothing behind the smile or the glittering humor in his eyes. I moved to Peter's side, meter still in hand; my first step would be to scan those involved for any residual energies from their encounter.

“Dr. Spengler,” Peter said, giving the older woman a smile and a last squeeze of her hand while he rose to his feet. “I’d like to introduce you to Alice Mayhew, the woman who single-handedly got me through my first degree.”

“Oh really, Peter, you would have made it regardless. He was just that determined,” she added, extending one hand to me, which I gently pressed in greeting. I started to draw Peter’s attention back to the business at hand when she snagged my sleeve. “Spengler, you said. Dr. Egon Spengler?”

At my nod she released my arm and turned back to Peter. “Well there you are Peter, problem solved,” she said, gesturing in my direction.

I exchanged a puzzled glance with the other man, but let him ask the question. “What problem, Alice?”

“You didn’t know? Dr. Spengler is one of the foremost experts on the Sumarian language. I’m sure he can help you with your little puzzle quicker than our research department.”

“Sumarian. Really,” Peter breathed softly, the words just reaching my ears. He seemed to be studying me and I held myself still, waiting to see what would resolve itself in his face. If anything. “You read Sumerian?” he asked finally.

I nodded, wondering at his interest. “Yes, as well as write and speak it. Ancient languages are something of a hobby of mine.”

Before I could follow the trail that had suddenly opened before me the meter in my hand beeped softly, warning that it had completed its program. A little thrill of excitement ran through me and I had to concentrate on steadying my hands to key in and start running the analysis program I thought most likely to be of use. Raymond and I had prepared a number of such programs, and had plans for several more, although current technology limited us to a degree. Here Raymond's and Winston's various contacts helped us greatly, allowing us access to cutting edge technology as long as we thoroughly documented our experiences and results; although sometimes Raymond's contacts seemed a bit—dubious.

The meter accepted the program and almost instantly the sensor ears began to rise. I heard Raymond give a soft but happy, “wow!” from my elbow. I was equally thrilled that it seemed at least one of our theories was correct. However, the readout showed two overlapping areas of activity, both equally strong. Slowly I pivoted, scanning my way across the room, and as I approached Janine and Winston one of the foci began to weaken. Frowning I backtracked slowly, terribly aware that every eye in the room was watching me, but I could not ignore what I was seeing.

My mind presented me with three primary theories: one, the meter readout was somehow malfunctioning, either through some error we had overlooked or my own inexperience with actual psychokinetic readings. Two, there were two (or possibly more) entities present, and the meter was sensitive enough to pick up each one individually, and at a distance. Three, Peter Venkman had been in fairly recent contact with some entity that was ectoplasmic in nature.

'"I'm…used to the cold; this doesn't bother me."'

The recent memory rose up in front of me and a fourth possibility presented itself, one that caused my stomach to slide sideways rather uncomfortably; that Peter Venkman was himself, a ghost. A hypothesis that caused me to stop my attempts to fine tune the readout and glance over at the source of the closer, though weaker, of the two sets of readings. Ludicrous thought, I told myself, barely restraining a snort. Suddenly the meter began to chirp faster while the sensor array extended itself further.

“Egon?” Ray asked, and I could hear the suppressed excitement in his voice.

I looked up at the rest of the room over my glasses. “It’s moving.”

Our preparations paid excellent dividends when we were able to collect our equipment and begin following the mobile signal the meter was picking up within moments. The tracking itself was rather like the child’s game of ‘hot and cold’, but eventually the signal lead to the stairs to the sub-basement itself.

“Wow, it’s exactly where she saw it!” Raymond whispered excitedly.

Winston, Peter—for he had joined us—and myself all turned and looked at Raymond with identical expressions of incredulity. He looked back at us as guiltily as a cat with canary feathers in its whiskers.

“Um, sorry guys, guess I forgot to mention that part.”

Winston could only shake his head and I was sure he was feeling the same exasperated affection for Raymond’s enthusiasm that I was. I was just glad that his nature never let him forget potentially important points in the lab, the events of August 12^th notwithstanding. I continued down the stairway cautiously, Winston carrying the video camera behind me just as carefully, and Raymond with the Polaroid at the ready and proceeding as carefully as he could.

I glanced back at the bottom of the stairs to see how Peter was taking this foray into the paranormal, to be met with bland politeness. Suddenly his eyes flickered over me with an entirely different look and I felt myself flush slightly. My reaction wasn’t lost on him, his entire body mirroring the sly, prim feline smile he gave me.

“Look!” Raymond’s voice echoed excitedly from the stacks. I quickly turned back to search for him, willing the blush to subside, and found he and Winston examining a tower of neatly stacked books well over eight feet high. More books had been violently swept from the shelves to the floor, making walking without stepping on them extremely difficult.

Moving the meter slowly over the stacked books the readout went wild, data strings pouring across the screen almost faster than I could read. "This is hot, Raymond, very hot." I looked up to meet Raymond's eyes.

Raymond was on the other side of the stack, legs spread and fists on hips, bouncing slightly on his toes, excitement, pleasure, and a vast contentment vying for domination his expression. Raymond was ever at his happiest when confronting the unknown.

He waved a hand at the stack. "Symmetrical book stacking. Just like the Philadelphia mass turbulence of 1947. Make sure you get video of all four sides, Winston."

"Sure, Ray," Winston said while he obediently scanned the camera over the books and surrounding floor. "Obviously no human being would stack books like this."

I slid past the stack, careful not to touch it, Peter just behind me. From the end of the aisle I watched him look the stacked books over carefully, reaching out with one hand to glide his fingertips across the surface. He seemed to make note of one of the titles, but from where I stood I could not make out which one. When he once again joined me, his face still held the same placid humor, but something moved deep in his eyes back where only he walked, like a troubled eddy.

“Wow! Talk about telekinetic activity!” Raymond’s voice echoed from the other side of the shelves.

“What a mess,” Winston added, his ever-practical side surfacing.

Peter and I joined them, and I found that I had to agree with Winston. The aisle behind the shelves held the card catalog, each of the over one hundred small drawers holding several hundreds of index cards that was the detailed map of the library basement. Now it looked like the remnants of a tickertape parade, the cards scattered like giant confetti.

“Raymond, look at this,” I said indicating long, dripping streamers of a clear, viscous fluid.

“Ectoplasmic residue,” Raymond sounded awed, and his eyes got bigger than I had thought possible.

“Smells funky,” Winston said, nose wrinkling in disgust before he quickly filmed chaos birthed from of order while backing slowly out of the aisle.

I patted my jacket awkwardly, looking for something to place a sample in. Eventually I hit upon my business card case, a gift from my mother I rarely used. I started to pry it open, the clasp difficult to manage with the unwieldy weight of the meter shrill in one hand. Then Peter reached over and pulled the case from my hand, his hands cool against my own, and opened it for me.

I adjusted my glasses and peered over them at him. “Ah, thank you Dr. Venkman. If you would be so kind?” I motioned to the nearest—glob—of ectoplasm, then returned my attention to the readings on the screen. Yes, there was that same double foci, but this time one was stronger than the reading from Peter, and was showing a redshift effect, which meant it was moving towards us.

“Somebody blows their nose and you want to keep it?” Peter looked utterly revolted at the prospect.

“I plan on analyzing it,” I said, probably a touch absently since I was trying to attune the meter to remove the residual background shadows caused by all the recent activity, as well as isolate the one given off by Peter. His was a much weaker field but showed no signs of weakening, as if he had been in contact with an unknown entity for an extended period of time, thus taking longer to fade. If that was, in fact, what it meant.

“Wow! There’s more over here! Winston, can you get a shot of that!”

“Man, this place is going to take forever to clean up. Now how did that get up there?”

The video camera whirred in a short burst, and several flashes of light indicated Raymond and Winston were both busy with their cameras. The Doppler motion had ceased on the meter, and I was trying to recall the layout of this particular floor for the best route to where the source seemed to be hovering.

Peter appeared at my elbow. “Your mucus, Dr. Spengler.” He extended the securely closed case on the flat of his hand, like a waiter presenting a tray. The dim lighting flickered off the card case in minute splinters, as if it trembled slightly.

“Thank you, Dr. Venkman,” I said, sliding the sample into a jacket pocket and deliberately ignoring that Peter was rubbing the palm of his hand almost continuously along his leg. He also appeared paler even than usual, and I suspected the slight dilation of his pupils had little to do with the dimness of the lighting. I had the urge to pull him into my arms and reassure him that all was well, but I set it aside for later.

I suddenly realized that if I did, Peter would be the exact height to tuck comfortably under my chin.

Shaking off my thoughts I forced myself to concentrate on the job at hand. “Winston, Raymond,” I called out, waiting for the other two to join us, which they did in moments. “The readings are no longer gaining in strength as they were earlier, but appear to have stabilized.” Raymond looked over my elbow and nodded agreement. Something creaked loudly, and we all glanced around a bit nervously.

“Probably the building settling,” Winston finally said.

“Indeed,” I added, clearing my throat. “I also believe I have recalled the most expeditious pathway to the focal point of our inquiry.”

Peter looked at Winston, who rolled his eyes and shook his head with a slight smile. I felt one eyebrow start to rise and held it still by main force of will.

The creaking noise came again, this time deeper and more sustained. Before I could do more than open my mouth, the bookcase behind Winston and Peter separated from the wall and crashed to the floor. We all stood there, stunned, until the dust began to settle.

Peter looked up at us. “This happen to you before?”

We all shook our heads. The case had come within inches of seriously injuring, if not killing, the two of them.

“First time?”

This time we all nodded. Peter appeared to consider that idea before shrugging and looking at me with his characteristic inquiring head-tilt. As if cued, the PKE meter began chirping for attention, and I motioned the group to follow me. It took several minutes to wend our way through mounds of debris that indicated to me that the disturbance had been exceptionally violent.

We proceeded from there in single file keeping a wary eye on the bookcases around us while we followed the meter's trail. I rounded a corner and looked up.

"It's here," I whispered, excitement quivering through me.

"A full-torso apparition. And it's real!" Ray whispered back.

The spirit hovered not more than 20 feet in front of us, an elderly woman with her hair pulled back tightly and wearing a violet dress with lace at collar and cuff. She reminded me of Mrs. Hutchinswold, my second grade teacher. Which once I thought of the comparison made me even more leery; I believe my old teacher frequently became frustrated with my inability to maintain the same pace as the rest of the class, but really once I discovered Euclidian geometry, simple addition paled. Which made my quarterly reports home sometimes less than satisfactory. The comparison ended when I realized the skirt faded into nonexistence several feet above the floor.

"So, what do we do now?" Peter asked from behind me.

We. The word made me smile, until I realized that Raymond and I had never considered what would happen beyond this point. A painful yank at my ear brought my attention around to Winston, and I saw he had a similar grip on Raymond.

"Come over here, just, come over here and talk a for a second, okay?" Winston dragged us back around the corner. "You mean to tell us you guys never thought about this?"

Apparently he and Peter had reached some sort of understanding while Raymond and I had been studying the spirit.

"We have some theories, some preliminary drafts of course, but we couldn't follow up without more in the way of hard data," I started to explain.

"We've go to make contact!" Raymond jumped in. "One of us should actually try to speak with it."

"An excellent idea, Raymond. At this point we have insufficient data to determine if it is actually the spirit of a…errrr…departed person, or something that only resembles such. If one of us could establish a dialogue with her—it—it could be very revealing." I turned and looked at Peter expectantly, which led to Raymond and Winston looking between the two of us.

"What?" Peter looked back. "Whoa now, wait a minute! Why me? You guys are the ones who know about this stuff."

Winston stepped back, one hand up. "Hey, don't look at me, I'm just here for the grunt work."

"Hardly," I told Winston dryly before turning back to Peter. "You are also knowledgeable in the field, Dr. Venkman. Besides," I couldn't help but smile, "your way with the fair sex is well established."

Peter looked from me, no doubt well aware that I was finding this immensely amusing, to Raymond who was unleashing his most earnest and beseeching look. Suddenly he groaned and waved us out of the way. Slowly he stepped out from the shelves, passing near enough that I thought I caught a glimmer of panic in his eyes, enough that I almost reached out to pull him back, to do it myself rather than cause him such distress, but it was already too late.

He stopped about midway between the phantasm and us. "Hello," he called out. "I'm Peter, Peter Venkman. Where are you from? Originally."

Winston looked over at me. "I thought you meant a good rep with women."

"Ssshhhhhhh!" The spirit looked up from the book it was reading long enough to shush at Peter. Or maybe at Winston.

I tried to see the title of the book it held, but was too far away, and even so I was uncertain as to whether it was a separate entity, or an extrusion of itself. "Raymond, can you and Winston get pictures? Try and focus on the book."

Peter began backing away from the entity while Raymond and Winston began to shoot. Three steps from the aisle he finally turned and ducked around the corner. "All right. Okay, the usual stuff isn't working. Now what?"

Raymond looked up from securing the Polaroid and the developing shots in the case and fastening it over his shoulder.  "Guys, I have a plan. Winston, put the vidcam away. Don't worry, I know exactly what to do. Ready?"

He waited, looking from face to face until we had all nodded. "Okay, now stay close, I know just what to do."  Raymond crept out from our hiding spot, motioning for us to follow. Slowly we moved closer, and I had to remind myself to breath.

"Easy…easy…ready? Ready?" Raymond stopped, not more than eight feet from the spirit that was unconcernedly browsing through the large, antique volume in its hand.

"Get her!" Raymond cried, lunging forward.

The total illogic of the command struck me instantly but my body responded before I could stop it, fueled by adrenalin. Within two steps I was glad of the extra energy as it allowed me to quickly pivot and flee the way we had come when the specter of my old teacher suddenly transformed into a demonic nightmare. In less than a breath after Raymond sounded the charge, frail flesh melted away from bone and the dress shredded into moldy shrouds. It lunged for us armed with deadly sharp talons at the ends of its arms and screamed its fury on a wind heavy with decay.

I thanked the Fates as I ran for the stairs that I was still in decent shape and promised myself to take up a regular exercise regime if we were to continue with our investigations; it seemed likely that we would be in a similar position again and I had no wish to perish from laziness. It was the closest I'd ever come to a war zone and while I simultaneously leaped a pile of debris and ducked a mass of flying wooden fragments that might have been a chair I listened behind me for the other three. Raymond and Winston were behind me, I could just hear their shouts over the still rising winds. At last the stairway came into sight and I paused at the bottom and looked back.

Peter was right on my heels and didn't seem the least winded, but in the brief glimpse I got of his expression there was something there that had no relation to the terror I was experiencing, but he grabbed my arm and turned me back to the stairs before I could try and decipher it. I let him urge me upwards, the swirling winds filled with unearthly screams and tearing paper.

The four of us bolted up the stairs, a blast of wind on our heels, and after that the transformed entity whipped upwards and dived at us, free to maneuver in the much larger space. We scattered, and I caught a glimpse of Raymond diving under a table just as something struck me between the shoulders and I fell. My arms went out automatically to break my landing, but somehow I ended up on my back and whatever cushioned me grunted. I rolled to the side and under a table, then reached for Peter and yanked him under the table with me just in time to avoid something large and heavy landing overhead.

He seemed stunned but I could find no obvious injuries and presumed it was from taking my weight in the fall. Within a minute he began to stir and in the light I caught the glitter of fine glass shards fall from his hair. The reading room was rapidly emptying of patrons, and their panicked screams and scattered belongings added to the chaos of a screaming ghost and its violent winds.

I had to lean close to Peter's ear to even be heard. "Close your eyes and lean back."

He looked at me, seeming confused, but did as I asked without a word. As quickly and gently as I could, I ran my hands through his hair, shaking loose more glass and a few chips of wood, but discovered neither blood nor other evidence of trauma. I allowed myself the liberty of one more slow, soft pass through Peter's silky hair.

But the winds were beginning to die down, everything that could be knocked over had been, and papers were fluttering to floor. I cast around for Raymond and Winston, and found them under a pair of tables across the main aisle from the one we sheltered under. The specter flew once more around the room and disappeared through the roof with a last scream of rage.

The quiet rang as loudly as the noise had, and I watched the last few papers flutter to the ground. Somewhere nearby something gave a mechanical chirp and faded off; the PKE meter, I realized. Happily it was only a few feet away and did not appear to have suffered serious damage, although the protective glass over the screen was cracked in one corner.

"Ray!" The screech came from the office, followed by Janine flinging herself across the floor and into Raymond's arms. Looking around I noted that the few remaining patrons, braver or more foolhardy than the rest winced at the volume and cast a number of cautious looks upward before realizing the source was human and turned to collecting their belongings. Catching Winston's eye I nodded and he returned a nod and two thumbs up, indicating they were both fine.

Wood scraped over wood behind me and I jerked around, half expecting another manifestation but it was Peter standing up a chair. Mr. Delicore rushed up to us before I could focus on Peter, who seemed terribly quiet compared to my past experiences with him. Of course what we had experienced here today was well out of the ordinary and most would require time to assimilate it. I knew that I would be reviewing the day for some time to come.

"My God!" the administrator blurted out. "What was that thing? Horrible, simply horrible!"

I started to answer. "Based on the data we were able to collect and review prior to and during the initial confrontation, as well as—"

"It was a ghost, Mr. Delicore," Raymond broke in. His arm was still tight around Janine's waist, and she was clinging to him like a limpet. Raymond himself was nearly glowing with excitement and his bounce was coming back. I was beginning to wonder what it would take to slow him down, and instantly decided I didn’t want to know and hoped never to find out.

"Here, Egon, let me take the meter and I'll repack it." Winston held his hand out and I passed the meter to him with a quizzical look. He nodded back and his eyes shifted to a point behind me. Then he was gone, tugging the camera from Raymond's shoulder with some difficulty as Janine was still in the way.

Subtly Winston guided Delicore and the Stantz's back towards the office, Raymond chattering away in an attempt to explain the classification system we used, and where in it the library's manifestation would fit. I smiled at Winston's thoughtfulness; his personality was generally so low key that he was able to all but disappear until a problem arose and then he would handle it in such a quiet manner that most never noticed what was happening.

Finally I was able to turn back to Peter, to find him leaning over in a chair, face in his hands. Lightly I rested one hand on his shoulder and was dismayed at the tremors that I felt running through him. A choked sound came from behind his concealing hands and I felt my alarm grow.

"Dr. Venkman?" I asked softly. I was loathe to draw the attention of the few remaining patrons, then realized this end of the room was vacant except for ourselves. I crouched down in front of him and gently rested on hand on his knee.

He shuddered and looked up from his hands, and I saw that he was laughing. But beyond that was the amazing sea-change in his eyes that till this moment had held back those around him. They glistened with unshed tears and beyond that I could see anger, and fear, and a soul-deep grief that had never healed. But all of that was nearly overwhelmed by the relief that wrapped and cradled it, easing to show what I thought was a touch of hope as pale and fragile as new leaves in spring.  

Hello, Dr. Venkman. I knew you were in there somewhere. I carefully kept my satisfaction at the discovery from showing.

"Well Dr. Spengler, I have to admit you surely know how to show a person an interesting time." His grin was as open as his eyes and I committed it to memory, just in case.

His smile pulled one from me in answer. "Then perhaps you'll allow me to repay the meal? Say, Friday night? An early dinner and box seats at the Met afterwards?"

"Dinner and the opera?" Already the smile was fading and his eyes becoming more opaque. "Sounds like a date. Would you like to meet somewhere?"

I shrugged casually. "There's a little place, not particularly gourmet but I hear the chef does a nice steak." I smiled slightly and watched understanding creep across him.

"Steak?" Peter smiled, rising. Already his demeanor had returned to what it usually was. "Steak is good."

I rose with him. "Excellent. How do you like it cooked?"

He threw me a wicked grin. 

"Blond."