Regina Pt 1

[bloodcount]

Fandom: Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Janine-centric Horror
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Some nudity, blood and violent religious imagery but nothing gratuitous.
Synopsis: A clever demon uses his wits to make a bust go very, very wrong.




The crowd was tense, milling around in shock and disbelief but no great panic. Yet. Families stood tightly together in unhappy clumps on the sidewalks encircling the grounds of the church they’d been forced to abandon. Harassing them were New York's Press Corp, grubbing for eyewitnesses and photos. A few dozen police officers were cordoning off the building, trying not to let on just how out of their league they were. An eternity passed in the bright Sunday morning sunshine. Everyone was waiting.


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

The gentlemen inside the car were less sanguine. "Well, they're not running." Winston Zeddemore observed as he eased Ecto through the throng congesting the courtyard. "Whatever crashed the service can't be that bad."

"Or it's a stationary manifestation that can't go after them or it might actually be friendly!" Ray Stantz leaned forward in his seat and beamed reassuringly at the pale faces peering in at him as Ecto slowly rolled past. Many of those faces showed obvious delight at the sight of him, and Ray was warmed and gratified by their reaction. Children released vise grips on their parents long enough to wave at the four men in their glorious white rescue monstrosity, and their heroes waved back. “Wouldn’t that be great? Something nice?”

"They're too scared, Ray," Peter Venkman disagreed, the seriousness of his tone clashing with the beaming handsomeness he was projecting to his fans. Ray had a silly thought, There Is No Need To Fear! The Ghostbusters Are Here! Peter continued, "Whatever they've got here, I bet it's gonna hurt. Hurt beyond hurting! And it'll probably be me."

"It usually is. Fortunately for the rest of us."

"Die, Spengler." Egon Spengler smiled and activated his PKE meter. The church was fully in view. It was a dark, massive landmark, all leaded glass, bell towers and flying buttresses. "Addams Family, eat your heart out," Peter observed.

Egon scanned through the crowd to detect what was lurking inside. "I'm picking up strong readings but we're still too far away to specify exactly what it is."

Ray spotted movement and gasped, a excited charge shooting through him. "It's a demon!"

"What, Ray?"

"I see it! There! It's glowing." Ray almost took Winston's head off as he frantically pointed at one of the upper belfry windows. "It's ugly and red! Look! Look at that leer!" They all looked up in time to see a scarlet light fade away from the leaded glass. Ray was suddenly uneasy. He didn’t like demons. They were just so negative.

Peter opted for the humorous route as usual. "Ugly, red and leering. You just described our own ever-lovin' Janine Melnitz, Ray." Peter cut his eyes at Egon.

Egon didn’t rise but Ray did."I most certainly did not!" he protested, defending the honor of the Ghostbuster's redheaded fifth member. Ray smiled then, thinking of Janine, and the rare occasions she wore her yellow polka-dot bikini to work when the weather was too hot. Egon’s mouth, too, was quirking upwards.

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

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

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

Egon muttered something insulting under his breath."'Microphallic' is not a word," Peter corrected.

"It's a state of mind, huh, Peter?" Ray asked. Peter licked the tip of an invisible pencil and mimed putting Ray and Egon's names onto his Black List.

Egon dragged the conservation back into clean pastures. "A demon taking over a church,” he mused. “Looks like we have another Feeder entity holding a Siege."

"A brain-sucker. Oh, great," Winston said and parked Ecto in front of the old edifice. Still, he was smiling and Ray believed he knew why. Winston loved to kick demonic butt. A devout man, he got a great deal of personal satisfaction out of ‘cleansing.’ At times like this, Ray always believed it was a great shame that Winston didn’t have a flaming sword as well as a proton pack. All four men confidently swung wide their car doors and burst out. Hail the Conquering Heroes. They were rushed by their admirers and the press but not surrounded. It seemed no one was willing to turn their backs on the church in order to face the Ghostbusters. A large crowd trying to hide behind four lone men was a sight to see. Everyone was shouting, waving and interrupting each other.

"It's HORRIBLE."

"It came crashing up through the floor!"

"It's big!"

"It's all red and smoky!"

"It's HORRIBLE!"

"It was cursing and growling!"

"It's HORRIBLE!"

Peter raised his hands for calm and silence. Flash bulbs popped from all directions. "Was anyone hurt? Is everyone out?" A very tall and incredibly skinny woman stepped forward, nose to nose with Peter, unaware, in her fright, that she was a little too close. Peter held his ground and Ray fought back a laugh at his friend’s attempt not to go cross-eyed.

The woman stammered, "Uh, some of us were banged up but no one has had to go to the hospital. We all got out okay and it, uh, it didn't follow us. It's still in there and it screams out and it's just...nasty."

Egon scanned the church. “Yes, one Class Seven Feeder,” he verified, his voice low and calm. He changed the settings and scanned again, “And no human life signs. Everyone’s out.”

"Good, then." Peter patted the woman on the shoulder, surreptitiously putting her at a safe distance from himself. "Everything's going to be just fine. We already know what it is and what it wants. We've done this about a dozen times before. Who's in charge around here?" A large man dressed in black pompously pushed his way forward, tapping a drum roll on Ecto in his enthusiasm. Ray had just waxed it the day before but, out of respect for the clergyman's position, didn't glare at him.

"I'm Philip Frank! I'm so glad you're here! You said you already know what it wants? What it is? What to do?"

”Yes, yes and yes,” Peter began then stopped. A red light began to move with ominous intent from window to window within the church, heading towards the ground floor. Ray watched it in annoyance. Here it comes. Spotting the glow, the crowd nervously moved back again. Frank drew closer to Peter. The light came to rest at an upper-story window, overlooking the entire crowd.

It was watching.

Abandoning the discussion, the Paranormal Eliminators moved towards the back of Ecto and began to help each other on with their gear. First and foremost, they affixed Psi-Scramblers to their wrists. A variation on the silver Dimensional Locater bracelets, tracers that kept the men connected between dimensions, the Scramblers were invaluable for creating a block that made it very difficult for a feeder telepath to settle into a human mind. They weren’t powerful enough to block a possession but Ray loved them dearly, anyway. He clicked the power on and felt his nervous system tingle as an annoying low-level hum sounded in his ears.

They shrugged the fifty-pound nuclear powered proton packs onto their backs. Then the Ecto-scopes and PKE meters were shoved into their belts. Watching their preparations, Frank was clearly excited. “Ooh, like Roman Warriors girding themselves for battle!” He was bouncing on his toes. "Are you ready now?" he nooged. "What is that thing in there?"

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

“A demon?! A real demon?! From Hell?! Did Satan send it?!” All four Ghostbusters and several parishioners looked at Frank with distaste and he closed his mouth with a pop!

Egon continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted and began to clean his glasses with a handkerchief. “You, and your parishioners, are very fortunate. There are reports throughout the centuries of demons attacking religious gatherings and killing worshippers. There was an especially disturbing incident in 16th century England where a demon, in the form of a great black dog, swung down from the rafters of a Catholic Basilica and bit the head off a priest."

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

"Hark. What dulcet tones are these?" Peter asked dramatically, sneering in the direction of the diabolical shouting. He was the only Ghostbuster that looked up; the rest were finishing their preparations and trying to appear blasé. A Feeder. Yay. Hurrah.

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

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

Frank rubbed his scalp nervously. "It came out of a box. We're having a neighborhood garage sale this weekend and a lot of junk is being stored in the basement. During services some of the kids snuck down to poke around and broke into an old Brazilian cigar box. The poor girls came running back, screaming. It followed them up through the floor." He shuddered.

"I bet it's been trapped in there for a long time. Probably by a very powerful witch or warlock," Ray pondered out loud. He noticed that Frank was boggling at him, appalled, and his indifference to the man began to refine into dislike. He turned away and continued to think. Ray decided it couldn’t have been a very smart magic-worker, really. Being powerful enough to keep a demon in, you’d think they’d have had the foresight to keep nosy kids out. But power rarely equalled intelligence. And people die, their possessions get plundered and scattered by the ignorant. So sad, really.

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

Rolling his eyes and raising his voice for the benefit of the mob and the press, (a battle of good versus evil in a church being a big deal for a slow news week) Peter addressed them, "Listen up! Let me tell you all exactly what's going on. Inside your church is a Class Seven entity. Class Seven’s are paranormal parasites that feed off human energy and emotions. Sometimes human flesh.” The crowd winced. “A demon, basically. We've labeled this sort of situation a Theo-siege. A demon storms into a church or temple or other place of worship and holds the sacred building hostage. This creates a lot of attention, a lot of spiritual turmoil, which is a hell of a strong vintage for a demon, and it feeds on the people's fear and rage until it's driven away or the building is burned down or abandoned."

Frank looked at his historic church in terror.

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

"FoRNIcATOR!!"

"Me or the Zedd-man here?!" Peter shouted back, pointing at a mortified Winston.

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

"Oh, he means Egon. Sorry, Winston."

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

“Oh, Lord God, help us,” the skinny woman prayed. “Please help us.”

"Shh. Don’t.” Peter said gently then began to sarcastically applaud. "Oh, that was beautiful! I'm moved!" The spell was shattered. Relaxing, his teammates followed his lead. "ENCORE! AUTHOR!!" He turned to the gathering and gave them his warmest smile. "C'mon everybody!" Philip Frank reluctantly began to slap his hands together and soon the entire crowd was collectively thumbing its nose and cheering the demon's impressive display. The skinny woman cracked her hands together with force, blushing. “Never let ‘em see you sweat,” Peter advised and she smiled. Ray felt a surge of insulted rage flowing through him from the direction of the church. Peter noticed it, too, and dropped his voice. "Red-Eye up there is projecting. A mighty strong psionic, this time." They nodded in agreement. "Scramblers on? Okay. Watch your asses, guys."

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

"You certainly don't, Pollyanna."

Not true, but Peter was keeping up appearances. Ray wondered what nasty little memory or aspect of his own soul was going to be made public knowledge this time. How much had Red-Eye learned before they had turned the Scramblers on? They'd soon find out. His friends would not judge him or shun him but, damn, he desperately preferred to keep his secrets.


**************


The newly designated Red-Eye felt a shock as he listened to the applause, the cheers, the cat-calls. Being freed inside a church was a wondrous stroke of luck. Clearing it had been satisfying and delicious. But the little shriekers had stopped cold right outside the place when they realized he wasn’t following. Stopped and began milling around as if at a fair. Why weren’t they rioting? There should be screams! Prayers! Fires! Tramplings! An entire city in panic! A league of pious, moon-faced men and women coming to sprinkle water on him. Soldiers to shoot pathetic lead balls. Witches that appeared secretly to give him a real battle. But look, the crowd was calm and growing only slowly. A sea of faces gawking up at him with anxious curiosity. And nothing else. He felt like a display at a circus and raked his claws across himself in insulted frustration. It just wasn’t right.


**************


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

Feeder Backlash was the clinical term he had assigned to the recovery process. Also known as pure, distilled embarrassment. They would walk on eggshells. They would avoid each other's eyes. Conversation would be kept to a minimum as each person dwelled unhealthily on how the others perceived him now. There would be flare-ups of anger and accusations. You did that?! How could you think this?! How could you feel that way about the other?! After the transgressions and resulting blow-ups were smoothed over and forgiven, heaven help them all, the teasing would begin. Janine would bat her eyes and worm every detail out of Ray who would spill his guts out of misplaced guilt. Egon would bury himself in research or opera music. Winston would rebuild Ecto. Peter would contemplate leaving the country. Then they'd all get over it as if it had never happened. Suck on that thought, you Red-Eyed Fucknut. Peter gestured for Frank and a few cops to come closer.

He addressed them with absolutely no nonsense in his tone."Listen up. We're going in but I want you people to stay out and to keep everyone else out. Out! No matter what you see or hear, it's probably a trick. This sort of critter feeds on mental energy, pain and fear. The more victims it can lure in, the stronger it gets." Everyone in the vicinity shuddered. "It'll only try to leave the church when it feels it's really in danger. We'll try to keep it busy but, meanwhile I want all these people kept way back." No one questioned Peter's authority or his orders. Peter fixed Frank with a hypnotic glare, "Demons are great mimics. You're going to hear terrible things, you might even hear us screaming for help, but it’s a trick. Don't come to our rescue. We eat nasties like this for breakfast so we don't need help. Do not open that door! Is that totally clear?" Peter got a mental image of the Mad Doctor in 'Young Frankenstein' issuing those same orders before he realized he was locked in with the Monster he had created. Open this goddamn door, you bastards, or I'll kick your rotten heads in! MOMMYYYY! His Bossman facade nearly cracked but he just managed to keep it together. Puttin’ on the riiiitz!

Frank and the members of the NYPD accepted their charge eagerly, wide-eyed and excited. They were obviously relieved to be doing something useful. Philip Frank puffed out his chest. Peter turned back to his teammates. "Let's go."The Ghostbusters casually strode up the church steps. More flash bulbs popped and the crowd began to scream encouragement at them. All four men walked tall as they approached the huge double doors of enemy territory. Adrenaline began to surge. They were ready and smiling.

The people were chanting their names. "Ghostbusters! Ghostbusters! Ghostbusters Ghostbusters Ghostbusters!"

Peter did a 360 degree turn, waving to everyone.Then it was back to business. "Pull 'em," he ordered. "The throwers, I mean."

"Suuure, you do."

They unholstered their particle throwers in unison and slapped them into the palms of their hands with a loud WHACK. A powerful electronic hum vibrated through the air as they charged up four nuclear accelerators, and their audience went wild, jumping. Coasting on the almost sexual thrill of the attention the sudden, unwholesome thought that he was just as psionically hungry as the demon crossed Peter's mind. He buried it quickly. They weren't hurting anybody and their grandstanding helped erase the very palpable dread that the Seven had inspired.

The double doors began to slowly open on their own and Red-Eye was revealed crouched in front of them. The form he had chosen was a stereotypical crimson, bipedal horned hulk with a barbed tail and cloven hooves. Too sophisticated to fear such an outdated shape, Peter grinned. Red-Eye squinted at him and Peter decided to rub it in, "What? No bat wings, sugar?"

Red-Eye bared a fang or two, then his ugly mug smoothed. He exchanged his theosophical yammerings for the deep, refined tones of Egon Spengler. "I do beg your pardon. How insensitive of me." With a hideous wet burst, enormous pustules on Red-Eye's back grew and erupted into clawed bat wings. He stretched them over his head and Peter could see pulsing veins running along the thin, fleshy webbing before Red-Eye began to flap them, sending a hot nauseating stench blowing over the four men. There was only one thing to say and Peter, fighting his gag reflex, said it. "Thank you. Accuracy is very important to us."


***************




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

His tail thrashed like an angry cat’s as he and his opponents continued to size each other up. These human men were confident. Well, Red-Eye was hungry and no weakling. However, this feeding might require a little strategy. He decided to open the proceedings. "I will devour your minds whole."

"Our minds?" Winston inquired. "Man, you're gonna starve!"

Red Eye smiled, fangs gleaming. "I'll simply kill you, then. Make your peace with whatever harvest god you worship," he challenged in Ray's voice this time.

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

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

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

"Hell, yeah." Winston fired. Fierce, twined bands of red and blue energy struck Red-Eye square in the chest and he was blown off his hooves back inside the building. The Ghostbusters leapt in after it and the doors slammed closed behind them.

"Yes! The expression on his face! Love it!" Peter fired his thrower, too. Both beams flashed like Thor's lightning bolts in the cavernous old structure. His questions answered, Red-Eye cast one last look of shock, marking him, before he vanished, leaving only an enraged howl to echo behind him.


**************


Oh, great, Winston mentally groaned, a teleporter, too. The four moved back to back. Winston, Peter and Ray's throwers covered all points of the compass as Egon adjusted his PKE meter, tracking the Seven."Where is he?" Winston asked, never taking his eyes from the shadows.

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

"Wow, that's odd! That’s really, really odd!" Ray enthused.

"Whhheerrrre issss heeeee?" Winston patiently asked again.

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

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

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

"No. Listen to this!" Ray began to work his own meter, correlating Egon's results. "There's one demon in two different places. He split!"

"That's impossible."

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

"And it's a common thing! Even among humans." Ray was really excited now. Teleporting, shapeshifting, psionically vampiric demons that could exist in more than one place at a time were exactly his cup of tea. Winston watched him give his thrower a caressing grip and considered going for a hose.

“Common among humans?” Peter asked. “What?!”

He didn’t sound as if he really wanted to know but Ray rushed to answer him. "Sure! One example is a French schoolteacher named Emilie Sagee. She lost nineteen teaching positions in sixteen years because she couldn't control her own psychic double. Creeped the children right out. The poor lady."

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

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

"Weaker and in the two farthest points of the building," Peter said. "Ooh, how tempting for us to split up and go after it."

Winston tried not to think of the myriad different ways a teleporting monster could exhaust them with a futile pursuit before killing them. His skin puckered into cold gooseflesh. Smart. This critter was smart. Suddenly, he saw Peter jerk his head as if a fly had landed on his ear. Peter scowled and shook his head again. Then he turned his Scrambler up to its highest setting. That couldn’t feel good. “Pete? You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m Mithter Thenthitive, y’know, and I can feel the Seven testing the defenses.” He tapped his forehead. Winston nodded and watched him twitch again. Poor guy. Winston, himself, didn’t feel anything and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

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

"It teleports, Ray. I bet it can float, too. There's no need for it to touch any surface unless it wants to." Winston said. His active imagination was working hard and he tried to curb it. Tried not to think about the circumstances wherein a demon would touch his friends. With claw and fang. "There's no trapping it that way." Ray didn't exactly pout but it was pretty close.

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

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

Peter let go of his thrower for a split second to throw his hand in the air. "We haven't been in here five minutes and we're already in a standoff?! I hate this! Janine’s gonna laugh when Ray tells her."

“He doesn’t have to say anything.”

“Sure, I do!” Ray gasped. “We can’t leave her out.”

“Tattletale,” Peter stressed. Then he sighed. The sound Winston recognized as his Time to Play Fearless Leader sigh. "Okay. It looks like we have to play the game," Peter decided.

"Split up?" Egon asked, scowling.

"Hell’s peckers, no! If Red-Eye wants his pound of flesh he'll have to play by our rules. We'll go to him and he'll torture us, following standard demon procedure. He’ll have to come closer to do that and that’s when we'll get him. Or half of him. Then we’ll go after the other half.”

“And if that half should half itself?” Winston asked.

Peter shrugged, looking tired already. “We’ll just hoover him up piece by piece, then. Now, question is, do we want to be tortured in the belfry or the basement?" Peter raised his hand, "I vote basement."

Winston shook his head, "Too much crap to trip over in a basement. I vote belfry."

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

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

"Basement!"

"Egon?"

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

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

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


******************


His ready ploy to separate them had failed and Red-Eye brought all of himself to the belfry to wait and think. Pain. They had actually given him pain with their human machines. Those damned boxes of steel and wire had driven him back immediately and closed their minds to him. Red-Eye cursed the asinine over-confidence that had prevented him from delving deeper into their souls when he had the chance but the lusciously fearful crowd had distracted him. Well, he didn't know! They had no magic! How was he to know they could hurt him with machines! Stupid human machines! He could leave but no, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. And he truly loved a challenge.Think. What little did he know already? As their blatant, noisy vehicle arrived what had these 'Ghost Busters' been thinking of? They had been relaxed, and curious as to what manner of creature they would be fighting, insulting each other, thinking salacious thoughts of their red-headed woman and glorying in the acclaim of their people. Not much to work with.

Wait.

Their woman.

Janine.

Janine and machines.

At 'Ghost Buster Central.'

Machines.

Oh, yes.YES!

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

Most commonly known as the telephone.


*********************


“Ma! Listen to me! No, I’m not taking that job. I don’t care how much Aunt Enid wants to pay me, I’m not running that shop. I work here and I’m not leaving. Ma, honestly. No. No, it’s NOT too dangerous!” To Janine Melnitz’s great relief, the other line beeped. “Hang on, there’s another call coming in.” She put her mother on hold and tried not to wish she had the magic ability to do that indefinitely. She pressed another button. "Ghostbuster Central, damn it!"

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

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

"We have here, in our hot little hands, one devastatingly strong, handsome and intelligent demon who enjoys table tennis and walks on the beach..."

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

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

She hung up on him. Then Janine took a strengthening breath and pressed the other button. “Ma, that was Doctor V, they need a hand. Oh, no, nothing dangerous at all. Yes, I know you hate the guys. Yes, I know. Don’t worry. Pleeeease don’t worry. Yes, I’ll call you as soon as I get back. Love you, too. I gotta run. I gotta run! Bye!”

She made her escape and rushed to change out of her stylish (blue) mini-skirt and into coveralls and combat boots. She snapped a Scrambler onto her wrist. The call to assist in a bust wasn’t a rare thing but it wasn't a common one either and Janine buckled her utility belt with excitement and dread. Nothing dangerous, she’d said. Nah, Sevens weren’t dangerous. They just, y’know, would love to wipe their demonic asses with your flayed skin, that’s all. She felt a moment of self-pity. There was little the guys couldn't handle on their own and almost all of her experience was with the more dangerous entities. She had never busted a simple ghost. Kinda ironic. Mom did not approve. But at least the deadlier creatures didn't drip ectoplasmic slime so much. Ick.

Pumping up her courage, Janine shouted to the empty firehouse. "Look out! The Fifth Ghostbuster comin’ atcha!" Locking the doors behind her, she raced off to the rescue.


*******************


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

Peter, Ray, Winston and Egon were exhausted. The constant back-to-back maneuvering as one demon came at them from all directions was sheer aggravation. However, the heavy weight of their packs, the pursuit that led them to the top of the belfry and back down to the main floor, and the infrequent chances to shoot at Red-Eye were not a factor in their almost complete loss of morale. Red-Eye, the mimic from hell, was using Janine Melnitz's voice to imitate her murder.

“HELP ME, GUYS!! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

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

"EEGONNN! Egon! Egon! Help me, PLEASE!"

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

"It's not real, guys. It's not real. It's not her. It's not real," Peter was chanting.The screams got louder and Egon was snarling as he adjusted his shaking meter. The others waited for his signal, waited to be shown where to shoot. He suddenly thrust his finger up and to the left. They fired, ripping across the vaulted ceiling high above them. The terrible sound of Janine being whipped became a genuine yowl from Red-Eye. Stunned into visibility, it took him considerably longer to tear himself away this time but he managed it. Swirls of dust and glittering chips of stone coated the four men. Blessed silence descended for a moment. The Seven was getting slower and weaker. They all were.

"When I see Janine again," Ray gasped, slumping against the wall. "I'm going to be so happy. God, I can't wait." The others agreed. Egon noticed that Ray’s skin was grey and dark smudges were under his haunted eyes. "We’ll have a group hug!" Ray clawed his hands through his hair and smiled.

Winston reached over and picked a bloody stone chip out of his friend’s neck. He flicked it to the floor. Ray smiled his thanks. "Group hug?" Peter also smiled, weakly. "More like a dogpile. And you know how much she hates those." Egon said nothing and went back to compulsively checking and rechecking his PKE meter. Yes, it was still just the four of them and the demon in the church. Peter put a hand on Egon's wrist and the tall man jumped. "Put it down, Spengs. She's not here. She's safe at the firehouse." Egon shrugged and Peter pressed a little harder."The worst human fear in the world is to see or hear someone you love in pain. That thing knows it and he's using it against us. We were talking about Janine when we drove up. Don't listen to him. Don't let it get to you." Peter's voice was firm and calm. Egon was comforted by the lecture. Being the definitive academic, a lecture on tittle-bats would have comforted him, really. He slowly nodded and reluctantly put the meter away. "She's not here." Peter repeated firmly. "She's safe at the firehouse."

He fell silent and all four drooped, resting for a few minutes. ‘Janine’ screamed again, further away this time, in the direction of the basement. "GET OFF! GET OFF! EGON! I'M HERE!! I'M HERE! THE DEMON'S HERE! RAAAYYY!"

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


*********************


Janine was thrown against the wall, hard. Gasping, she jumped up again. Her pack...her pack...it was gone.

Traffic had been miserable and it was forty minutes before she reached her destination. Philip Frank and his men had ushered her right inside. She was a Ghostbuster, after all, and, alone, she had cautiously stepped in and listened for sounds of a fight. The silence was unnerving. Her radio was useless, thanks to the Scramblers she and the guys were wearing - a drawback of their design that Ray had promised to correct when he had the time. Then Egon's voice had drawn her into the cavernous basement, "Janine, down here! We need you!" Relieved, she went.

Now, she was trapped. A trap. It had been a trap. She was caught in an enormous cave of a basement, almost a catacomb, full of dust and the collected debris of years. She was alone, her pack was gone and red eyes the size of baseballs were staring out at her from the dark.

"Hola!"

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus.

Literally.

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

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

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


*******************


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will it affect us?" Peter wearily inquired. 'Janine's' screams were getting weaker.

"Yes. We aren't exactly psi-blind ourselves. It will be very painful but there should be no permanent damage." Egon adjusted his eyeglasses, dirty with sweat and dust.

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

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

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

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


**********************


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

Janine understood. The guys wouldn't come. There would be no help. No last-minute rescue. Nothing. This...thing had been playing a 'Cry Wolf' game. She would scream no more. She could barely breathe anyway. The ropes binding her to the logs were impossibly tight but she was thankful they were there. Without them her hands and feet would have pulled free from the green knitting needles that had been hammered through them and she would have fallen a long way to the ground, tendons torn, crippled. She counted herself lucky. Red Eye had wanted to use the Burlington Northern Railroad spikes but had decided that amount of mutilation would be aesthetically unpleasing. He didn't want her to bleed to death before he had a chance to destroy her properly. The needles were cold in her flesh and they hurt. Oh, wow, they hurt..

Red-Eye finished off her Five Wounds by slashing a deep cut just under her right breast with his fore-claw. Janine gasped and felt the blood well and flow down her ribs. Sucking his finger, Red-Eye moved away to find materials for the finishing touch. She was exhausted. How odd. She never realized how tiring pain could be. Her throat was raw. Her body shook with horror. Shock. She was going into shock. There was disbelief, too. Anger. Fear. A gnawing loneliness. Her friends were so close. This old church echoed and she could occasionally hear a booted footstep. A low voice. The metallic clang of some tool being dropped on the floor. So close. They were so close.

"Phasma Regina." Red-Eye intoned softly, twirling samples of barbwire that had set off the Wild West Range Wars into a crown of thorns. "Or is it Idolarum Regina? Regina Idolarum? Mea culpa, my Latin is weak. Ghost Queen. The Fifth Ghostbuster." The crimson glow of his eyes reflected off the polished, sharpened steel barbs. Janine swallowed, waiting. "I crown thee the Queen of the Ghosts." He jammed the terrible circlet onto her brow and gave it a small, vicious twist. She remained silent.

Red-Eye returned to the Wild West display and picked up a three-foot bayonet that had been authenticated as coming direct from the Alamo. "They're entirely too quiet up there. Time for me to leave. Time for you to die." He's going to pin me right through the heart, Janine realized. Pin me like a butterfly on display. Red-Eye spun the bayonet through the air, making it give off a deep, bullroarer thrum. "Now might be a good time to start crying. Final confessions? I'm a good listener." Blood dripped down her closed mouth. A vein in her temple pulsed with hatred. "Come ON now! You are going to die. Won't you cry a single tear, at least? Isn't your life worth one little tear?" He stepped close and drew a gentle claw from her eye to her chin, Egon's voice dripping with false sympathy. "Don't you have regrets? Won't you miss your men? No? You won't miss them? I don't blame you. The things they said about you!" He whispered in her ear, conspiratorially, being sure to send a breath of air down her neck. "The things they thought about you. I saw you in their minds. Your naked body! The imagery! I was disgusted, I really was."

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

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

"Shut up."

"Tossing you onto that Four-Poster bed of his would be such fun. He's sure of it. Then there's Ray. Dr. Stantz. Goodness, this should really surprise you. He loves you. Loves you with all of his considerable soul. Oh, sure, he wants you, too. Ray's favorite fantasy is the one where his hands roam down your shoulders to your breasts as he leans in for a long kiss, a real kiss, a deep kiss, one that warms a person up as the nuns say. Not the disappointing peck on the lips you gave him last New Year's.”

"Be quiet."

"You wouldn't notice him if he were on fire, though. You break his heart every day. His enormous, loving heart."

"Be quiet!"

"Winston likes your legs. He’d really like them draped over his shoulders."

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

"Since I love you so very much, I will be." To hear those sincere words in Egon's voice made Janine shiver with hate. Red-Eye put an ear to her chest and savored her heartbeat for a moment, then drew away and raised the bayonet again. "The longer I talk the longer you get to live but your wish is my command. Goodbye, Your Highness." He placed the rusty tip directly over her sternum. It was cold. Janine was rigidly waiting, determined not to make a sound, not a single peep or a flinch or a wince. She was going to die well. If nothing else in her life she was going to do THIS very, very well.

A sudden shock of pain swept through her skull and she found enough energy to groan. Her muscles began to spasm. The bayonet hit the floor with a clang and she opened her eyes. Red-Eye was...melting? Sudden dim hope fixed her attention on the demon. It was unable to hold its form. It became a blurry red column of flailing energy and inarticulate despair. Janine could feel it. She could feel Red-Eye losing cohesiveness. Janine grinned. "You go, guys! Get him! Gethimgethimgethimgethim!" Wheezing, she rejoiced.

The pain in her head stopped, her limbs stilled, and she let out a gasp of deep disappointment. Red-Eye writhed and formed again, staggering up. His legs were uneven and he stumbled. He practically flopped in confusion as he fought to regain his equilibrium. "Kill," he croaked. Not in Egon's voice but the shattered tones of Janine's own. "I'm going to kill them." Demented and unaware of a job undone he left Janine and fled the basement. "I'm going to kill them," reverberated through the dusty air and Janine's own mind.

Janine disagreed. She raised her head and shut her eyes, sending a silent Thank You in the direction of her guys. Then she smiled, somewhat ashamed. She should have had faith.



****************



"He's coming for us. Ready?" Ray asked, his eyes watering. “Peter, you okay?”

Peter nodded, pale as death. Egon’s great idea had taken ten years off his life, he was sure of it, but his foot hovering over the pedal that activated his ghost trap was steady. At the other end of the hall, Egon was crouched over the trigger of his own trap and Winston gripped his proton rifle beside him. Ray was scanning. This wouldn't work if the Seven was coherent enough to come at them from above or below. "C'mon, you shit," Peter snarled. "Follow the path of least resistance!"

Ray studied his PKE meter and raised his hand. "Two of him. Pincer movement. Coming at us through the hallways, hallelujah. And he’ll get to ours first, Peter." Peter nodded again, ready, readier than he had ever been in his life. "Five...four...three...two...NOW!!"

Peter stomped the pedal, just in time for Red-Eye to charge into the piercing white light of the trap. He fired, capturing the confused, weakened Seven and Ray joined him, their beams holding the creature in place as the trap, quickly, inexorably, sucked him in. The trap slammed shut and Peter and Ray hooted lin triumph. Winston and Egon ignored them. Both men were cursing. They almost harmonized, they were so angry.

"What happened?" Ray asked, dragging Peter's smoking trap by the cables towards them.

"Our half never even showed!" Winston explained. He threw his arms in the air. “Lord, give some strength!”

Peter’s joy crashed into deep disappointment. All that damn pain and they'd only caught half? Egon swiped Peter's meter and began taking furious readings. Grabbing instruments was a very bad habit of his but, deferring to the Meter Master, Peter said nothing. Too fast. It had all happened too fast.

Egon bared his teeth in a dreadful grin. "Sacrifice tactic. Idiot. It's lost half its substance. It's going up the stairs on foot. It must be incapable of teleportation, or splitting, now."

"Crippled. Let's get it. Let's show it some real noise!" Peter sprinted for the stairs. "HAIYAHHH!"

"YEEEOOWWWW!" Winston was beside him.

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

"AAAHHRRROOOOOOOO!"

"AARRRRRGGGHHHHH!"

"RRRAAAARRRRRRRRRR!"

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


*********************


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

No matter. Red-Eye staggered over to one of several ornate openings to the outside, cringing from the bright sunlight that poured in from all directions in the huge, circular chamber. He would leap from the tall tower and fly into the crowd. They would panic and scatter, covering his trail. Those ‘Ghostbusters’ would be delayed as they sought a safer route down. By the time they reached the ground he would be long gone. But Red-Eye swore he'd be back. They had won the first battle but the demon would win the war. His strength would return after many feedings, his mind would clear and then...then...he would stalk them and kill them...one...at...a...time. Slowly. Lovingly.

He jumped, shrieking, stretching his wings.

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

An entwined beam of scarlet and blue energy caught him and snapped him to a halt so sharp it would have broken every bone in his body had he any. Red-Eye roared, he fought, claws, teeth and tail whipping at the air frantically as Egon shortened his proton stream and began to drag him back inside. Red-Eye grew a tentacle and wrapped it around a thin, metal spire, hanging on for all he was worth. A second beam joined Egon's and the spire broke. Ray was on the scene, too. Red Eye’s claws left scrapes on the stone as they pulled him back inside.

"YOU WILL DIE! YOU WILL DIE!" Whipping his tendril around like a giant, medieval flail, Red Eye sent the sharp barb hurtling towards Egon.

"DOWN!" Ray shouted.

Egon stopped firing and dove out of the way, almost breaking his wrist on the hard floor. He rolled and rolled again as Red-Eye brought the wrecked metal spire crashing down again and again, his mobility increasing with just one beam around him. "HANG ON, RAY!" Egon cried. Ray hung on like a rabid dog. The Seven turned on him next, throwing the twisted clump of steel with enough force to impale. Ray turned and let his reinforced proton pack take the blow. The impact threw him against the granite wall and he bounced off, hurting and winded.

"RAY!" Winston and Peter had arrived and they rushed the fallen man as Egon regained his feet.

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

*************

No. Egon snared him a second time in mid-air. Another beautiful shot. Winston joined him, then Peter and Ray. They dragged him inexorably, mercilessly back inside. Trapped like a bloated, blood-sucking insect in their vital web of energy, Red-Eye struggled uselessly. The men could feel the Seven's desperation beating on their skin. They were almost overcome with justified fascination and joy as they watched Red-Eye frantically writhe. Caught, caught, caught, yes, yes, yes.

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

"Yeah, we still got you, my pretty!" Winston crowed. "You and your little dog, too!" Most would have been content to let the thing fry in four proton streams all day but Winston unhooked a trap from his belt and threw it out. Stomping on the pedal, he opened the trap wide, sending an intolerable white light throughout the belfry. The people below covered their eyes from the glaring display of energy, but this light was clean. Clean and pure and strong and it sucked what was left of the Class Seven in.

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

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

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

The ‘Trap Full’ light began to blink in a self-satisfied sort of way. Egon checked Peter’s PKE meter, attuned specifically for any and all demonic signals. Nothing. "No further trace of the Seven. We got all of it." They glared down at the ghost trap in deep satisfaction.

Then “YEEEEHAAAAA!” Peter crowed. They broke into a victory dance, “Boom Shakka Lakka Lakka BOOM!! Shakka Lakka Lakka BOOM!!”

So much for Red Eye’s War.


********************


Egon, ever dignified, stopped first. Their pain caused the rest to quickly do the same. Peter rubbed his eyes and turned off his Scrambler with a groan of relief. What a goddamn splitting headache. At least he didn't have to watch his thoughts anymore. At least the screaming was ended. Goddamn Feeders. "How long d’you think these psi-migraines are going to last, Egon?"

"Around three days for us," Egon indicated himself, Winston and Ray "But, ah, It might be a little longer for you. Possibly five days."

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

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

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

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

Peter adjusted his thrower to its lowest setting. "This is gonna kill my head but I can't pass this up." He aimed at the largest, shiniest bell, this church’s answer to Big Marie, and fired.

GONG!

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

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

"Peter!"

Peter made a leap and clamped his arms around his long-suffering friend. "SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY!" Ray laughed, flying off balance. Both men crashed to the ground. Winston scraped them up, slowly, moving like a careful sea-diver. Peter dusted himself off and grabbed the still-smoking trap. "Let's go meet 'em." He sent one last, stronger, blast at Big Marie and the tones almost knocked him off his feet again. He was laughing. His eyes were red and watering from the pain in his cranium and the nightmare of the last hour but he was laughing. They had won. Of course they had. Best of all, no secrets were known and no one was hurt. (Beyond a week-long headache.) Why can't all busts go so well?

He raised the trap and let out a new hunting cry, “MMMORPHIIIIINE!!!



***********************


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

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

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

"Dudes, thank you!"

"Ya'll were great!"

"Those lights! What were those lights?"

"Thank you!"

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Thanks so much!

"Where's Janine?" Frank asked, looking over Peter's shoulders.

Peter shook his head. "Janine's not here. You must have heard the Class Seven."

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

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

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

Silence.

Black silence.

"You did what?" Peter calmly asked. The Ghostbusters were staring at Frank and he began to sweat. His congregation tensed. Some began to back, very, very slowly, and discreetly, away." I let her in myself. She said you were having trouble and called her for backup." Frank looked at Ray for reassurance. Ray ignored the clergyman and scraped his nails through his scalp. His eyes were clamped shut.

"No. No, she's not here. She's safe."

Face completely blanched of color, Egon set the PKE meter for Janine's biorhythms.

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

"She's here," Egon said. "She's alive." Egon turned and ran, shoving people out of his way. "She's in the basement!"

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

Ray crumpled to his knees so fast Frank was left staring stupidly at the space he had been. Winston shot after Egon. And Peter...Frank looked around at the leader.

Peter, trap cables coiled around his fist, let fly. Frank's head rocked violently back and he was out before he even hit the floor. People screamed and two cops blocked Peter from reaching the downed clergyman. The press turned back."Call an ambulance!!" Peter snarled at the police officers and jerked away from them.

He hauled Ray to his feet."Oh, Peter, no. Please, no. She's not down there."

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

TBC