Hungry Ray - 3

[bloodcount]

"Where did you see worse?"

Winston pointed his thumb in the direction of the street. “Right outside. Come and see.” Winston turned and led the way as his teammates obediently followed like cattle. Moo, Ray thought. Up the basement steps, across the garage and up even more flights of stairs the four men journeyed the entire three-story length of the firehouse and emerged on the roof. The sticky, hot July humidity wrapped around them immediately. Winston indicated the sky with a flourish.

“Yecch, again.” Ray spoke for them all. Billowing black storm clouds churned with an oppressive intensity over the city of New York. An awful, sickly green glow, reminiscent of tornado weather, illuminated their faces and made the healthy men seem cadaverous. The wail of sirens blasted their ears as fire trucks raced down the street below. In the distance, brown and unhealthy smoke spiraled up to mix with the ominous clouds.

Lightning exploded across the sky, thousands of volts of deadly electricity illuminated the fearfully scuttling sewer rats as they abandoned the mounds of refuse abandoned on the street by the garbage men of the city, who just happened to be On Strike again. Thunder rumbled through their very bones and a few drops of rain began to fall.

“There’s no place like home,” Peter observed sourly as he watched a news helicopter begin to stalk a police helicopter steadily spotlighting a hopelessly fleeing criminal on the streets below. Perhaps it had something to do with the fire. Who knew? Egon and Winston seemed ill.

“It’s not this bad all the time!” Ray defensively looked over his city. Another flash of lightning lit up his face and he gave up. “Ah, well. Shoot. I’m glad Miss Victorian Ophelia never saw this wondrous sight.”

“She saw me. That was wonder enough,” Peter said.

Ray rolled his eyes.

“Ray,” Peter started. He hesitated and drew in a guilty breath. “I really am sorry for jumping on your case back there.”

“Peter, don’t.” Ray felt spotlighted, too, and uncomfortable.

“No, let me finish, I…”

“I mean it, Peter. Don’t.” A steady and stubborn tone of iron emphasized Ray’s words. “C’mon, it’s already forgotten.” Please, please forget it. Let the world rotate in peace. Let everyone lapse back into happy, happy, joy, joy.

Winston changed the subject. It seemed to be his day for it. “Man, I wish people had come flying out of the walls when I tried to convince my dad that there was more to the world than just the things he could see, hear, taste, touch and smell.” He leaned his elbows on the wall. “Mama believed me, I think. Or, at least she supported me when the arguments started up. These days she’s all fascinated by our business and she’s driving Dad nuts. Dad swears he doesn’t know anything about anything anymore and would we all please shut up?” Winston spared a snicker for Big Ed Zeddemore’s difficulties.

Peter gave up trying to bore a hole into Ray’s head with his eyes, much to Ray’s relief, and grinned. “My mom was a believer, too. She had too much Irish in her not to believe, I think. God, ghosts and the little people were alive and well in her mind and our house, I loved it. She told the best stories.” Peter paused. “Dad believes whatever he needs to in order to get his way with people. Feh.” He stuck out his tongue, disgusted. “What about you Egon?”

“Like Winston’s dad my own father was bound by the need for empirical evidence to believe in anything. What he believes now, I really can’t say nor do I care to find out. Of course, Mother is practically the Sixth Ghostbuster.”

Peter slapped his palms together in a quick round of applause for Mrs. Ariadne Spengler. “She was so great against the Blood Hags. ‘Get your filthy hands off my son, you Crones!’ ZAP! BLAM! I love that woman!” Peter enthused.

Egon stood straight and tall as pride radiated from every inch of him. “One of her finest moments. She loves you, too, Peter. Very much. What about your parents, Raymond?” Ray was scratching a pattern into the brick wall with a thumbnail. “Raymond?”

“Earth to Ray!” Peter shouted.

Ray jumped. “Oh! Sorry. I’m…Y’know, I really don’t remember much, they died when I was thirteen, but Dad was the practical type, too. He told me stories, though, The Monkey’s Paw and such like that. He was great, I remember that.” He gazed at the indigo clouds. He thought about saying more but visibly stopped himself. Lapse back into happy, happy…

“What about your mom?” Peter asked gently.

“My mom?” Ray tried to throw a stoic mask over his grief and guilt.

“Yeah, Yo Mama. What did she believe in? How great was she?” Peter’s green eyes were compassionate but sharp. Too sharp.

Ray realized Peter could see right through him. Of course he could, Peter sees everything, he’s like a goddamned Argus. Ray whipped around. “Oh, she was all right, too. I better go shut off the portal. All we need is a power surge when it’s open.” Feeling hounded and depressed, for more reasons than the ugly atmosphere of the city, he bounded towards the stairs and disappeared.






Peter watched him go then helplessly raised his face to the sporadic drops of rain. “Damn, the ‘magic’ fight upset him. I’m such a friggin’ idiot.”

“C’mon, Pete, you’ve been through a lot thanks to sorcery. You’re entitled to lose your cool every once in a while,” Winston decided.

“Am I allowed the same respite for my part in the argument?” Egon asked him hopefully.

“No. You’re going straight to hell, Evil Bastard.”

“I surmised as much.” Egon threw his head back in a mocking imitation of Peter’s anguish and the psychologist laughed at them both. He decided to explain himself.

“That’s not why I’m an idiot, Winston,” Peter said. “Not just that. Lately, I’ve…well, I’ve noticed that the more we lean on Ray’s Occult knowledge the more upset he gets. I mean, we’ve been busting a lot more than ghosts this past year. The Blood Hags alone almost sent him into therapy.”

Winston turned around in surprise. “I’ve noticed that, too. He gets touchy. Defensive. He was ready to throw down with Egon.”

“Not only that but I think, I mean, I’m beginning to suspect that the occult had something to do with his parents' deaths.” Peter’s voice was pained.

Egon startled. “They died in a house fire while Ray was at camp. Why do you think the accident was paranormal?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I have absolutely no proof. His Mom might have done something since he absolutely refuses to acknowledge her existence. I don’t know.” Peter tilted his head back to the light rain again but quickly brought it down as he remembered Egon’s mimicry. “Just one of my Venkman Pseudo-Psychic Bullshit Hunches. Patent pending.”

“For ‘bullshit’ you’re consistently right, still. But no proof is driving you crazy, huh, Nostradamus?” Winston sympathized.

“As usual. I don’t know what happened or what it has to do with his Mom and Ray won’t talk to me. He doesn’t want to ‘upset’ me. He’s got a point, too, especially after the way I just behaved. Damn. They’re going to take my psychology license away.”

“He’ll fall eventually, Pete, don’t get discouraged,” Winston said.

Peter sighed. “Thanks, Winston. And ‘eventually’ nothing! Soon. It’s all coming to a crisis, I can feel it, and I know I can help him. He’ll talk to me, even if I have to bring on the Spanish Inquisition’s finest to help me break him. No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” he muttered.

“I’m sure it would take a great deal of torture before Ray, the most stubborn person I know, will open up on that particular subject, Peter,” Egon said. “It’s going to take time, Freud,” Egon said. Peter didn’t answer and Egon sighed.

Another flash ripped across the sky. Again, Peter noted the contrast between their world and their Dickensian experience was disheartening and obvious. The storm was breaking.

Breaking fast.

“Soon. It’s all going to blow up soon,” said a low, sleepy voice.

“What Peter?” Winston asked.

“Huh?” Peter snapped out of his semi-trance. “I mean…hell, I don’t know what I meant. Ignore me.” Peter himself ignored the gooseflesh that had suddenly risen on his skin. Gazing at the sickenly churning sky, he said “Bleah. I don’t know about you guys but I’m heading for the hills. No, I’m leaving for the tropics on the very next banana boat,” he decided. “Daylight come and me wan go home! C’mon, guys.” He, Egon and Winston turned their backs on the squalling wind and headed in.

“The tropics my ass. I’m going to the mountains.” Winston’s face became dreamy. “Fresh, cool mountain air and clean mountain streams. Where are you running away to, Egon?”

“I would prefer a dense, deciduous forest. With a lake.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled.

The hair on Peter’s arms stood up straight and his wristwatch began to vibrate. He stared at his arms, surprised, and suddenly realized what it meant. “DOWN! GET DOWN!” he shouted, horrified.

The three battle-conditioned men immediately threw themselves out of the way as a bolt of electric death struck the place they had been standing. They curled into panicked balls as the smell of ozone filled their lungs. Blinded by the pure light they covered their faces.

The flash was gone.

Unrolling like dazed pillbugs they looked around. Peter felt a new electrical build-up in his hair and on his skin. Even the fillings in his teeth began to thrum with the increasing charge and he lurched towards the door.

“MOVEMOVEMOVE!!!” Leaping on all fours after him Winston and Egon were immediately behind him when another bolt struck, the indirect force of it pushing them all forwards into each other. Slamming against the wood, Peter reached up, grabbed for the doorknob and hung on, forgetting, in his fear, that his objective was to turn it and go in. Egon and Winston were unable to think even that far ahead and the three men clung to each other.

And then it was over.

As if any sudden movement would attract the notice of more feral lightning they slowly struggled to their feet and numbly checked themselves for injuries. Egon blinked rapidly, long fingers stroking his naked face. Then he sank to the rooftop again and began to gently pat around with his hands.

The rain began to fall in earnest as Peter and Winston inspected the charred scoring of the rooftop. Wisps of smoke began to diminish as the shell-shocked men regained their breath. “The lights,” Winston muttered. “The lights are out all over the block.”

“Let’s go down and check the backup generator. I don’t hear any alarms so it should have kicked in okay but I want to make sure.” Peter said, still dazed. He saw a reflected gleam next to his feet and picked up Egon’s glasses. He pressed them into the scientist’s groping hand. “Here y’go, Velma.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

Peter managed to turn the doorknob, open the door and go in. Admiring his dexterity, the other two followed him downstairs. “Winston, put lightning rods on the shopping list,” he decreed.

“Gotcha.”

Peter made a couple of experimental hops. He was sound. He broke into a run. “RAYYYY!! We almost got Crispy Crittered! Twice!” Winston laughed and hurriedly pulled Egon after the mobile freak-out that was Peter Venkman.

“Ray?! Twice, Ray! We almost got fried twice! So much for the odds, huh?” Peter jumped breathlessly into the empty basement. “Ray? Aw, hell, he’s not here.” Dimly he could sense another barrage of thunder shaking the firehouse and spared a concerned thought for Janine and the lunch run she was making in the middle of the wickedest storm he’d ever seen.

Egon moved to check Ray’s most volatile experiments, trying to straighten the twists in his wire-frames as he went. Winston began a diagnostic on the Containment Unit. Luckily, everything seemed undamaged, the nuclear powered machinery still hummed softly but powerfully.

Peter moved towards the dark Dimensional Locater. “At least Ray shut off the portal in time. I’d hate to think of Mordor’s nasties busting through the shield to our side.” His eyes moved over the controls and his stomach suddenly rolled. He hissed, “Guys!”

“What?” Alarmed, Egon and Winston moved to his side.

“The shut off sequence wasn’t completed. Looks like the power surge killed the locater before Ray could completely shut it down. Look.” Peter flicked a dead switch on and off. “Ray wouldn’t leave the portal like this. Where is he?”

Winston cocked his head and listened. Egon and Peter became quiet. Motes of dust floated loudly down.

There was no sound. “RAYMOND!” Egon shouted in a bass voice that could penetrate every corner of the three-story building. There was no answer. No life.

“Empty. The firehouse is empty.” Winston muttered. Peter’s heart began to double-time it in fear as another rumble of thunder shook through the world. “Where’s Ray?”






Mordor. Mordor looked like Ray felt. Empty. Hungry. Lonely. The grey murk made the graveyard of jagged stone spires indefinable and coated everything it touched with black, bitter-tasting dust. It formed a thick, unhealthy skin over the oily puddles of water and rustling thickets of vegetation that made up Ray’s Bog, his chief source of water.

Mordor. Where the cold, piercing wind didn’t blow…

…it sucked.

How did this happen? How? Ray shook his head in a sharp gesture of disbelief. Finding no acceptable answers, and expecting none, really, he left his brief moment of rest behind and turned back to his work.

Another sharp boulder positioned just right and the wall blocking the mouth of Ray's sheltered cave on a hilltop, well on it’s way towards becoming a fort, was rebuilt again. Working with his hands and his mind, as he tried to devise a structure that couldn’t be torn down, kept him from dwelling on his desperate problems. He crawled inside, away from the chilling wind that never seemed to affect the perpetual fog. He distinctly preferred walling himself up in stone than staying outside. The distinct boundaries of the surrounding cave felt less claustrophobic than the horizon-less grey waste of the land. He plugged the entrance behind him with another boulder.

The third day had been the worst. Ray had once read a New York Times interview of a homeless woman who maintained that her hunger pains would lessen after three days. If you can just get past the third day, she said, then the meals could come as infrequently as you pleased. You got used to the hunger, it becomes a part of you.

Ray's third day had come and gone and he was relieved to note that that poor woman had been right. The intolerable wrenching pain in his stomach had subsided to a strong ache in his entire body as exhaustion and weakness set in and his shock had worn off.

Ray was now on his fourth day. Four long, miserable days in this strange, frightening dimension. He rubbed sticky grit out of his eyes and left black streaks on his fingers. The fear and the unreality of his situation had been exhausting but the worst part now was the waiting. Ray was waiting for his friends to come. Waiting to go home at last. Waiting for a chili cheese hot dog and a coke to appear before him in a burst of pixie dust.

He blew a violent and resigned breath out of his lungs and crawled out of his blocked cave. No better time like the present. Ray walked to the edge of the nearest dank puddle and kneeled down, skimming the oily dust away with one hand. Ray inspected his reflection. He was a pudgy, exhausted man with auburn hair and laugh lines around his amber brown eyes. However, pudgy was the definitive word. He must have gained ten pounds since the Blood Hags incident alone.

"Y'know," Ray said to the man in the mud. "You'd probably live up to two months without food, considering all the reserves you've got stored up."

An eerie howl in the distance brought his head up sharply. It was not the wind and it was not the first time he'd heard it. "But you see," he continued, "You really need to keep your strength up. So."

He bent over the stinking water again and stirred up the goop with both hands. He felt something squirm under his fingers and he captured it quickly. The thing, whatever it was, was small and nasty, segmented, with no eyes and too many waving legs. Ray spoke to it with regret. "I'm sorry. I really am. But I've got to hold out until the guys get here."

Hoping it wasn't too poisonous he flicked the mud off, stuffed it into his mouth and bit down, killing it. He chewed. Maybe it was the hunger but it wasn't as foul as he thought it would be. Its juices had a stinging citrus quality. His hungry body compulsively swallowed it.

A chilled shudder shook him. Repulsed down to his toes he still smiled, cracking the dry skin on his lips. "Slimy yet...satisfying."

Sighing, he resolutely dug through the muck again, singing softly to himself. "Hakuna Matata! It's a problem freeeeee philosopheeeee! Hakuna Matata!"






“He’s through! He got pulled through! Calm down!” Peter shouted at himself. He followed his own order and stopped gripping his hair. As one, he and Winston jumped to detach the Locater's control panel covering to assess the extent of the damage. They flipped the shell of the unit carelessly behind them and it landed with a dull clang that echoed around the terribly empty basement lab.

Egon attacked the Locater's computerized coordination system. “The last dimension was ‘Mordor?’ Is that the actual name or a nickname?”

“Ray’s nickname for it. The actual name is Zero Gamma Alpha Gamma. O GAG for short. Christ, we just found it. We just named it,” Peter answered through his teeth. Egon turned to the computer and began to reboot it. Peter ran his hands down the strips and bundles of multicolored wires and found no fraying, melting or breakage. He double-checked every inch. “The connectors are good. Zed?”

Winston finished his last test of several dials and switches. “The controls are alright. Looks like the lightning gave it a good jolt and shorted the shields but the breaker absorbed most of the voltage. No damage. Hardware operational.” He turned to Egon expectantly.

“Power on.” Egon slapped his hand down on the garishly painted ON/OFF switch and the lines began to hum. “Software diagnostic and reboot will be completed in four minutes.”

“We’re going in as soon as it’s up. Winston get your med kit and I'll get the firepower.”

“Right, Peter.”

They thoughtlessly left Egon alone, watching the recalibration process in stony, frightened silence, as they ran to prepare for their rescue mission. Peter remembered the slow, deliberate flick of the giant lizard’s tongue and ran faster.

The Portal remained dark.

tbc