Hungry Ray - 5

[bloodcount]

“I can’t get a fix on Ray’s position,” Egon announced as he glowered at the controls in front of him. Armed, taped up and ready for the worst Winston and Peter turned to him and opened their mouths to shout. Egon quickly raised a hand and stopped them. “I meant his exact position! The locater has still found his general location, an area of, roughly, one square mile. You’ll simply have to use the PKE meters to pinpoint him.”

Peter slumped with relief. “Thank you, Captain Tactless.”

Egon sighed. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you unnecessarily. I thought the locater was more accurate than this. There is some strange interference.”

“Dangerous?” Winston asked. Egon turned to him, palms up in a helpless, unknowing gesture.

Peter checked his watch. “It’s okay, Winston. He’s been over there less than fifteen minutes so, aside from a major case of the heebie-jeebies from all those goddamned bugs, he’ll be fine.” The portal shimmered into focus at last and Peter fought back a desire to turn his proton thrower on himself rather than cross over into Roach Heaven. Egon began the decontamination procedure and then he dropped the barrier shields. “Ah, god, it smells over there,” Peter groaned. “Ready, Winston?” Peter stepped through and the cold wind blew his hair. He looked at the scuttling whatsits and his skin began to itch.

“Hey, just try to keep up.” Winston followed, mouth puckering in disgust at the surroundings. “I take back what I said before. I’ve never seen anyplace worse.”

Peter was taking readings with his hand-held psychokinetic meter. He grinned. “Our boy’s alive and well and way over there.” He pointed in the direction of a far off, nearly invisible in the gloom, hill. Turning back to the portal he gave Egon a wave and set off. “Here we come to save the daaaaayyyyy!!” Winston waved also and Egon returned the gesture. The rescue party turned away and soon disappeared into the grey murk.

All Egon could do was eat Ray’s Mrs. Field’s cookies and wait.





Nasty, slimy strands of poisonous drool were whipped into the air as Peter caught the eight-foot lizard on the muzzle with a blast of protons. “Beat it!” Staggered by the impact the creature leveled a stare of brute astonishment at Peter as it dove for cover under a rocky overhang. Peter turned up the juice on his thrower. “I can’t believe I’m trying not to kill these screaming terrors. I’m trying to do them a favor but nooooo.” Peter felt no such consideration for the lower life-forms and lit up the landscape as he razed the ground ahead of him before moving forward.

Winston was directly behind him. “It’s worse in this dark. We can’t tell the difference between a rock and something with teeth. Ray must be going nuts.” Winston suddenly gasped, “Uh, Pete?” and moved to his friend’s side.
Peter looked at him. Winston seemed nervous. If Winston, calm incarnate, was nervous, something must be terribly wrong and it was a moment before Peter could work up the courage to ask. “What is it?” Winston had shown less fear when the first Screamin’ Lizard from Hell had jumped at them. Winston looked at Peter with an expression of mingled horror and…strong sympathy. Sympathy? Peter cocked his head at the uneasy man. Winston very deliberately looked Peter full in the face and then flicked his eyes upwards, past him. Peter very casually glanced behind.

“NO!” He spun completely around and stared in shock and horror at the rock wall behind him. A five-foot pentagram had been burned into its surface. A looped serpent with its tail in its mouth formed the circle and five more snakes overlapped each other in the shape of a whimsically wiggly star. It was rather beautiful in its powerful simplicity. Peter’s hand went to his forehead. Then he stepped up and ran his hand down the length of a pictograph of a boa constrictor.

Winston touched it, too, and glanced at Peter. “Looks like we’re not alone here, Pete. The interference Egon mentioned. It might have been a smokescreen for whoever did this.” Winston double-checked his meter. “I’m still only picking up Ray’s biorhythms. C’mon, let’s get to Ray before that,” he nodded at the pentacle. “That evil bastard does.”

“Wait, Winston.” Peter touched the pentagram again, drawing his hand over the entire five-foot length of the circle. “It doesn’t …feel…it doesn’t feel evil.”

“What?” Winston had his back to him, again. Winston noted a boulder that hadn’t been there earlier and he brought his thrower up and fired. The stalking Howler shrieked and fled.

Peter didn’t even turn around. He remained fixated on the stone, running his fingers over every serpentine curve. “Winston, these goddamn snakes are smiling. This whole thing looks like something out of a children’s book.” He traced the thin scars on his forehead again in a comparative manner. He gulped in the thin air. Wheezing he drew in again. Then he spun away. “Let’s get Ray and get the hell out of here.” He began to run in a careless, panicked beeline towards Ray’s coordinates and Winston shot after him.

“HALT!!” Winston put as much United States Marine Corps as he could into his barked command and Peter responded, slipping to a stop under a natural rock bridge. Despite the icy gusts his face was slick with sweat. “Pete, please, stick with me. Watch your ass at all times. Spare a thought to MY ass, too, and all three of us will get out alive, okay?”

“Okay.” Venkman wiped a cold hand across his mouth. “Sorry about that.”

“No prob. Are you going to throw up?” Winston put a bracing hand on his friend’s shoulder and took a cautious step back.

“Yes…wait…no, this nice poetry is calming me down just fine.”

“Poetry?!” It was Peter’s turn to throw a significant glance over Winston’s shoulder and the big man turned quickly. Words instead of snakes had been burned into Winston’s side of the arch.


Oh, lead me to a quiet cell
Where never footfall rankles,
And bar the window passing well,
And gyve my wrists and ankles.

Oh, wrap my eyes with linen fair,
With hempen cord go bind me,
And, of your mercy, leave me there,
Nor tell them where to find me.

Oh, lock the portal as you go,
And see its bolts be double....
Come back in half an hour or so,
And I will be in trouble.


“I will be in trouble?” Winston read aloud. “What the hell?”

“It’s a Dorothy Parker poem.’”

“I know that, it’s called ‘Portrait of the Artist.’” Winston snapped and then bit his tongue, apologetically. Peter smiled, knowing that being the only member of the team without a college degree sometimes made Winston defensive at inappropriate moments. Peter continued as if Winston had not interrupted at all.

“And it’s in Ray’s handwriting. I think he did the snakes, too.” Peter’s lips drew back from his teeth in an ape-like grimace of horror as he suddenly realized something. Something very important.

Winston waved his thrower back and forth like a metronome, dismissing Peter’s notion. “He couldn’t have drawn all that, Pete, that’s ridiculous. He just didn’t have the time.”

“The TIME, Winston!” Peter shouted and felt satisfaction when realization hit Winston Zeddemore, almost doubling him over.

The implications had Winston babbling. “Time? My god, the time!! We lost track of Ray’s TIME! Pete, there’s been a…what does Egon call it? A dimensional time differential?” Peter nodded again. “Oh, MAN!! How long has Ray been here? How the hell did he live without gear? Without a pack? Without someone to help!” Winston jumped back just in time as Peter leaned over and spat on the ground, fighting his nausea. “Deep breath, Pete, take a deep breath.” Winston holstered his thrower and swallowed.

“Aw, man.” Peter said, perversely glad that he’d brought Level Headed Winston down to his panicked level. Unable and unwilling to come up with something original he parroted Winston’s questions back. “How long has Ray been here? Alone? With nothing!?”

“Oh, we screwed up. We screwed up didn’t we?” Winston whispered, reminding Peter of a kid simply dying to escape detection and punishment.

“The portal had shut completely down, Zed. Time moved on.” Peter spit again and straightened up. “There is no way we could reorient the portal to pick him up right after he landed here, it’s not a Time Machine by H.G. Welles, but we did find his location and we’re here now. There’s nothing else we could have done!”

“Nothing else!” Winston agreed, nodding frantically.

“Nothing else!” Peter agreed with Winston’s agreement and motioned the rescue party to keep moving before further precious TIME was wasted in rationalizations and fear. Both men staggered out from under the arch. Peter checked his PKE meter. Half a mile to go. More lettering appeared on the side of a twisted stone spire, KILROY WAS HERE, complete with the traditional diagram of a bald-headed, big-nosed man peering over a fence. Both men hurried past it. Recovering as best he could, Peter took to razing the insectoids with his proton thrower again, obsessively clearing a path. Suddenly he spoke, making his comrade jump. “I’ve got a question for you, Zed. If Ray had nothing, absolutely nothing, how did he burn lines into solid rock?” That stumped them both and they found themselves pausing besides another poem to inspect it more closely.

The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks
Which cunningly conceals its sex.
I think it clever of the turtle
In such a fix…
…to be so fertile!

“That’s, uhhh, Shel Silverstein?” Peter guessed.

Winston said, “No. Ogden Nash.”

“Well, he was my second choice. Look, this wasn’t just burned in, the rock is downright melted in some spots. How did he do it?!”

Winston shrugged and pointed out, nearby, the immortal There Once Was A Man From Nantucket limerick. “Ray is quite the graffiti artist.”

“What else is there to do? There’s no cable in the sticks, y’know. At least he kept his sense of humor.” Peter shot from the hip into the shadows and a horrified howl and scrambling sounds were heard. “It’s getting darker. Let’s MOVE.” The hill was much closer now and they began to run towards it. Peter noticed that the runes, hieroglyphs, mottoes and verses were becoming more prolific and less finely executed the further they went. It seemed that Ray began his artistic stylings at home and spiraled outward, improving as he went. Where was home? Where the hell was Ray?!

I had a dream.
It was my own dream,
I dreamt it.
I dreamed that my hair was kempt.
And that my true love unkempt it.

Peter checked his PKE meter again and was relieved. Ray’s strong life signs were not even a hundred yards away. “Getting close, Zed!” he exulted and Winston rewarded him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his worried eyes. Peter knew how he felt. A dimensional time differential had time moving much faster for Dr. Stantz than it did for the folks at the firehouse. The Dimensional Locater kept the two dimensions in sync as long as it was open. How, Peter had no idea. Egon could explain about relative dimensional stasis, time freezing and Wagner’s operas until Peter turned blue and he still wouldn’t understand any of it. It just worked, that’s all that mattered. How much time had gone by for Ray? A sudden nightmarish image of finding Ray a feeble, toothless old man invaded his mind and he tripped over a rock out of sheer inattentive fear. He hit the ground and was up again, fast. The knees of his coverall were torn and he was bleeding. Peter didn’t even feel it.

Winston raised his eyebrows at him and Peter gave him an I’m Fine sign. They ran on. Ray’s graffiti had turned into chicken scratch. I Hate This Place and so on, written by simply scraping one stone against another. Peter calculated the time it would take to begin with dense rough sketches such as these and then graduating to the snake pentacle and refined script of the Dorothy Parker poem. Not very long, he decided. Maybe just a few weeks. Considering Ray started when he first arrived here and not on his fiftieth birthday. Peter shuddered and picked up the pace. It was the almost impenetrable gloom all around him that made him so morbid, he decided. “Winston, move closer. I can barely see you.”

Here lies Lester Moore
Who took three slugs from a .44
No Les No Moore!

“How far now?” Winston asked, coming near as instructed and standing back to back with Peter, throwers drawn against the darkness. Peter started climbing up the hill with relief. “He’s right up top.” A primeval howl exploded from the fog. It surrounded them, it penetrated them and Peter and Winston instantly threw themselves behind cover, hearts beating in their throats, choking. Visibility was almost nil and they could only freeze and wait.

Another animal yowl brought Peter to his feet. “Christ Zed! That’s a goddamn dinosaur!” Peter shouted over the roar. Winston’s hands were clapped over his ears but he understood Peter’s gist. The assault faded away.

“It came from...” Winston pointed to the top of the hill. A thud shook the ground and another shriek of reptilian rage vibrated through their bodies. “Was that an explosion?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ray’s up there, Pete!”

“Move!’ Peter began to climb, using the scattered boulders as cover and Winston followed, both men automatically cranking their throwers’ power as high as possible. Another tremor shook the ground and they almost lost their footing. Were they footsteps? Explosions? What was up there? Kong?
The hill was not so steep or very large and they reached the top quickly. Peter and Winston froze in deep shock at the sight that met them.

There was a cave there. The ground all around the mouth of it had been cleared away, great stones and boulders pushed out to form a ring around the area, making a sort of front yard. Standing in front of the cave, blocking the entrance was an unimaginably enormous beast. It was large enough to stand flatfooted and spy into the second story of the firehouse. The thing looked more like a primitive precursor of the dinosaurs rather than an actual dinosaur. It was black in the fading gloom except for its eyes, the size of oven doors, which glowed an unnatural phosphorescent green. A self-contained gleam that did not illuminate anything around it.

Those nightmare eyes were fixed on a lone man standing calmly before it and it hissed at him. The man stood his ground and casually jerked his head, throwing a heavy lock of hair from his own eyes. Peter studied him as he readied his thrower. He was average height. Rail thin, looking horribly like a skeleton with strong muscles. His skin, blasted a dull gray by the constant black dust, was criss-crossed with claw marks so profuse that Peter could practically count them from where he stood. His hair was a dull, dark tangle and it whipped in the wind. He wore only a modified sari-like strip of hide around his waist and in his hands he loosely held what looked to be a leg bone club. Bamm Bamm on steroids Peter decided.
With a feeling much like the sensation of having his balls grabbed by the cold hands of the Living Undead, an experience Peter never wanted to repeat, he realized who he was looking at.

“Rrraaaayyyy!” Winston moaned and wilted to the ground in shock.

“Oh, no.” Peter joined Winston on the ground. “What did I do to you?”

He realized Ray was shouting. “I SAID I’M NOT GOOD TO EAT! BUGGER OFF!”

“What did he just say to that thing?!” Winston’s eyes were popping out of his head and Peter just made a strange gurgling sound, too shocked to speak. Ray’s voice. Ray’s familiar voice shouting calmly from the body of a wraith at a terrible standing nightmare. The Beast thrashed its tail and lurched forward again. Peter and Winston raised their throwers. Ray lifted his club. “What? Is he going to hit it?!” Winston exclaimed, his voice drowned out by the snarling of the creature. Ray whipped his weapon around in the air a couple of times before bringing it down onto the ground.

THUD!

The proto-dinosaur was rocked off its feet by the impact tremor and if Peter and Winston hadn’t already been on the ground they would have gone sprawling.

THUD!

“Jesus!” Winston gasped, gripping the stability of a boulder with all he had. “How is he doing that?” Peter only stared, clinging to the ground in absolute disbelief.

“He’s not doing that, Zed, he can’t be. Look, it’s getting back up.” Too stupid to connect its prey with the shaking of the earth the giant Howler was on its feet and zeroing in on Ray again. Ray shook his club at it.

“SHE’S A LITTLE BEAUTY! YURRA GOOD ‘LIL SHEILA!!” Ray shouted in a healthy Australian accent. The Howler ignored him and started forward again. Ray picked up and flipped a stone, roughly the size of his head, underneath the front feet of his attacker. “BY CRIKEY CRACK COCAINE! PISS OFF!” Ignoring the rock the Howler reached for Ray with it’s gaping, drooling maw. Unseen, his rescuers raised their throwers again.

Ray snapped his fingers.

BANG! The stone exploded into a fireball. Peter and Winston scuttled behind cover again and didn’t see the Howler rear up, eyes clamped shut from the brilliant terror beyond its nocturnal experience. Screaming, it stretched its body to its full length before throwing itself backwards and away from the horrific heat and glaring light. With a whip of its tail it charged away leaving Ray’s way to his cave free and clear at last. Peter and Winston watched the fog swallow the traumatized monster. Still hiding, they slowly peered over the rocks at Ray.

He didn’t see them. The stone still burned and Ray tarried a moment by the bonfire that he had so dramatically created. He held out his arms, embracing the light and the warmth. His shadow stretched the length of the ‘yard’ towards Peter and Winston and they stared at his black silhouette in dumb amazement. Ray brought his hand down as if he were commanding a dog to sit and the flames disappeared. A smoking pile of ash was all that remained of the stone. Ray stretched and yawned. “Tie me kangaroo down, Sport! Tie me kangaroo down!” he sang. Swinging his club he walked over to his cave, swiveled the door open and crawled in.

Winston and Peter watched the boulder twist shut again and lay staring at the entranceway. They didn’t move for quite a while. “Wh…what?” Peter asked the silence. He had forgotten to blink for the past few minutes and his eyes were watering. He squinched them shut.

“It makes sense,” Winston decided. Peter turned to him, confused and offended. “It does! It makes sense! He’s an Occult Specialist! He had to have picked up a few things. He had to use what he knows because he had nothing else! Damn, Pete, did you see it? Did you see what Ray did?” Winston’s eyes were wide.

“Ralph,” Peter answered, fingers groping towards his scars again.

“Who?”

“Me’n Ralph are going to hang out over here for a second.”

“Oh, okay.”

Peter got up, walked away and leaned over to vomit and no amount of witty poetry stood in his way this time. For Winston’s benefit he groaned “RRRAAAAALLLPPPHHHH!!!!” as he did so and, unable to help it, Winston cracked up laughing. Peter could make anything entertaining. The noise they were making fell flat and unreal in the thick air and the wind swept away whatever was left. Wiping his mouth, the uneasy man walked back again and Winston offered him a flattened and linty piece of Juicyfruit gum that he’d found at the bottom of one of his pockets. “Thanks, Zed.” He concentrated on chewing. He spotted another Dorothy Parker poem that echoed Winston’s earlier point.

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

“But, damn Pete, did you see him?! Did you see what he did?!” Winston pressed.

Peter offered Winston a hand up. “Zed, I saw…I saw…nothing. I saw nothing. I know nothing. This never happened.”

“But, Pete!”

“Let’s…let’s not embarrass him or anything, okay? No one has to know and we won’t tell.” He straightened his spine. “His secret’s safe with us. Okay?”

“I…well…okay.” Winston looked unsure but Peter didn’t notice.

“Yep. Yes. Nothing happened! Let’s get Ray home before something else doesn’t happen.” Peter realized his thrower was dangling by its cables from his proton pack and, drawing it up hand over hand, he re-holstered it absent-mindedly. He and Winston approached the entrance and stood there for a moment, gathering their composure. Peter knelt and prodded the ‘door.’ It didn’t budge. “How do you knock on stone?” He stood and kicked it as he shrugged out of his pack.

“GERROUT OF IT!! NASTY, BUSHWACKIN’ ANIMALS!!” Ray’s voice caroled out from inside. He thought they were animals? Winston and Peter looked at each other and, miraculously, Peter smiled as he swallowed his gum.

“Sir!” Peter shouted back. “Can we come in and talk to you about Jehovah’s Witnesses and a subscription to The Watchtower?!” Peter heard something clatter to the floor inside. Dropped in shock, evidently. “Or you could just give us a donation?!”

The wind blew.

Winston kept an eye out for attackers.

The wind blew some more.

Peter stared at the door. “It’s only your SOUL at stake, Sir!” he shouted again. No, Ray, you’re not hallucinating, he thought. And you know? I mean what I say.

The boulder swung slowly open a few inches and amber eyes stared up at him in numb amazement. Peter’s pat and ready smile faded. If it were possible, Ray looked even worse up close than he did far away. His light brown eyes looked as if they were lined with kohl. Every crease and smile-line in his face and his lips were black with dust. But he was still young. Oh, hallelujah, Ray was still young. “Hi, Ray.”

“Peter?” Ray breathed. Swimming in unreality, Peter forgot Ray’s earlier display and simply gazed on his friend. Taking in the damage he reached out and swiped at the dust on Ray’s cheek. It refused to come off. Ray twitched as if shocked with a cattle prod. “Peter?”

“Are you coming out or can I come in?” Peter gently asked. Winston held back in the gloom and Peter nodded his approval. Best not to overwhelm Ray all at once.

“I’ll come out.” Peter held out his hand to help him up and Ray took it…and stared at it. He stood up and continued to grip Peter’s hand, Ray’s scarred, bony fingers, fingernails blackened with grime, wrapping around Peter’s warm and clean digits. Grey on pink, it made a unique contrast. “Oh, god,” Ray breathed. “You’re really here. You’re really here.”

“I’m so sorry, Ray. It took us almost fifteen minutes to fix and reboot the portal to get to you. The time differential…how…how long has it been?” Peter whispered, afraid. Ray was so subdued. Had his mind gone? Ray turned their clasped hands this way and that, fascinated. His eyes were dilated and Peter suddenly understood that Ray was in mild shock.

Realizing a question had been put to him Ray struggled to remember what it had been. Winston kept still. Peter repeated his query. Finally Ray answered, “Not long, really. When I could remember to I’d keep track of the ‘days.’ Ahhh, I’d say it’s been around nine months for me. Give or take a few weeks.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The portal had totally shut down and we couldn’t…AGH!” Peter’s explanation was cut short as Ray tackled him to the ground. Surprised his boots didn’t pop off from the sheer force of it he didn’t even try to defend himself. Whatever beating Ray wanted to give him, he deserved.

“YOU’RE HERE! YOU’RE HERE! DAMN! YOU’RE EARLY! I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU SO SOON!” Only a big smooch could express Ray’s overwhelming joy and he bruised Peter’s cheek from the sheer, delighted force of it. Peter screamed like a girl, on purpose, and struggled to get away. Their out of control momentum sent both men rolling over and over down the hill. Winston helplessly let out a shout of laughter. Ray looked up. “WINSTON!”

“Uh, oh.”

“WINSTON!” Leaving the wreck of Peter Venkman behind Ray jumped up, grabbed Winston around the waist and lifted him bodily, fifty pound pack and all, off the ground. “WINSTON! WINSTON!” He shook the big man in the air like a rag doll and dropped him again. He grabbed him by the front of his coveralls and shook him some more. Peter felt his teeth rattle in sympathy. “Damn, you’re here! I knew you’d come! I knew it! But I didn’t know WHEN! I missed you guys!”

Looking like the victim of a mugging Peter crawled to his feet. Ray released Winston who nearly fell to the ground and threw his arms around Peter again, readjusting every vertebrae in the psychologist’s spinal column. “Ray…oxygen…can’t breathe…!” Ray had always been physically strong before, almost as strong as Winston, but THIS!

“Oh, man! Oh, man! It’s only been months! I thought I’d be here a couple of years, at least!” Ray looked on the verge of emotional overload and Peter wrapped his arms around the distraught man. Ray twisted his hands in Peter’s coveralls. Winston walked up and delivered a few healthy and joyful thumps to Ray’s back. Each solid whack designed to emphasize the fact that We Are Here, We Are Here, We Are Here. “Ah, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it’s happening today! Right now!” Ray released Peter and the three stood close as Ray drew his thin fingers across his eyes and through his hair in that ‘control yourself’ gesture that was so familiar to Winston and Peter. His gestures, his voice and the color of his eyes were the ONLY things that were familiar to them.

Peter’s imagination was kicking in again. What was Egon going to say when he saw Ray? What was Janine going to say? What about, oh god, Ray’s family, what would they say? “Egon’s waiting for us, Ray. And Janine should be back with lunch by now. Ready to go?” he asked.

“Go?” Ray looked at him in surprise and confusion. “Go? I was building a food cairn, wait, what the hell am I saying? Yes! Oh, yes, I'm ready to go.” Ray sagged. “Get me out of here.” Peter threw an arm over Ray’s shoulders.

“Anything you want to take?”

“No, wait, yes.” Ray ran back to the entrance of his cave, went in, and reemerged with the Thagomizer.

“This is it.”

“Looks mean.” Winston noted. He was obviously bursting with questions and Peter wanted to tape the man’s mouth shut. There was a mighty big Can O’ Worms here and Peter didn’t want it opened.

“It saved my life more times than I can tell.” Ray answered, inspecting it. Peter reclaimed Ray’s shoulders and gave him a shake. Ray gratefully leaned into the human contact.

“Let’s go,” Peter said. Ray, dazed and unbelieving, spared one last, grateful glance at the open door of the cave that had been his sanctuary for close to a year, his time, and, turning away, went.


They all stepped out of the gloom, Peter swearing and stomping on something on the ground, communing with nature as usual, and Ray saw Egon shoot to his feet and set the portal controls for decontamination as he dropped the shields. He rushed forward but skidded to a halt as Egon got his first good look at him. He could almost hear Egon gasp. Ray’s grinning wave of greeting was answered by Egon putting his hands to his throat in the internationally recognized ‘I’m Choking’ signal. The three men broke into a panicked run towards the light of the portal and broke through just as Egon was beginning to stagger. Ray felt the portal’s energy zinging across his body and his hair, killing everything that needed to be killed. Adios, muchachos he thought inanely as he slammed into Egon from in front. Later he would explain his punch to Egon’s gut as a modified forward-Heimlich Maneuver. Whatever it was, the cookie fragment he had begun choking on when he saw Ray was dislodged and Egon spit it into his hand. He wheezed for air and threw the bite into the garbage. Finally he turned to Ray.

“No.” His icy blue eyes traveled every inch of Ray’s wasted body. Desperately thin but obviously powerful, Ray’s muscles moved easily underneath his grey coating. Egon shook his head.

“Well, yeah, Egon. Time Differential and all that, y’know.” Ray brought his hand up to block the intense light from his pained eyes. Months of only firelight left him unprepared for the unwavering artificial luminescence. The air was still and clean and the smell of it was so familiar, like a pleasant memory from long ago and far away. He could smell oil, machinery and the intensely clean smell of the washing machine and dryer. Downy Fresh he thought. And Egon! Egon was…damn, he was tall. Dazzled, he stepped forward and hugged him. “I can’t believe I’m back. Today. I can’t believe today was the day! Did I say that already? And, god, coming back here is like stepping through the wardrobe in Narnia, all the lights and everything, my head hurts, do you understand?” Ray realized he was babbling and didn’t care.

Egon stared down at his lost friend, shocked. “We’ve got to take you to the hospital,” he muttered.

“Why? I feel fine!” Ray laughed up at his face and Egon slowly wrapped his arms around himself as if he were standing in a snowstorm. He looked bad. How hard had Ray hit him? Ray glanced at Peter and Winston. They looked as if they also had been punched in the gut. Suddenly he understood. He wasn’t going to get the happy homecoming he’d wanted. No one was going to laugh, shout and throw confetti over his being back. No one had missed him. For them he’d only been gone about thirty minutes. No one was glad to see him. Glad? They were appalled. “Guys, I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.”

“Boop oop a doop! Hee hee!” giggled the rare, red-headed Betty Boop wall clock as it struck the hour. Ray had bought it because Betty reminded him of Janine. Speak of the Devil, the door to the basement opened and a frustrated, feminine Brooklyn growl reached his ears.

“Stupid storm! I had to stay in the restaurant for an hour! And the food…is…” Janine looked down at the stricken group and spied Ray. She froze on the steps. “Cold?”

“Janine!” Ray joyously crossed the basement and placed a foot on the bottom step. “Janine!”

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” A lifetime of scattered self-defense training kicked in and Janine braced herself. Swinging a heavy bag of food in the air, she was fully prepared to bring it down on Ray’s head. He stopped where he was and looked up at her, imploringly.

“Janine, stop! It’s Ray!” Egon shouted, rushing forward.

“It is NOT!” Janine shouted back.

It? thought Ray.

“Janine, a power surge pulled Ray into the portal. There’s been a time differential, a lapse lasting some thirty-three minutes for us and…ah…” Egon turned to Peter.

“He said about nine months, give or take,” Peter mumbled.

“Nine MONTHS?! Ah…nine months for Ray,” Egon continued. “It IS Ray.”

“It is Ray,” Janine echoed, staring numbly down at the filthy creature in front of her.

It? “Really, Janine, it’s me. It’s me.” Janine lowered her food sack onto the steps. Ray watched what looked incredibly like Hurt appear on Janine’s face. She was shocked and hurting for him. Ah, Janine…

“It’s you. Ray, it’s you.” Her gaze followed the lines of his jutting ribs. She pointed at them accusingly. “Where’s the rest of you?” she whispered.

“It got chewed off in Mordor,” He whispered back.

She blanched. “That place with the bugs? You’ve been theah?” Ray nodded. He lifted his leg as if to climb a step towards her but stopped, unsure of his reception. Suddenly Janine stepped down and threw her arms around him. She smelled wonderful. She felt wonderful. He returned her hug with a crushing strength and kissed the top of her head. Janine leaned back to stare at him again. A total stranger with Ray’s eyes grinned down at her.

Her own wet, angry blue eyes glared over at Egon, Peter and Winston, still standing there numb and useless. “I can’t leave you guys alone FOR A MINUTE?!” she screamed and held on tighter. Ray was in heaven. Even better, he was home. Home at last.




Dr. Peter Venkman surreptitiously studied Dr. Ray Stantz as the two of them finished a quiet, 4:00 am, meal of Lucky Charms marshmallow cereal. Ever since his return from exile a week ago, Ray had been exhibiting the nervous sleeping habits of a well-caffeinated, neurotic Rat On Acid. He was alert and on guard in this place that should have been comforting and familiar but was not. He’d been gone a long time and the hunt was still on in his mind. Ray had further exhausted himself by visiting every old haunt and friend of his and their reactions were varied. Some believed he was who he claimed to be and others simply did not and turned him away. That hurt. His sleep was not easy and Ray had even offered to move out of the bunkroom so his housemates, Peter, Egon and Winston, could sleep uninterrupted by his tossing and pacing and scratching. Nothing doing.

"Here." Peter picked up the cereal box and refilled Ray's bowl.

"I'm full, Peter!" Ray gently complained.

"Whoever heard of a skinny Ray? EAT, Papa, EAT!!" Peter added a healthy splash of Vitamin D enriched whole milk and waited expectantly. Ray gave him an amused look and swept the bowl gently aside with the back of his hand. Peter frowned. Ray used to do what he was told.

And a skinny Ray was truly an unnatural, rather ugly, thing. Everyone in Ray's extended circle of friends and family, the ones who had accepted him back with open, albeit shocked, arms, had been forcing wonderful delicacies on him since his return but Peter could see no real improvement. The occultist bathed compulsively, ate rarely and his skin was covered in scratches as if something were itching him terribly all over his body. He had a healthy collection of red scars but they would pale into near-invisible cat-scratches in time. Hopefully. Peter suddenly noticed that Ray was studying him almost as clinically as he was being studied by Peter. “Are you going to eat or do I have it stomp it down your throat?” he asked politely.

Ray smiled and blinked his eyes at his friend. “Bein’ with you is all the sustenance I need, Peter,” he said with the full ardor of Cyrano de Bergerac. Peter moved the cereal bowl back into its place and held out the spoon emphatically. Ray blew him a raspberry. Defiance. Peter was simply shocked. Then Ray lifted a near-skeletal hand and compulsively rubbed his pale face in the 'stay alert' slap that Peter had come to loathe.

"Ray," he gently began, "If you won’t eat can’t you, at least, sleep? Why won't you rest?"

"I just can't." Ray shrugged a shoulder. Resting his elbows on the table he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Peter wished, for the millionth time, for a wand to magically wave away what was wrong but, such things being scarce, even for a Ghostbuster, he settled for reaching out and linking his fingers behind his friend's neck in a light embrace.

Ray smiled and gave Peter's arm a reassuring pat. "Don't cry for me, Argentina. Landing in Mordor was a shock and coming back here is just as big of a shock. I know I'm home, now, I'm safe. I'm just...readjusting, like Egon said. Readjusting. And I'm sure I'll hit the wall soon, hit it HARD and sleep for days but right now...I'm like that guy's dog. Y'know the dog that drooled whenever that guy rang a bell?"

"Uh, Pavlov's Dog?"

"That's it! I'm Pavlov's Dog!"

"You're a drooling DOG?! That's it. Too much stress. Time for a nice dose of something. Or a two by four to the head."

"Peter, I know you know what I'm talking about. I'm conditioned, like that dog was conditioned. My body, not my brain, my BODY has been rewired to believe that extended sleep is dangerous."

"But, Spot, why is sleep dangerous?" C'mon, Peter mentally pleaded, spill your guts to Dr. Venkman, pass the pain onto ME.

Ray smiled knowingly and leaned away, unwilling to cooperate with Peter's masochistic scapegoat psychology. "I was afraid something would crawl into my ear."

Peter broke a few professional rules and yanked Ray forward by the front of his T-Shirt. "You're blocking!”

"No! I'm serious!" Ray's voice dipped dramatically, "Peterrr, the bugs over there were HUGE! If I stretched out to sleep they'd lie down, too, and throw a leg over me."

Peter blanched with disgust. "Ew. I know. I remember. Don't duck the subject."

"In fact," Ray stopped and stared in surprised recognition over Peter’s shoulder. Then he continued, suddenly excited, "The smallest bug over there was twice as big as that three inch cockroach." He pointed and Peter looked around.

"What...GAH!" Peter sprang out of his chair and stared with hatred at the insect that was making its ponderous way up the kitchen wall. The bloated thing was almost too heavy to climb. "Nasty! Where's a shoe?" Peter made a frantic search of the premises. "Where's a newspaper?!"

"Wait, Peter." Grinning, Ray turned around in his seat and pulled a fork out of the utensil drawer. "Lemme show you something I learned ‘over there.’" He twirled the fork like the most melodramatic knife-thrower in Vegas and took aim.

Peter judged the distance between Ray and the roach. "You can't do it."

"I can, too!"

"Fifty bucks says you can't." Peter hoped he could and quickly. Roaches could fly. They could fly right onto a guy's face!

"You're on." Ray brought his wrist down sharply, there was a silver flash in the air and suddenly the roach was impaled against the wall, thin, red legs scrabbling uselessly against the plaster.

Pausing only a moment over Ray's deadly new skill Peter exulted, "Yes! You GO, Ray!" He made a mental note to bury that fork deeply in the garbage.

Ray walked over and pulled the ex-eating utensil out of the wall and waved it at Peter, who cringed. "Fifty bucks for me!"

"You got it. Now, go flush it!" Peter made frantic 'shoo' motions but Ray just stood there.

"Flush it?" Ray asked, all innocence. "You mean waste it? I don't think so." He eyed his prize with exaggerated glee.

"Will you PLEASE get rid..." Peter stopped. Ray was laughing. The nasal heeeeheeeheee giggle of a very familiar cinematic madman. Ray was doing an impression of Count Dracula's zoophagous toady, Renfield.

Renfield the Bug Eater.

Peter shuddered. "Yuck, that's REAL funny. Now go flush..."

Ray bit the head off the cockroach and chewed it thoughtfully. The crunch, crunch, crunch could be heard all around the world. Peter’s eyes bulged and he howled directly from his soul. "You...that...YOU SICK BASTARD!! OH, GOD! OH, GROSS!"

"You want some? I saved the juicy part for you." Ray offered the fork and the headless roach waved its legs at Peter.

"GET IT AWAY!!"

"Protein, Peter!!" Ray lunged and Peter grabbed his wrist, keeping the fork well away as they staggered around the kitchen, Ray was genuinely laughing now at Peter's violent refusal of his generosity.

"GROSSGROSSGROSSGROSSGROSSGROSS!!!"

"Try it! C’mon, ‘The Blood Is The Life’ and all that crap!" Ray happily shouted.

They tipped the table over and slipped on spilled cereal. The fork flew out of Ray's hand and it landed with a clatter in front of the stove. "Hey!” He complained. “You made me lose my lunch!"

"YOU SICK PUPPY!!!"

"What? Something awry?" Ray blinked innocent eyes at his revulsed friend.

"I can't believe you did that! How can you stand it?!"

Ray inched in closely, grinning. "If you get hungry enough you can stand anything. Aw, Peter, calm down. Calmmmm downnnn. Here. C'mere." He threw a brotherly arm around his squeamish friend. "Everything is gonna be fine."

"That was just...just...nasty…" Peter had gooseflesh on his gooseflesh.

"I know. You are so easy sometimes.” Ray patted Peter’s shoulder in a comforting, soothing way and sucked his teeth thoughtfully. Peter shuddered. “Hey. Hey, Peter?"

"God, what now?" Peter glared at him.

"KISS ME!!" Ray's hug turned into a Half-Nelson.

"NOOOOOO!!" The esteemed Psychologist broke free and fled down the stairs, his respected colleague right on his heels. "BUG-LIPS!! YOU GOT BUG-LIPS!! BASTARD, GET AWAY!!"

"Ah, C'mon! I really MISSED you!!"

"GIT!!" Now Peter was laughing too as he fled across the garage to put Ecto-1, the company hearse, between himself and Renfield Ray. They did a few frantic circuits around and around the old car and the shouts and guffaws rang all through the old firehouse. Suddenly executing a move that would have been impossible one hundred pounds ago Ray made a standing leap onto Ecto's hood and smoothly dove for his quarry on the other side. Peter hadn't been a star college quarterback for nothing and, with a yelp, he dropped and rolled under the old hearse. Ray hit the ground and rolled to his feet with nonchalant ease, like a pouncing cat that MEANT to miss. He casually glanced under the car and Peter gave him the finger. "Nyah!"

"That's not nice!" Ray leapt onto the hood again and started to jump up and down. "Come outa there, Jerk-Off! I exorcise thee! I command thee to come OUT!!!"

Peter listened to the shocks squeak as the old vehicle lurched alarmingly up and down. He hoped the oil-pan, or whatever, didn't give way while he was under there. "I'm telling Winston!! He'll kill you for jumping on his girlfriend!"

Ray gave a couple more crashing leaps to Ecto's hood and collapsed, leaning back against the windshield he was almost insensate with laughter. Peter joined in between sneezing fits from all the dust and began to sneak out the back end. "Peter?"

"Yeah?" Came the response from directly behind his ear. Ray didn't even jump, a decided improvement over the nervous twitchiness that had consumed him lately.

"Peter, I’m home. I feel really good. The lights aren’t so bright anymore. Y’know?”

“Mmmm.” Keep talking, Peter willed. Keep talking. Keep talking, you bug-eating bastard, keep talking.

“Nothing’s hunting me. Everything is clean. I’m not waking up from this. You’re here, you’re all here and you’re not going away. It’s not a dream. And…uh…suddenly, I can't get up."

Peter dropped the protective tire-iron he had found onto the concrete floor and it landed with a CLANG! "You can't get it up? Stress."

"I can't move!"

"Break a leg? Hopefully?"

"No, I...Peter...I think I just hit the wall. I...wow...I don't think I've ever been...so tired." He reached out into the darkness and Peter seized his hand in a warm, real grip. Ray's eyes closed against sudden exhausted tears. “I think I can sleep, now.”

"Well, hell, then." Peter replied and, gripping his battered friend around the shoulders, slid him off the hood into a standing position. "Time to go to bed." Ray stumbled twice going up the stairs and would have fallen if Peter had not supported him. In the communal bunk room a good household spirit had evidently been at work, Ray's bed covers were turned down and his linen smoothed invitingly. Egon and Winston were perfectly quiet, too-obviously asleep, in their bunks. Ray flopped down like a rag doll and pulled up the gloriously warm and clean blankets. "I'm sorry, Peter," The found man mumbled. "I was just joking."

"I think I might live. Go to sleep. Now."

“I bet you’re sorry I’m back, huh?” Ray asked.

“You said it. I’m sending you ‘home’ tomorrow you…you bug eatin’ pain in my ass.” Peter loomed over his patient threateningly.

Ray smiled sadly. "Oh, Peter. You’ll be even more sorry, later, when I’m rested. You wait. You’ll see. Okay, I...goodnight."

"Goodnight. For a change." Peter watched Ray close his eyes and hoped he'd get the deepest sleep he'd had in days. Possibly months. Months. Peter abruptly shook his head against the thought of that nightmare. Everything was all right, now. Ray was home. He was safe. All was well. Peter turned away to his own bunk. And stopped, eyes narrowing to slits. Oh, yeah, it was business as usual at the firehouse again, for sure.

"Which one of you assholes put that fork in my bed?" Still ‘asleep’ Winston and Egon pointed accusing fingers at each other. “Funneeee.” Unwilling to touch the stainless steel, Peter balled up the top blanket around the offending insect and walked it, at arm’s length, down three stories to the back alley where he threw it onto the mountain of garbage that had buried the dumpster. Stupid garbage strike. Still, the night was warm and clear and he paused for a moment, breathing in the faint smell of refuse, rats and pigeons as he stood looking up at the bright stars.

Five days ago, moments after his dramatic rescue, Ray had leapt up the stairs into the arms of a thunderstorm, a storm that had damn near killed his friends and was the direct cause of nine months of misery for himself. Ray had opened his arms, pelted by the hard rain, and he laughed and laughed like a man in love. Swirls of grey ran off his body and were washed from the roof in a steady stream. Peter remembered how he, Egon, Winston and Janine had stood there, willingly getting soaked to the skin, and watched Ray like one would watch an escaped freak from a sideshow - with equal parts horror, amusement and fascination. Ray had turned, seized Janine, and began to waltz her around the roof as the rain fell and the lightning flashed. Peter, finally realizing some celebration was called for, had grabbed Winston and pulled him into an impromptu tango. Egon just stood there and suffered the rain as he watched Ray and Janine whirl around and around and around. Ray had kissed her. Of course, Ray had kissed Peter, too, but…uh…not on the mouth and not for a full minute. Egon, to his credit, did not react in any way. Janine’s take on that particular moment was unknown.

Peter smiled at the continuing soap-opera that was life in the firehouse and turned to go in. All was well.

Tea.

He stopped and smelled the air. Tea. Tea and cinnamon and oranges…a cold chill of foreboding raked down his spine and suddenly the stars were too bright, the air was too warm and the alley stench was choking him. Ray had knocked over Godzilla’s ugly twin sister with a bone. He had started a fire with a snap of his fingers. Peter’s hand covered his forehead and he shrank against the brick wall of the opposite building, the firehouse looming impossibly tall before him. He felt he was facing a cliff. One step towards his home was a step off the edge of a precipice that could never be scaled again. Peter shook his head. “No. No. Everything is okay. Everything is back to normal. Ray is fine. He’s home and safe and no one has to know.”

You know, Sweetheart.

A warm caress swept Peter’s cheek and he glanced around wildly. No one was there. He was alone, all alone, having a nice panic attack in the middle of a filthy alley. If his girlfriends could only see him now.

You know.

“I don’t know anything. I didn’t see anything and nothing is going to change.” Peter growled.

Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

Peter threw himself inside. By the time he got to the third flight of steps his color had returned and he had half convinced himself that not only did nothing happen in Mordor, nothing had also happened in the alley. There’s a great lot of nothing going on in the world. Rather boring really. Re-entering the bunkroom he saw that Egon and Winston were up, quietly talking off to the side. With a shock he realized that Egon had the Thagomizer and was taking readings with his PKE meter. Peter glared at Winston.

Winston looked back defiantly. “Yeah, Pete, I finally told him.”

“I’m surprised you held out this long,” Peter snarled casting a quick glance at Ray’s bunk. He was so out cold he looked dead. He waited for Ray to take a breath or two and then, reassured, he turned back. “Put that thing away!”

Egon’s eyes were lasers of cool blue disquiet and he held up the meter. “Residual energies only, Winston.” he said. “The ‘earth shaking’ power you spoke of did not come from the club.” He pointed the meter at Ray and the meter reacted, sensor rods expanding and the electronic hum was pitched considerably higher. “Fascinating. He’s ‘hot.’”

Peter stalked over and snatched the meter away. “You can ask him for a date later, Spengs.” He threw the meter at the garbage can and it made a great clang as it went in. Apprehensive, the three men looked at Ray but he didn’t twitch. Peter angrily swung around again. “Nobody needs to know how Ray survived in Mordor. Ray doesn’t need to know that we know. Let’s all just forget it, OK?”

“He’s not a criminal, Peter,” Winston said.

Egon looked at Ray, a strange betrayed expression on his face. “He’s certainly not what he was. We need to run further tests,” he said slowly.

Unimpressed, Peter squared off against them both. “He’s not a scientific experiment either. You two can’t study Ray like the latest variety of gooper to pop out of the Netherworld.”

“Don’t turn this around on us, Peter, you’ve had your head in the sand ever since we got back. Why don’t we ask Ray about it?” Winston said.

“Leave Ray alone, he’s been through enough!” Peter snarled.

Winston sneered. “Oh. I understand. He’s protecting Ray, you see, Egon? How very selfless. And convenient.” Winston crossed his arms in disgust.

“With further study we may be able to circumvent or put a cap on Ray’s ‘abilities’ before he hurts himself or others,” Egon began again, tweaking a sharpened key on the Thagomizer with cautious attention.

Peter brought the discussion to a screeching halt as he turned his back on them and crawled into his ostentatious four-poster bed. “Both of you get fucked.”

A red blush of anger spread over his fair skin as Egon very deliberately relaxed his grip on the bone club and put it back on it’s place on the wall, next to Ray’s Frankenstein poster. He got into his own neat, militaristic bunk and pulled the covers up. “This does merit further discussion when we’re all better rested. And may I add fuck you as well, Peter.”

Winston sighed and turned out the light. “Further discussion and study of our best friend. We’re all fucked.” He laid down on his own comfortably worn double bed and determinedly closed his eyes. Peter wanted to strangle them both.

Playing dead had stood Ray in good stead before as it did now. Awakened by the crash of the meter hitting the trash can Ray decided an hour had passed before the angry breathing of the three men had modified into the deep breathing of sleep. He got up, walked noiselessly over to the wastebasket and retrieved the PKE meter. He flicked it on and took a reading of himself. Gosh. Fascinating, indeed. He placed the meter on a bookshelf and stood at the foot of Peter’s four-poster and watched his friend for a while. Even in sleep Peter looked tense and unhappy. Moonlight shone through the window and gleamed on the scars on his forehead. They seemed slick with an unhealthy, cold sheen. Ray sighed.

Peter was going to take the coming day very, very badly.

Ray went back to bed and slept long and hard.

tbc