I do not own Ghostbusters, Ghostbusters II. Rights belong to Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis.
I own Larry Finkle and the little family from Iowa.
It was a beautiful day in Central Park – the sun beaming down without a cloud in the sky, children screaming in delight, and numerous trucks and vans had just pulled up, unloading the equipment needed for today's event. The Governor of New York had something to say and wanted a big audience of his supporters. This close to election time, everyone was pretty sure what he was going to say, even calling it that Larry Finkle was going to run for senate.
The University of Columbia had hired one of their brightest and best photographers to document this special occasion. Unfortunately, he dropped out with a case of the flu, so they hired Oscar Barrett.
Oscar weaved around the large crowds of families and random teenagers looking for free food, snapping pictures with his DLS camera. He got a picture of a little girl laughing while eating ice cream, a pair of woman from the Bronx with full 'Finkle 2016' outfits, a beautiful woman in short-shorts – they were brilliant.
Oscar moved closer to the stage, flashing his 'Press' badge at the few security guards that stood watch. He'd gotten a good seat in front of the stage, placing his heavy backpack full of camera goodies on the ground. Looking around he ran his hand over his short, almost bald, hair, watching for anyone who might look like a front page photo. So far, none of them looked like that quality.
A woman grabbed his attention, pulling on his long plaid sleeve as he whizzed around. A middle aged woman stood there, her family of two kids and a defeated husband behind as she smiled with kind eyes. "Excuse me, sir?" She started, getting Oscar's full attention. "Are you a photographer?"
Oscar smirked. "What gave it away?"
The woman just laughed as if that was the funniest thing she'd heard in years. "Listen, I know you probably don't do this sort of thing. See, we're from Iowa on vacation in the 'big apple'-" She said, using her hands to make air quotes around the city's nickname. "I was just hoping you might be able to take a picture of us in front of the Empire State Building."
Oscar whizzed her head around smiling, hoping that someone else was around to hear this. The Empire State building? They were in the middle of Central Park, where the hell was she going to get the Empire State building?
She handed him a small disposable camera, the kind with a wheel you had to move with your thumb after the previous picture or else you get a double exposer. It have been years since Oscar had seen one of these, he almost wondered if it was real. Despite his inner monologue telling him otherwise, he sigh and grabbed the camera, backing up far enough away to get everyone in the photo as the small family from Iowa got closer together. Oscar felt bad on two counts: one, the little girl in the husbands arms was completely squished under both of her parents excess of body fat; two, the building that appeared in the background, the one that they thought was the Empire State Building, was actually an apartment complex gutted last month in connection to a meth ring.
He snapped the picture, the artificial flash going off in spite of the beautiful sunny day that New York was experiencing. With a light grin, Oscar handed the camera back to the woman as her and her family pulled away from each other, surely saving the life of the small two year-old girl in the husbands arms. The woman looked so happy, an infectious grin appeared on her face as she looked up to Oscar. "God bless." She said before turning on her heel and walking away, her family shuffling along behind her.
Oscar did feel like an asshole, but how would they know? Unless they show the developed picture to a friend from New York, all of the buildings must look the same, and did from this angle. He wondered briefly if he could have just given them a picture of the Empire State Building, but shook his head, knowing better.
The speakers on either side of the stage started up, temporarily deafening him to the point of almost collapsing. He grabbed her ears, muffling the loud noise as Saturday in the Park by Chicago started on the speakers, the loud sixties music echoing over the entire park and drawing people closer to the stage in preparation for the announcement.
After about a twenty minute wait, fifteen minutes late for his own rally, Larry Finkle walked out on stage to the sound of thousands of people cheering. He smiled a chemically white smile at the people of New York, waving his burnt orange spray tan at the audience. His hair was perfectly groomed into a swoop that would make Superman jealous, his suit surely customized to the point where he handpicked the sheep. His young wife: short, blond, taut; something little teenage boys' dream about as she stood by her husband, giving him a knowing nod. The man had a perfect life as far as appearances go, which is why when he approached the podium and began to talk, Oscar had to try to holding in a bubbling laughter.
"Good afternoon, New Yorkers!" Finkle said. It sounded like he'd been kicked in the balls not two minutes earlier. Comically so, his voice was on the highest octave possible. Any higher and dog might have started to react. Oscar hand to put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud at the serious candidate.
"As some of you might have known." He said before clearing his throat. "There is talk at the House level that I might be running current senator, Lenny Clotch, of office this November. Now, you here in Manhattan know that I have always stood for the people. For the people, by the people."
Someone in the back row shouted "Finkle for president!"
He laughed away from the microphone. "Let's not get carried away here."
He earned a stiff laugh from the audience as Oscar began trying to snap photos for the paper, trying his hardest not to laugh every time he talked for fear of really shitty photos. He managed to almost drone out the high-pitched sounds of the speakers so he could focus on his job, getting the best possible photo. It was working well, haven taken almost five pictures of the man in powerful candid poses without giggling like a school girl.
Everything was going great until he heard gun shots.
Two shots, that's all it took to pull Oscar from his focus and back into reality as the people around began to react accordingly: by screaming and running for cover. Larry Finkle quickly dove to the ground, covering his head as if it was just another Saturday for him, his hot wife doing the same. Oscar was stuck in his ways, he couldn't move. Either from shock or fascination, he didn't know. All he knew is he kept taking photos, even as three masked individuals stormed the stage.
Three men in ski masks stormed the stage, pulling up themselves up to the podium as they stood over the panicked crowd. The two lesser of the criminals grabbed Finkle by his precious suit and pulled him to his feet, shouting obscenities at him if he didn't do exactly what he was told. The leader, the one pointing the small pistol at Finkle face, grabbed the microphone off the podium and began to speak into it.
"You are all witnesses." The leader began as several of the for mentioned screaming, running, panicking people stopped in their tracks, wanting to hear what this man had to say. Oscar's eyebrows knitted together as he listened, still snapping away with his camera. "You are all witnesses to the second coming of God. Where innocent blood will be spilt, a God most devious shall immerge." He had a gruff in his voice that made him sound like he was enjoying this, like he was thriving off of the chaos surrounding them. Oscar's blood went cold.
"Do not fear God, for he does not fear you. Only your own sins will haunt you. Today, in the year of false prophets and the adversary lies, we shall show you the truth. Do not fear change, for change will set you free – set us all free! And you will be witnesses to a new world. The Brotherhood of Darkness does not want your pity, or sadness, or even your worship. All we want is your servitude."
"From then, you will open your eyes to a brighter world, a world without suffering except for the weak. A world without pain except for the corrupt. Our God and his Children are just. From this moment on, you shall no longer call upon your 'savior's for help. Instead, call upon, and prey to Koza'Rai, father of Gozer the Gozerian and supreme ruler of the land."
The leader pulled the microphone around to the back of Finkle as he began to make bargains with the only God he'd ever known. The leader pressed the cold barrel of the gun to the back of the would-be senator's head before animalistic shouting into the microphone:
"BEHOLD!"
Bang.
A gun shot was all it took to turn the beautiful day in Central Park into a crime scene. Everyone ran, including Oscar as his legs had finally decided to work. He ran farther into the park, clutching his camera and only his camera to his chest as he ran like a mad man. From the looks of things, no one else was hurt by the gun-toting psychos, but there were differently some things that roamed everyone's minds.
Oscar made his way back to his shit-box of a car, the keys fumbling in his shaking hands before opening the creaking down and sliding in on the hot leather seats. There, Oscar his first breath since the assassination. His camera still sat in his lap, burning a hole through his jean s almost as he realized what he had. He had a murder on tape. He had a man's last moments on earth in his camera. He had photos of the men who had done this.
Would they be the kind to kill over this? They've apparently killed for less. What would happen if someone were to know about the photos? He shuddered to think about what could happen, and only thought about what the scene was going to be like when he got home. He needed answers about these guys, about these 'Gozer' guys.
Oscar put the car in drive as he pulled out of the parking space, the song of the radio prophetically turning to one Oscar had grown to hate.
If there's something strange in your neighborhood,
Who you gonna call?
One year ago today I published Apartment 22B, the beginning of my Ghostbusters series.
I wanted to thank you all so much for all the support you've given me over the past year, so here is my giant thank you!
Special shout out to StarofMirkwood for giving me the final push to write this. Don't worry, Egon will get a girl in this one ^-^.
I hope I do you all justice.
~pure.