Possessions

by EGB Fan

Garrett knows he's going to want a child one day, and now, voila, a little boy needs a new home. But someone seems determined to stop it from happening.

Disclaimer: Ghostbusters (c) Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis and Columbia Pictures

Extreme Ghostbusters: Possessions

It was utterly bizarre, some of the situations you found yourself in when your older brother had recently started making it in the world of rock music. Thirteen-year-old Jessica Venkman reflected as much now as she ran frantically through the streets of Manhattan; arms flailing, legs absolutely killing her, yet she had to go on. If only she was running through Edinburgh, she thought: then this would be exactly like Trainspotting. As she skidded on one foot round a sharp corner, she visualised herself freeze-framed on screen and the word "JESS" appearing beside her head in trendy, sharp-edged letters.

But, much as she felt like one right now, Jessica was not a character in a cutting-edge, nineties British movie. Well, she supposed the movie didn't have to be British, but the backdrop certainly set it in the nineties or noughties. And it was definitely cutting-edge, or else she wouldn't be in it. But, as she had already established, it was not a movie. There was no time for freeze-framing; the screaming mob behind her would not freeze as well. All she had to do was try to make the final two hundred yards to the firehouse without passing out and be grateful that it at least wasn't press pursuing her.

It was the middle of July and she had just finished playing a friendly game of basketball with five of her classmates. No wonder she was exhausted. No wonder she felt like she was going to pass out from the heat. No wonder the sweat was beginning to blind her. And no wonder the lactic acid building in her legs was making them ache unbearably.

But Jessica was filled with renewed hope when she could just make out the firehouse through her sweat-soaked brown hair, quivering in a heat haze. Thank God. There was her salvation: the place she had to reach before she could finally stop running.

"Janine!" Jessica yelled, as she slammed the front door shut behind her and threw herself against it. "Lock!"

Janine looked fairly surprised, but she reacted at once, arriving at Jessica's side just in time to help her push back the door as the gaggle of star-struck teenage girls started to throw itself against it. Slimer tried to help by launching himself at the door also, but of course went straight through it, causing a loud, collective scream from the girls outside. That would have been a great help, of course – if only the girls' love of a new local celebrity didn't outweigh their fear of ghosts.

"PISS OFF!" yelled Jessica, grimacing as she fought the pain in her legs in her effort to barricade the door with her entire body. "HE'S NOT HERE!"

"Ok." Janine sighed with relief as she was able to push the door into place and turn the key in the lock. "Done."

"Thank God." Still leaning against the door, Jessica slumped to the ground, heedless of the frantic panel beating that was going on directly behind her. "There's not another way in here, is there?"

"Not unless they're prepared to scale the walls," Janine smiled down at her.

Jessica shook her clammy head, panting from her exertions. Through her shallow breathing she said despairingly, "They'll do anything to get in if they think Oscar's here. He's not, is he?" she added, looking up at Janine from underneath strands of her dark, damp hair.

"No, honey," Janine reassured her.

"How do they know who I am?" Jessica wondered. "If I knew them from school, the chances are at least one of them would know where I live. But they can't know – can they – because they've followed me here. I know what's going to happen. They're going to wait out there for as long as it takes for me to come out and lead them to Oscar."

"Word gets around," shrugged Janine. "Your friends tell their friends, who tell their friends… If you come upstairs I'll give you a Coke or something," she offered.

"Thanks."

Jessica dragged herself to her feet and half-heartedly swiped at the dust her denim shorts had picked up from the floor. Her bare legs were dripping perspiration into her socks – and how her plain white t-shirt must look… She could smell herself, and dreaded to think what she must smell like to others if she really was less aware of her own body odour. But it could have been worse, she supposed. At least she was wearing running shoes. Not that she ever wore any other kind.

"Hi!"

"Hey, Conchita Rivera," Jessica responded, recognising at once the shrill voice as she slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, blinded by exhaustion as she was.

"Coke, Diet Coke, Diet Coke with lemon, 7-Up, orange Fanta, Pepsi, Pepsi Max; lime, grapefruit, orange, lemon, orange and lemon, lemon and grapefruit or blackcurrant squash," Janine listed the various drink options.

"I don't believe you," Jessica returned curtly. "There isn't room in the fridge."

"The squash isn't in the fridge," Conchita explained in tones of forced patience. "Just the water."

"Oh," Jessica scowled. That kid was ok when you were in the right frame of mind, but just now she really wasn't in the mood for perky five-year-old girls. "Thanks for telling me. Diet Coke please, Janine."

The familiar silver-and-red can was dumped on the table in front of Jessica with a loud "THUNK". She reached out, cracked it open and took a swig. The sensation of cool liquid pouring down her throat was bliss, and with it the power of sight returned. Jessica blinked a few times, and then took a proper look at her surroundings.

Eduardo Rivera was there, loading the dishwasher with empty glasses. And there was Conchita, sitting on the kitchen surface, swinging her bare brown legs in the air and sucking something bright yellow up through a curly red straw. She was looking as poster-child as ever in a scarlet t-shirt and a denim skirt, with her long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. And she was smiling that dimpled smile of hers. Always smiling, that one. Jessica found it quite tiring to look at. All in all, she preferred Conchita's sulky little sister Rose.

Speaking (or rather thinking) of which: "Aren't there normally a few more of those?" Jessica asked, nodding in Conchita's general direction.

"The twins are around somewhere," Janine replied distractedly. She was officiously reorganising Eduardo's dishwasher arrangement.

"Kylie took Rose to a sort of playgroup thing," Eduardo added. "We're sort of hoping it'll encourage her to get along with other kids a bit better."

Jessica nodded slowly to show that she understood what he meant. Rose, in complete contrast to most small children, got on well enough with her own sister but looked upon anybody else under ten with deep suspicion and dislike. Whenever she was at the firehouse she kept her distance from John and Eden Spengler, who in their turn were not interested in playing with a sour-faced, objectionable two year old.

"Aren't they due back soon?" Janine asked Eduardo.

"Uh…" – Eduardo looked at his watch – "yeah. Any minute now."

"Betcha five bucks Rose hated it," Conchita deadpanned.

"You don't have five bucks," Eduardo pointed out.

"I soon will do if you take the bet."

"Don't, Eddie," Jessica advised, wiping Diet Coke from her chin with the back of her hand. "That girl just isn't cut out for social situations."

Eduardo shrugged with resigned agreement. His younger daughter was no socialite. He and Kylie had argued on several occasions over which one of them she got it from.

Minutes later Kylie appeared in the kitchen doorway, followed closely by the little recluse herself. Rose Rivera really was extraordinarily beautiful, Jessica reflected when she saw her. Yes, Conchita was pretty – but Rose was positively exotic. Their Hispanic paternity shone through much more on the younger sister. Rose's year-round tan was noticeably darker than Conchita's was; and she had her father's narrow, pointed face and dark-brown eyes. Despite having Eduardo's colour they were bush baby eyes like her mother's, this being a trait of the women in Kylie's mother's family (although Kylie liked to pretend that neither she nor her daughters in any way resembled Jill Griffin). Conchita had inherited a lot of her mother's physical characteristics: round face; small, pert nose and huge, dark-green eyes. Rose, on the other hand, had inherited little from Kylie: just the big eyes and the black hair, which she now wore in a tight ponytail.

Eduardo exchanged a welcoming smile with Kylie as she made her way over to the fridge. Then he looked to where his younger daughter stood framed in the doorway and exclaimed overenthusiastically, "Hi Rosie! C'mere – give me hug." He crouched down and held out his arms to her.

Rose toddled obligingly towards her father. Eduardo was acutely aware of how like his mother he had become during his five years of parenting. He could well remember Carlota Rivera trying to force him out of his own constant bad mood by being overly cheery and talking to him through a fixed grin.

"Missed you!" Eduardo declared brightly, smacking a kiss onto Rose's mouth. "Did you have a nice time?"

"No," Rose returned grumpily.

"There's a surprise," Eduardo muttered sarcastically, rising to his full height as Rose moved away from him.

"Here you go, Rosebud," Kylie beamed happily, thrusting a blue plastic lidded cup of orange squash into Rose's small hands. She too hoped to coax a smile from her daughter with copious amounts of grinning, it seemed.

Without bothering to thank her mother, Rose raised the cup to her lips and took a sip. She then lowered the cup again, frowned thoughtfully at it for a few moments and announced churlishly, "I'm not going back."

With that Rose toddled from the room, leaving a trail of orange squash droplets in her wake. Conchita cut a glance at both of her parents, who were just staring after Rose with their mouths open. They obviously weren't planning to follow her any time soon, so Conchita jumped down from the kitchen surface, handed her empty glass to Janine and made to pursue her younger sister.

Kylie spoke at last: "Well, that's it. She's not going back."

"Well, we can't force her," Eduardo thought out loud. "She doesn't have to go, of course – but what's going to happen when she starts school?"

"Let's just hope she will have grown out of it by then," Kylie shrugged dismissively. "Or else we'll have to pull her out from under the table every morning. But I'll tell you something, though: I'm not sorry she hated it. I didn't have a nice time either."

"Didn't you?" Eduardo asked sympathetically.

"No I did not," Kylie returned vehemently. "If you want her to go back there you can damn well take her yourself. The other moms were almost as horrible as their snot-nose kids."

"Hi Dad."

Simultaneously turning their heads towards the doorway, Kylie, Janine and Eduardo saw that Peter Venkman had suddenly arrived. Very suddenly. He definitely hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Hey sport," Peter grinned at Jessica, walking over to the table and making to kiss her on the cheek.

"Don't." Jessica pulled sharply away. "I stink."

"That must have been some basketball game," her father remarked.

"Basketball game?" Jessica scowled at her Diet Coke can. "I can't remember anything before Oscar's fan club chased me here all the way from the park."

"All the way?" Peter echoed incredulously.

"Mhm," Jessica nodded forlornly. "Are they still there?"

"I did wonder what that gaggle of teenage girls was doing outside," replied Peter. "Jeez, Jess – you must be whacked. I was going to stay for the afternoon, but if you wait twenty minutes I'll give you a lift home."

"Why twenty minutes?" asked Jessica.

"Well – give or take five minutes," Peter shrugged dismissively. "I just really need to talk to Garrett. Right now," he added. "Is he here?"

"Rec room," Eduardo and Janine answered in unison.

"Right. Thanks," and with that Peter marched purposefully from the room.

Jessica drained the last dregs of Diet Coke and then said to no one in particular, "I wonder why Dad needs to talk to Garrett right now."

x x x

Eduardo and Janine's information had been correct. Garrett was in the rec room all right, spread across the sofa and chewing on a ballpoint pen while he looked over a ring binder full of hospital notes (for his physiotherapy job, Peter could only assume).

Conchita and Rose were there too, but they looked utterly engrossed in whatever they were doing under the table. Peter very much doubted that their presence would in any way affect the conversation he wanted to have with Garrett.

"Garrett!" Peter exclaimed.

"Peter!" Garrett mimicked his visitor's urgent tone.

"Hey, listen – do you want a kid?"

The question took Garrett by surprise. For one thing it was a pretty stupid thing to ask. It was common knowledge that Garrett and his wife Jo wanted a kid. Someday. They were only twenty-seven and twenty-five, and not in any particular hurry; but they had known from the outset that they would never have a child the usual way, which was why they were now researching the various options (well, perhaps not various so much as both: the choice was between adoption and IVF).

"Is that a trick question?" Garrett asked at last.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you want a kid," Peter went on hurriedly, taking a seat on the edge of one of the armchairs. "But do you want one soon? Because I think I may have found you one."

Garrett said the only thing in his head: "Huh?"

"You don't have to decide right away," Peter said reassuringly. "Discuss it with Jo, obviously."

"Discuss what with Jo?"

"This morning I was with a little boy in care," Peter explained. Already having one adequate income from Ghostbusting, and another excessive income from his work as a Hollywood agent, Peter was now trying to get back to doing a little psychology on the side. In this case, he suspected that no other psychologists had been prepared to make themselves available at such short notice. "His name's Max Sanford; he just turned two last week and he was taken away from his parents yesterday. Apparently they were giving him drugs to hide them from the police."

Garrett's mouth fell open.

"I know. It's terrible," Peter agreed. "Social Services had a physician look him over, and then I talked to him and did a psychological assessment. The good news is, he doesn't seem to have been affected too badly either way. Yeah, he was a little upset – but he responds well to attention and he was even smiling by the time I left him."

"Ok, good," Garrett surmised. "But what does that have to do with me and Jo?"

"Even if Max's parents somehow avoid jail, there's no way they can get him back," Peter continued explanatorily. "He needs a new home. Now obviously it's totally up to you – but I asked Social Services and they agreed to hold him for you and Jo before they offer him to anybody else."

"Hold him?" echoed Garrett. "Jeez, you make him sound like a package."

"Yeah, well – at the risk of objectifying the kid further, he'd be yours," Peter went on. "He'd get your surname; his birth parents would have no rights to him… as long as you can convince Social Services that you'd take good care of him."

"Wow." Garrett was stunned. "That was sudden. Jo and I thought it'd be years."

"Like I say, it's totally your choice and you can take as long as you need to decide… er… up to two weeks. But I think you'd really like him. He's seriously cute. He doesn't have much language yet, but we'll soon fix that. And I swear, you're perfect for each other. When I met him I thought of you straightaway." He paused. "Look: go home, talk it over with Jo – and if you want to you can go with me to meet him tomorrow, just to see what you think. Oh, wow… now I'm making him sound like a studio apartment," Peter added scathingly.

"Uh… Peter… you wouldn't joke about this, would you?" Garrett asked warily.

"Of course I wouldn't. I swear – this is all for real."

"Wow." Garrett glanced at his watch. It was just after noon. "Jo's working 'til two."

"Ok, great," Peter smiled enthusiastically. "Go home at two, talk it over with her, call me to let me know what you decide. So… what are your thoughts right now?"

Garrett shook his head. "Um… I don't know. What am I supposed to think?"

"Sorry to spring it on you like this," Peter smiled apologetically as he rose to his feet. "Seriously, though – you'd love him. I really think you should meet him at the very least. Call me tonight, ok?"

"Um… ok."

x x x

Everyone agreed that Garrett's wife Jo was perfect for him. She was cheery, athletic and had a terrific sense of humour. Her round face was framed endearingly in shoulder-length straight, dark-blond hair. She had big brown eyes, a curvy figure and always wore a smile. Perhaps she wasn't exactly pretty – but it was easy to see why Garrett found her attractive.

Garrett and Jo had been married for just over a year. They met just eighteen months before they decided to marry – and for the first six of those months Jo had been incapacitated thanks to two broken legs, and consequently in a terrible state of depression. However Garrett had fixed her broken bones and brought the smile back to her face, and in the two years since her recovery Jo had been running, swimming and toning her abs to Soft Cell as well as she ever could before that fateful rock climbing accident.

Two-and-a-half years was arguably not a long time to know someone before you adopted a child together. However Jo didn't let that bother her. She was extremely keen not only to meet this Max, but also to take him into her home away from the cruel, harsh world that he had been born into. She was so keen, in fact, that Garrett immediately started to dread what would happen if the whole thing fell through. He remembered how distraught Jo had been when she lost the use of two limbs for six months. How was she going to feel if she lost this chance to be a mother?

"Hey… Jo… let's just take this one step at a time, shall we?" he suggested tentatively, once she had finished squealing and flinging her arms around his neck.

"Right." Jo was already at the phone trying to remember the Venkmans' number. "Meet him, sign a few papers, bring him home. Isn't that it?"

"No, honey," Garrett said patiently. "Well, not exactly. Remember all that stuff we found out about adoption? We'll have to go through all those checks and things to make sure we're suitable."

"Well, we should be ok," Jo reasoned. "You already went through most of that stuff before they let you loose on any kids during your physical therapy course. And I've never abused any children."

"Good," Garrett smiled slightly.

"Well, what are you worried about?" demanded Jo.

"I just… I really hope this happens for us," Garrett faltered. "I don't want you to be disappointed. I can't tell you how much it kills me that I can't give you a baby, and I'd hate for this not to work out either."

"Aw, sweetheart." Jo went to the sofa to sit beside her husband and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "We always knew we couldn't have kids the old-fashioned way. But now… well – that could be our little boy waiting for us in that care home."

"Yeah," Garrett smiled wistfully. "That'd be nice."

"It's not fair, is it?" Jo went on analytically. "A couple of lowlife criminals can just have a baby and pump him full of drugs. But if we want a kid, we have to go through all kinds of tests and checks and interviews and stuff."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Er… yes it is."

"It doesn't matter," Jo rephrased. "I promise I won't get my hopes up, but we will get a kid someday – maybe even sooner than we thought. And hey, if the worst comes to the worst, we can always run off with Eduardo and Kylie's two."

"That seems a little mean," Garrett argued. "Don't you think we should leave them one?"

"Yeah, I guess. Which one?" asked Jo.

"Duh," Garrett grinned jovially at her. "They can have Rose; we'll take the good one."

x x x

Peter drove Garrett and Jo to the care home at ten o'clock the next morning. All three were dying to see Max – but before this was allowed, several people with suits and nametags insisted on giving Garrett and Jo the third degree. Garrett, true to his nature, did most of the talking. Within half an hour he lost count of the number of times he had said that he was a physiotherapist and part-time Ghostbuster; his wife was a fitness instructor at their local gym; they owned a fair-sized two-bedroom apartment on the ground floor and they had friends with a daughter about Max's age.

And then, finally, they were allowed to see Max himself. Peter was trusted to escort the two visitors to the enormous playroom, where about a dozen children of all ages were playing with more toys than either Garrett or Jo had ever seen in one place. Max wasn't difficult to spot. He was the youngest of the lot, and playing alone with an impressive collection of plastic building blocks.

Peter led Garrett and Jo over to where the little boy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the brightly coloured blocks surrounding him like a fort. Very symbolic, Peter thought dryly. Max was a skinny little thing, dressed in frayed blue jeans and a red sweater that were much too big for him. He had a round face, electric-blue eyes and a mop of jet-black hair that covered his ears and flopped over his forehead. He was, Peter felt, quite tragic to look at – especially in a place like that, surrounded by children yet still very much on his own. And the poignant expressions on Garrett and Jo's faces seemed to suggest that they thought so too.

Max looked up when he recognised Peter, and his chubby little face broke into a dimpled smile of welcome. He blinked up at his visitors with his big blue eyes and said pleasantly to Peter, "Hello, Petey."

"He couldn't quite pronounce 'Dr. Venkman'," Peter explained quietly to his companions, with a fond smile. Then he addressed the child: "Hi Max."

Max's gaze wandered to his other two guests. His smile widened as he looked from Garrett to Jo and back again, and then said amiably, "Hello, Mom. Hello, Dad."

x x x

Garrett, Jo and Peter all went to the firehouse straight from the care home, and arrived to an interesting array of cars. There was the Ecto-1, Janine's Volkswagen, Roland's Mustang and a dark-blue Ford that looked familiar, but that none of them could put a name to.

"Hey, Janine!" Peter called over to the reception desk. "Whose car is this?"

"Beth Rivera's," Janine answered. "Kevin's borrowed it to take Eduardo and Rose to their paediatrician."

"Why?" Jo asked, sounding slightly concerned.

"A booster shot, I think," Janine shrugged dismissively.

Eighteen-year-old Kevin Rivera was enjoying a long, hot summer between high school and college – and trying not to get too depressed in the knowledge that Kelly Williams, his girlfriend of a little under three years, would soon be leaving him in order to further her education elsewhere. Kevin was also the only and beloved cousin of Conchita and Rose. However it seemed safe to assume that he would soon be blacklisted by the younger sister if he was to be the one responsible for taking her to her loathed paediatrician so that she could have a needle stuck in her arm.

"I'M NOT GOING!" a shrill voice screamed angrily from the top of the stairs.

"You are going," Eduardo said firmly, appearing next to Rose and grabbing her by the waist before she could run off – which she inevitably would, given the chance.

"LET ME GO!" yelled Rose. "I'M BIGGER THAN YOU!"

"Are you?" Eduardo asked, sounding amused.

"YES!"

"Are you really?" he grinned at his daughter, hoisting her off the ground and holding her in his arms.

"Yes," Rose said again, though she couldn't help but giggle slightly.

"Ok," Eduardo agreed – and he dropped a kiss onto Rose's forehead. "Kev, I think we're ready."

"About time," Kevin smiled indulgently. He swept past his uncle and cousin on the stairs, twirling his mother's car keys on the forefinger of his right hand. When he saw the gathering out in the foyer he smiled a greeting and told them humorously, "She's bigger than all of us today."

"She sure is," Eduardo confirmed. He followed his nephew down the stairs and towards the car, still with a firm grip on his younger daughter. "So how was Max?"

"I love him!" Jo answered enthusiastically, her big brown eyes suddenly taking on a dream-like look.

"Really?" Eduardo asked, faintly surprised by this news.

"Yeah, I love him too," Garrett smiled wistfully. "So you guys are off to the doctor now?"

"No," Rose answered at once.

"Yes," Kevin corrected her, opening one of the back doors and indicating the child seat to Eduardo – as though he thought he might not have spotted it.

"NO!" Rose said again, more forcefully this time, as she struggled against her father's attempts to strap her into the seat. "I'm bigger than you!"

"I know you are, Rosie," Eduardo sighed wearily. Then he cut a glance at Garrett and Jo and added, "Not putting you off, are we?"

"They can't all be like that, surely," reasoned Garrett. "Is your better half around, Eddie?"

"Yeah, she's upstairs."

"Good," Garrett approved. "We can talk to her."

"About what?" asked Eduardo.

"That delightful little ray of sunshine you have there actually," Garrett replied with a dry smile. "Tell ya later, ok? You're probably late."

"We won't be if we leave now," Kevin cut in, leaning on the open driver's door and throwing a meaningful look at his uncle.

Eduardo obligingly slammed the back door shut, opened the passenger door and climbed into the car. As Kevin drove the Ford out onto the road, he waved a cheery goodbye to everyone in the foyer while Rose beat her little fists against the window and yelled, "Let me out! I'm not going!"

"Wilful, isn't she?" Jo remarked dryly.

"Yeah," Garrett agreed. "How could Kylie have ever thought it was a good idea to have Eduardo's child?"

x x x

Kylie was on the sofa with Conchita, and they were discussing one of the colourful illustrations in The Bumper Book of Fairytales. Approaching them and peering nosily over their shoulders, Peter saw at once that they were reading "Rapunzel". He smiled indulgently when he remembered how much Jessica used to hate that one. She couldn't quite believe that Rapunzel was too stupid to find her own way out of the tower.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Conchita asked, wrinkling her nose at the picture of the prince clinging onto Rapunzel's hair with very tight fists.

"You would think so," Kylie solemnly agreed. "That guy does look pretty heavy."

"Hey, short stuff – mind if I take over for a few minutes?" Peter cut in. "Garrett and Jo need to talk to your mom."

"Ok," Conchita agreed, smiling pleasantly at Peter as Kylie handed him the thick hardback over the back of the sofa. "Do you want me to tell you what's happened?"

"That's ok, I've read this one before," Peter assured the little girl as he took a seat next to her.

"Hey," Kylie greeted Garrett and Jo with a smile. "So what's Max like?"

"So cute you wouldn't believe," gushed Jo. "He kept calling us Mom and Dad."

"Really?" Kylie asked, surprised.

"Really," Garrett confirmed. "One of the women who worked there overheard it, and she came over and started yelling at Peter."

"Well, she didn't yell exactly," Jo disagreed. "But she was like, 'What have you been telling him?' Peter swears Max thought of it all by himself, though."

"Wonder if Max is short for Maxwell," mused Garrett.

"Or Maximillian," Kylie added, with a dry smile.

"God, I hope not," Garrett flinched. "Anyway, they're worried that he seems to be having trouble making friends, and they kept asking us if we knew any kids the same sort of age. Which we do, obviously – so now we kind of need you and/or Eduardo and Rose to do us a favour."

"Ooh." Kylie pulled a face. "I'm not sure Rose does favours. What is it?"

"They want Max to meet her," Jo explained. "They think if he comes to live with us it's a good idea for him to meet some of the people he'll be spending time with."

"We're going to force them to be friends, are we?" Kylie asked dryly. "Rose'll love that."

"Come on, Kylie – please bring her to meet Max," begged Jo. "You could probably bring Conchita too if she wants to come."

"Yes, we'll come and meet him – of course we will," Kylie readily agreed. "I just hope Rose doesn't ruin your chances by beating him up or something."

"Yeah, we're supposed to be showing them how much fun he'll have with us," Garrett remarked, only half joking. "But seriously, I think if we can get him to be friends with Rose, it'll do him good. She can be quite talkative if you get her in the right mood, but Max has only got a couple of dozen words."

"Really?" asked Kylie. "And he's two?"

"Yeah, well – apparently his parents never used to talk to him," Garrett told her. "He says 'yes', 'no', 'hello', 'Mom', 'Dad', 'play', 'ok'… 'Petey' – things like that. He can string two or three words together if he really has to, but that's about it. Peter thinks it might help him to have a conversation with somebody his own age."

"Ok, I might be able to persuade Rose to talk to him," said Kylie. "When?"

"As soon as we're all free," answered Garrett.

"Speaking of which, I'm due at work in twenty minutes," Jo put in. "I'll see you tonight, honey," and she stooped to smack Garrett on the mouth.

Kylie watched Jo leave. Then she turned to Garrett and asked, "Excited?"

"Not getting my hopes up," Garrett answered soberly. "You have to go through a lot before they'll let you adopt a child. Anything could happen."

"But surely it's a good sign if they want him to meet your friends," reasoned Kylie.

"Yeah, I guess," Garrett deadpanned. "But let's just wait and see, huh?"

x x x

Peter, Garrett, Jo, Eduardo, Kylie, Conchita and Rose all filed into Max's room in the care home the following Sunday morning. Peter personally felt that he didn't need to be there – but apparently it was important for a qualified psychologist to assess how well Max responded to a child his own age.

Peter, who knew both of the kids fairly well, introduced them: "Max, this is Rose. She's brought her mom and dad and her sister to play with you."

Kylie gave Rose a nudge towards Max, and Peter made a point of watching the little boy's reaction. Well, he could quite see why a qualified psychologist was needed to be present – not! Any idiot could tell that Max responded very well to Rose. He switched on that adorable smile of his and greeted her pleasantly, "Hello, Ro-Ro."

Rose didn't return the warm smile. Instead her brown eyes narrowed dangerously on the little boy's face as she said darkly, "My name's Rose."

"Ok," Max agreed, still smiling. "Play?"

"Ok," Conchita jumped in, before her sister had a chance to say any more. She grabbed Rose's hand and led her towards the pile of toys in the middle of the room, saying genially to Max, "My name's Conchita. It's Spanish," she added proudly.

Garrett, Kylie and Jo all followed – Kylie shooting daggers at Rose in the hope of reminding her small daughter of the promise that had been forced out of her the day before. Peter tactfully hung back – and Eduardo had been cornered by an officious looking redhead who was hovering in the doorway.

"Your younger resembles you a great deal," the woman remarked.

Eduardo glanced down at her nametag, which read "Liz Harper", and then quickly raised his eyes to her face before he was unjustly accused of anything. Slightly lost for words, he said the first thing that came into his head: "Yeah. Funny how that happens."

"How long have you known Garrett Miller?" Liz asked sharply.

"Um… since college," Eduardo answered uncertainly. "About nine years."

"Hmm," Liz responded, watching Garrett as he positioned himself on the floor along with Kylie, Jo and the two kids. "How do your daughters like him?"

"See for yourself," Eduardo retorted, nodding towards Garrett, Max and Conchita as they laughed over a couple of stuffed crocodiles. "Don't you have any questions about Jo?"

Peter was quite deliberately eavesdropping on this little exchange and silently willing Eduardo not to lose his temper with this woman.

Liz ignored Eduardo's question and ventured uncertainly, "Your younger daughter seems a little…"

"What?" Eduardo demanded, instantly on the defensive.

"Crotchety," Liz finished, with a disarming smile.

"Grouchy, you mean?" Eduardo shot back. "You would be too if some skirt was watching your every - "

"Rose doesn't always adapt quickly to a new environment," Peter interrupted hastily, stepping between Eduardo and Liz. "And Eduardo's right: she's not used to people watching her while she's playing."

Eduardo instinctively looked over to the group on the floor – and he flinched at what he saw. It looked suspiciously as though Kylie was restraining Rose; she had both hands on her younger daughter's waist, and Rose was on all-fours glaring at poor little Max. Thank God Peter was distracting this Liz – whoever she was supposed to be.

"Any more questions?" Eduardo asked scathingly, if only to stop Liz from looking at Rose again.

"Just one, Mr. Rivera," Liz smiled falsely at him. "You and your partner are not married – is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Hmm…" Liz muttered disapprovingly.

"What do you -?"

"Ok, no more questions," Peter interrupted again, his voice unnecessarily perky. "You'd better go and join in then, Eduardo. Now," he added firmly, intercepting the venomous look that Eduardo was shooting at Liz.

"Why don't you talk?" Rose was frowning at Max, when Eduardo joined the little group on the floor.

"He doesn't know many words yet, honey," Kylie explained patiently. "He's a little bit younger than you are, remember."

"What name?" Max asked, pointing at Eduardo.

"Eduardo," Rose answered quickly.

"Ed," Max smiled happily.

"No!" snapped Rose. "Eduardo!"

"It doesn't matter, Rose," Eduardo hastened to assure his daughter, cutting a glance in Liz's direction. "Max, can you say 'Eddie'?"

"Eddie," Max echoed.

"Ok, good," Eduardo smiled approvingly. "Plenty of people call me Eddie, honey."

"But that's not your name," Rose argued.

"Close enough," Eduardo insisted. "Now play with Max, Rosie."

"No," Rose pouted objectionably.

"Come on, baby," her mother begged. "You promised me, remember?"

"All right then," Rose reluctantly agreed, taking a chunky plastic aeroplane into her hand and shuffling a little closer towards Max.

Squealing with delight, Max snatched the plane from Rose's hand and began feeding a green rubber snake through one of the circular windows. The look of horror on Rose's face was a picture. She had a fairly impressive collection of toys at home – and even at her tender age she kept the jungle animals firmly together and well away from the airport. What's more she kept the aeroplane on the runway, the helicopter on the helipad and the fat, plastic airport staff and patrons on the chairs in the waiting room. Honestly – didn't this kid know how to play with toys at all?

x x x

Two hours later, Peter dropped Jo off at home and Garrett at the hospital where he worked part-time (including evenings and weekends, like now). Eduardo and Kylie had both decided to take the whole day off, as they had already swapped their morning shifts with Winston and Ray – so Peter drove them and their two daughters back to their apartment building and was gracious enough to see them in.

They'd stopped at the first ice-cream van they saw – and now, while they waited for the elevator, Conchita and Rose were each enjoying a rapidly melting ice-lolly. For the former this rare treat was just an added bonus to a thoroughly enjoyable morning – but Kylie was gazing down at her younger daughter's dark head with a look of despair.

"I just… I mean…" she faltered, sighing despondently, "it really comes to something when you have to bribe your daughter to be nice to another kid."

"Not bribe, Kylie," Peter corrected her. " 'Reward'."

"Right," Kylie smiled humorously. "Sorry, doctor."

"Here it is!" Conchita announced brightly, stepping into the lift as the doors slid open. "Bye-bye, Peter!"

They all quickly said their goodbyes before the doors closed and the lift carried Eduardo, Kylie, Conchita and Rose up to the fifth floor (leaving Peter to his own devices downstairs). By the time they reached their small apartment the ice-lollies had both disappeared. Eduardo disposed of the sticks and started on lunch while Kylie settled the kids down in front of Sesame Street. Rose looked tired so she put them in the bedroom they shared, where one or both of them could fall asleep if they wanted to. To save on space the girls slept in bunk beds, Conchita on top and Rose on the bottom. If Conchita sat up and Rose lay on her side, they could both just about see the small television on the chest of drawers opposite.

"Are you ok, babe?" Kylie asked anxiously when she wandered into the kitchen. Eduardo was closing the oven door on an unfortunate chicken – and looking very unhappy about it for some reason.

"Just thinking," he replied distractedly. "Ugh – piss off."

He was addressing Pagan, their black-and-white cat, who had just trotted into the kitchen, evidently having smelt the chicken. Moments before he had been curled up asleep at the foot of Eduardo and Kylie's bed. He'd been doing that a lot lately, and it was certainly a sign of age. Eduardo knew they couldn't have much longer to wait, but he was dreading the day the old cat died. He was going to have to comfort Kylie and two very distraught little girls. He could see it now: all three of them sobbing into his t-shirt while Kevin discreetly disposed of the body.

"Do you want to tell me?" asked Kylie.

"That woman," Eduardo began carefully. "Liz Harper. She kept asking me questions about Garrett. She didn't want to know about Jo – just Garrett."

"Well, they're bound to have questions," Kylie reasoned. "We know Garrett's a good guy, but they have to look out for that kid's welfare."

"When I was six," Eduardo said slowly, "my dad was involved in a bust on this crack house in the Bronx."

Kylie caught her breath. Eduardo must really be worrying about this. He never talked about his late father if he could help it.

"They found a little girl in the cellar," Eduardo went on. "Her name was Anna. They took her back to the station for a while, and my dad came home and asked me to go with him and play with her. So I did, and Anna was great, and she played with me and talked to me and everything – and then for a few weekends after that I went to this home she was sent to and played with her there."

"What happened to her?"

"She told me that a couple wanted to adopt her. The wife had cerebral palsy."

"Oh." Kylie looked down at her feet. "I think I see where this is going."

"My dad ranted and raved about it for weeks," Eduardo remembered. "Social Services wouldn't let this woman adopt a kid. Any kid. Anna eventually went home with this couple from Detroit. I never saw her again."

"But they can't do that now." Kylie was trying to reassure both Eduardo and herself. "They're not allowed to refuse somebody a child on the grounds of a disability, surely."

"No, they're not," Eduardo agreed. "There's a law against discrimination. They wouldn't have a hope in hell if Garrett took it to court. But these questions that Liz was asking – it was like she was trying to find something wrong with any one of us. Did you see the way she looked at Rose – like she was willing her to make a false move? She was almost telling me she thought Rose would be a bad influence on Max."

"Wait a minute," Kylie interjected, trying to organise her thoughts. "You think they don't want to let Garrett and Jo have Max because of Garrett's disability, so this woman was looking for any excuse not to?"

"That's exactly what I think," Eduardo answered solemnly. "I don't even believe they care about the kid at all. Max obviously really likes Garrett – and Jo, come to that – but they just can't see it. Assholes. Tell you what, Ky; it's a good thing Peter was there. I almost lost it with that Liz woman. She would have loved that: 'Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Miller; you can't have the kid because your friend's a jerk.'"

"Hey… look… what if you're right?" asked Kylie. "Maybe she was looking for an excuse, but there just isn't one. Garrett and Jo are both earning; they're good people… Garrett's already been police checked by the college and by the hospital. No one else needs to know that Rose will only be nice to Max in exchange for something from the ice-cream truck – and as long as you don't yell at any social workers, they should be fine."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Eduardo nodded pensively. "Sucks, though, doesn't it?"

"Yeah – it's not fair," Kylie agreed. "Garrett and Jo are having to go through all this, but we got a kid without even trying."

"And then when we wanted another one…" Eduardo smiled slightly.

"No problem," Kylie finished for him. "Hey – that was fun."

"I'll say," Eduardo grinned impishly, leaning in to kiss her.

"Eww – get a room."

"We thought we'd be safe with you guys watching Sesame Street," Kylie deadpanned, looking over to the doorway where her older daughter now stood.

"Yeah, well," Conchita shrugged, venturing a little further into the room and stooping slightly to stroke Pagan. "Rose fell asleep and I already know the alphabet."

"I know the alphabet too, but I still enjoy Sesame Street," Eduardo grinned lopsidedly at her.

Conchita suddenly decided to change the subject: "Max is cute."

"Isn't he a little young for you, honey?" japed Kylie.

"I suppose," Conchita smiled jovially. "Not for Rose, though. They should get married."

"I don't think they're very well suited," Kylie disagreed. "In fact I'd even go so far as to say Rose hated him."

"So?" Conchita shrugged dismissively. "Rose will hate whoever she marries. She hates everybody."

x x x

The coffee table was laden with popcorn, Doritos, peanuts and Diet Coke. The Seven Year Itch was due to start in approximately seven minutes. Jessica wanted to make one final trip to the bathroom so she wouldn't have to get up in the middle of the film. But she couldn't, because that wretched brother of hers wasn't back from his photo shoot yet. He wasn't too fussed about publicity shots, Oscar had explained earlier, as he straightened his ponytail in front of the mirror; but it was part of the job.

"I was always keener than she was," Kevin droned on, heedless of the fact that Jessica had stopped listening half an hour ago.

"Really?" Jessica mumbled robotically.

"Yeah. Like – two years ago, I told her I loved her, ok? She accused me of being 'too intense.' She said she was only sixteen and she just wanted to have fun."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And now she doesn't think we can maintain a long-distance relationship. Apparently there's no chance because 'we'll both be meeting new people.' I know what that means: she wants to get herself a new boyfriend the minute she gets there. One she can have 'fun' with. What do you think I should do, Jess?"

"Really?"

"Jess!" Kevin exclaimed, outraged.

"Huh?"

"What do you think I should do?"

"Um… I think you should lighten up," Jessica replied truthfully. "This isn't Dawson's Creek, Kev. Kelly's right: you will be meeting new people. I'm sure there'll be plenty of dippy blondes who take a double D cup at… er… wherever it is you're going. Hey – you know what always cheers me up? Doritos," and she held out one of the orangey-yellow bags in offering.

Kevin looked stunned – but before he could think of anything to say, the front door clicked open and Jessica's half-brother Oscar Wallance sauntered into the sitting room.

"Oh, thank God," Jessica sighed with relief, throwing the Doritos packet to one side and jumping to her feet. "Kevin wants to talk to you, Oscar. He's got girl trouble. Maybe you could set him up with one of your supermodel friends. Oh no, wait – that's no good. Kevin wouldn't want to date a size eight supermodel."

"Just as well, because I don't know any," said Oscar. "It's early days, Jess. And you can stop being so grouchy with me. I'm not going to apologise again for the twenty-odd fans I do have chasing you around the city."

"I don't have time for this!" Jessica shouted down the stairs. She was halfway up and making a beeline for the bathroom. "Just don't do it in the living room – ok? – because The Seven Year Itch is about to start and I've already set up my snacks in there!"

"I'm going to miss her when I'm in Memphis," Oscar smiled sadly.

By the time Oscar and Kevin were at the top of the stairs, Jessica was already out of the bathroom and trying to barge her way past them. She glanced at the wall clock in the hall. Great: two minutes before the film was due to start. She was going to make it. Except…

"Damn it!" Jessica fumed, as the phone started ringing just as she passed it. Two minutes until show time. Well, if it was for her, whoever it was could just wait. She picked up the phone and said urgently into the mouthpiece, "Hello?"

"Good afternoon," a cool female voice responded. "This is Liz Harper from the St. Alban's Trust Care Home. May I speak to Dr. Venkman, please?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. DAD!" Jessica yelled, dropping the receiver and letting it swing freely from the small mahogany table. "PHO-ONE!" She ran into the living room, threw herself onto the sofa and switched on the television.

Peter emerged from the kitchen, popped his head around the living room door and asked, "Who is it, Jess?"

"I don't know," Jessica shrugged, at last able to sit back and relax with a packet of peanuts in time for the start of the film. "Some woman."

Intrigued, Peter picked up the phone and said, "Hello?"

"Dr. Venkman? Liz Harper," the caller responded brusquely. "We'd like you to come to the care home as soon as possible. There's something we need you to take a look at."

x x x

Peter went to the home straightaway. He tried all the usual stuff he had learnt when studying child psychology, just for appearance's sake; but he knew the instant he saw Max that he would have to call Egon. He had a pretty good idea what was wrong, but he just needed Egon to confirm it – and hopefully come up with a slightly more specific diagnosis.

It was nearing midnight when Egon finally looked up from his PKE meter and said, "I'm baffled, Peter – but I do know this is serious. You'd better call the team in now."

"Right," Peter agreed. "Kylie and Eduardo won't both be able to make it."

"That's fine," Egon answered monotonously. "We'll both be here. I should think one of them can come."

"Right," Peter said again. "I'll call them and Roland. And… um… Garrett. I suppose."

"Of course Garrett. He'll want to know about this."

"Er… no he won't."

"Well," Egon said expressionlessly. "Maybe not. But given that this has happened, he'll want to be told. He has to be told," he added poignantly.

Peter got up and made his way to the nearest phone.

x x x

"Hello?"

"Garrett, it's Peter. Sorry to call so late. Egon and I need you to come to the care home right away. I'm afraid there's a problem with Max."

"With Max? What's wrong?" Garrett asked urgently.

"We think he's possessed. You'd better see it for yourself – but I warn you, it's not pretty," Peter intoned ominously. "I'll come and pick you up in the Ecto-1. And – er – if you want my advice, I wouldn't worry Jo with this just yet. It might be nothing."

"Nothing?" Garrett echoed incredulously. "How can you say -?"

"Sorry, that's not what I meant," Peter interrupted quickly. "I just meant we might not have any problem dealing with it… ok?"

Garrett sighed deeply. Raking his fingers agitatedly through his reddish-brown hair, he said quietly, "Ok."

"Good. Now try not to worry too much – if you can. It'll be fine."

x x x

"Hello?"

"Roland, it's Peter. Sorry to call so late. I need you to come with me and the others to the St. Alban's Trust Care home. There's a problem with Max Sanford."

"I'll be right there," Roland said soberly.

"Sure you want to drive?"

"Of course."

"Great," Peter approved. "That'll save some time. Egon will be here; I'm going to pick up the others in the Ecto-1."

x x x

"ARGH! Goddamn phone…"

"Ignore it."

"Eugh… I have to get it, Eduardo."

"Oh – you have got to be kidding me."

"I'm sorry, honey, but if they're calling this late it must be important. Come on – move."

Simultaneously pulling one arm into a towelling robe and tying the cord at the waist (and not making a very good job of either), Kylie padded from the bedroom to the sitting room and made for the vibrating phone. If she had to spend an hour trying to get either or both of her children back to sleep after this, the caller was going to be in very serious trouble.

She picked up the phone and said, with a distinct note of irritation in her voice, "Hello?"

"Kylie, it's Peter. Sorry to call so late."

"I should damn well hope you are!"

"It's urgent," Peter went on hastily. "Max. We think he's possessed. If I come by in the Ecto-1, can one of you come with Garrett and me to the home?"

"Oh… yes, of course." Kylie's annoyance and frustration were instantly stunned out of her. "Are you coming right now?"

"Yes. But I'll pick Garrett up first."

"Ok. I'll be ready."

Kylie hung up, hurried back to the bedroom, threw the towelling robe roughly onto the floor and started clambering into her clothes. Eduardo lay on his back and stared at her rapidly moving shape through the darkness, patiently awaiting an explanation.

"That was Peter," Kylie told him hurriedly. "It's Max."

"Max?" Eduardo sat up abruptly. Like everyone who knew Max Sanford's sorry tale, he hated the thought of anything else happening to that poor kid. "What's wrong?"

"They think he's possessed," Kylie calmly explained. "I'll go, seeing as I'm up. And I'll tell you everything when I get home, ok?"

"Ok," Eduardo agreed. He climbed out of bed and started groping around in the dark for his jeans.

"What are you doing?" asked Kylie.

"Getting up. I can't possibly go to sleep now. Hell, I wish I could go with you." He found the jeans and pulled them on.

"Yeah, those social workers would love that," Kylie laughed dryly. " 'Er… who's with those two little girls you brought here this morning?' Hey, listen – I'm going to go downstairs and wait for the Ecto-1. I'll see you later." She put her hands on his shoulders and craned her neck to kiss him. Then she added with a slight smile, "Take a cold shower while I'm out, huh?"

x x x

If you have somehow managed to go through life without ever seeing The Exorcist all the way through, surely you've seen extracts from some of its most famous scenes. And even if you've somehow missed seeing those, you've almost certainly seen them parodied by other films and shows – there are so many spoofs of that movie. In fact it was just as though the staff of the St. Alban's Trust Care Home was making another such parody now – for there lay Max, strapped to his bed with copious amounts of very thick masking tape, his eyes glowing yellow and his mouth and chin dripping bright green mucus.

"Oh my God," Roland breathed, horrified. Yet in the back of his mind he couldn't help thinking: That is so clichéd.

"What do we do, Egon?" Kylie asked quietly.

"That's just the problem," Egon told her sombrely. "I don't know. Before we can do anything I need to establish what sort of demon is possessing him. But I just can't seem to put my finger on it."

"Actually," Peter put in, "I'm glad it was you and not Eduardo that came, Kylie. Maybe you've got some idea?"

"Me?" Kylie was stunned. "Hey, look – if Egon can't figure it out I certainly can't."

"I've been here since late afternoon," Egon told her. "I think all it needs is a fresh eye. Perhaps I missed something."

"Go and take a look at him, Kylie," Peter ordered gently. "You too, Roland. Um… Garrett, are you ok?"

Before Garrett had a chance to answer, Kylie and Roland let out a simultaneous cry of surprise and revulsion as Max suddenly opened his mouth and projectile vomited blood, drenching them both.

"Odd," Egon muttered to himself. "I've never seen anything like that before."

"Neither have I – or at least not outside of Jessica's fifties and sixties little-known horror movie collection," Peter deadpanned. "There's definitely something fishy in all of this. Uh… Garrett…?"

"I can't watch this," Garrett murmured, turning his chair a-hundred-and-eighty degrees and making for the door.

Roland was busy examining Max's glowing, yellowed eyes, and Egon was frowning in perplexity at his PKE meter. He wore the look of somebody puzzling out a particularly obscure crossword clue: there was most definitely a correct answer – if only he could spot it.

But Peter and Kylie had both turned their attention to Garrett's retreating form. They exchanged a sickened look as they both started to imagine their own children in that state. Granted, Max technically wasn't Garrett's child – but Kylie was sure her friend must really be going through it, and Peter knew for certain that he was. He remembered how anxious he himself had felt for Oscar, then under a year old, when Vigo had so nearly taken control of his body.

"So." Liz Harper appeared in the doorway, deliberately blocking Garrett's path. "Have you figured out the problem yet?"

"Um… well… he's almost certainly possessed," Peter faltered. "But we can't seem to figure out… er… by what."

"I see," Liz returned curtly. "You can't cure him, then."

"I'm sure we'll be able to," Egon tried to assure her. "We just need a little more time, that's all."

"Dr. Spengler, we don't know how much time this child has," Liz said brusquely. "Now I don't pretend to be an expert on demon possession, but I do know that young children don't respond well to this sort of thing. And we're not at all happy about you using those nuclear weapons in this building either," she added tartly.

Roland looked straight at her and said evenly, "You're asking us to leave?"

"If you'd be so kind," Liz replied, with a disarming smile. "You obviously can't help this child, so there seems little point in you being here – especially since your very presence may cause untold physical and emotional damage to the children in our care." She looked down at Garrett. "Which brings me to my next point, Mr. Miller."

"Oh, here it comes," Garrett spat vehemently. "Don't bother, Ms. Harper; I know what you're going to say."

"My apologies, Mr. Miller, but we don't feel that somebody in your line of work can provide a stable home for a child – especially one of this age," Liz said calmly.

Egon, Peter, Kylie and Roland all braced themselves for the explosion of rage they felt certain would follow. Garrett wouldn't stand for this, surely. He was about to put Liz in her place: tell her in no uncertain terms that of course he could raise a child, thank you very much – and if she or any of her cronies tried to stop him he was going to sue!

"Right," Garrett muttered. "Figures. Now all I gotta do is break it to my wife."

With that he rolled dejectedly from the room, four pairs of eyes staring incredulously after him. Peter, Egon and Roland were stunned; Kylie was just outraged. How could Garrett just accept a crock like that?

"That's bullshit!" she exclaimed.

"Ms. Griffin, please – there's a child present," Liz said coolly.

"You can't do that!" Kylie yelled furiously. "I am living proof that a Ghostbuster can raise a perfectly normal, healthy child – and I'm not the only one!"

"Yes, I was watching your younger daughter closely this morning," Liz returned scathingly. "You would call her behaviour normal, would you?"

Kylie balled her fists and took a step towards Liz, murmuring furiously through clenched teeth, "Why you…" With her hair and face dripping Max's blood and her green eyes flashing angrily on her daughter's behalf, she looked positively murderous.

"Calm down," Roland advised, placing a restraining hand on Kylie's arm. "Look… Miss… surely we can at least discuss this…"

"There is no discussion," Liz was adamant. "Especially in light of what's happened here. Why, for all we know this child's problem is a direct result of the Ghostbusters' continued presence in this building."

"Do you even realise you can talk out of another place than your ass?" Kylie exclaimed in livid tones. "I've been raising children for over five years, and never once in that time has either of my daughters been possessed!"

"If I may," Egon chipped in; "Kylie is quite correct. There is no logic in the assumption that we are responsible for this child's predicament. And I might add that my own children have never experienced anything like this in all their seven years."

"Really?" Liz challenged. "Well, Dr. Venkman, what about your stepson? He has featured very prominently in the papers these last few weeks. Doubtless much of it is mere rumour – but isn't it true that as an infant he was possessed by one Vigo the Carpathian?"

"Well… yes," Peter was forced to admit. "For all of three seconds before – guess what – we saved him. And it certainly wasn't my fault – besides which, he wasn't even my stepson then."

"Argue all you like, but the final decision on this child's future lies with us," Liz retorted. "Now if you would all please leave…"

"We're not - " Kylie began.

"Kylie," Peter interrupted. "I think you should leave. If I may, Ms. Harper, I should like to have a word before I go."

"Of course." Liz switched on that professional smile she liked to flash around, but this time it was distinctly shaky. "What is it, Dr. Venkman?"

"I hope," Peter began, as he watched his three colleagues file out of the room, "that you will continue to let me work with this child, at least until he is re-homed."

"I don't think that's a very good idea, Dr. Venkman," Liz returned calmly. "Do you?"

"Yes I do," replied Peter, perfectly mimicking Liz's patronising I-know-what-I'm-talking-about tone. "In fact I think assigning him to another psychologist now would be an extraordinarily bad idea. I would remind you, Ms. Harper, that it was you who brought the Ghostbusters here in the first place when you called and asked for my help. Now – apart from a very thorough exorcism – if there's one thing this child needs it's consistency. He has already been taken away from his parents – and goodness knows how many childless couples he'll be meeting before you finally decide that one of them is suitable. I know Max, Ms. Harper, and he knows me. But if I suddenly disappear and he has to adjust to another psychologist… well, you will be held responsible for whatever emotional damage he may suffer."

Five minutes later, Peter sauntered over to the Ecto-1 looking particularly pleased with himself.

"Did Kylie and Garrett leave with Roland?" he asked.

"Yes," Egon replied simply. "I do hope Garrett doesn't suffer too much emotional hardship over this. And he's dreading breaking the news to his wife."

"Well, don't say anything to anyone just yet, but all may not be lost," Peter smiled conspiratorially. "I've got a theory. Can you keep working on the problem from what we got here tonight, Egon?"

"Of course I can," Egon replied. "I fully intend to. I even had the foresight to take a sample of the discharge that saturated Kylie and Roland."

"Good," Peter approved, as he took his place behind the wheel of the Ecto-1.

"What are you looking so smug about anyway?" Egon asked suspiciously, climbing into the car beside his friend.

"I'm just enjoying feeling clever for a change," Peter replied smilingly. "Liz Harper isn't the only one who can use technical jargon to get her way."

x x x

"They can't do this to you, man!"

Garrett had arrived at the firehouse at nine o'clock in the morning. He'd really wanted to stay home with Jo, but at the end of the night she had firmly wiped away the last of the tears with the back of her hand and told her husband that he ought to go to work – that was what she was going to do. Garrett now wished he'd stayed home anyway. He could swear that Eduardo had been lying in wait for him.

"Eddie…"

"It's just not on! I can't believe you're not going to do anything about it! It's… it's… it's just…"

"Yeah, it sucks," Garrett interrupted. "Now give it a rest, will you?"

Eduardo stopped pacing the room and turned his head to look at Garrett. The poor guy was obviously really suffering. His normally bright blue eyes looked tired and heavy. He almost certainly hadn't slept all night.

Eduardo perched on the edge of an armchair and said, his tone calmer now, "It's not like you to just accept it. Aren't you going to do anything?"

"Do what?" demanded Garrett. "There's no point. I knew this would happen – it was only a matter of time."

Eduardo leaned back in the armchair and surveyed Garrett from under a stray lock of dark hair. "What do you mean you knew it would happen?" he asked evenly.

"I don't have a problem with my handicap, Eddie, but I'm not naïve enough to believe that nobody else does either. I saw the looks those social workers were giving me. It started the very first moment I set foot in that place – and I thought: That's it; they're never going to entrust any one of these kids to me. I've just been waiting for them to come up with an excuse. And there it is," Garrett finished weakly.

"It's a stupid excuse."

"Maybe, but what can I do? Ghostbusting isn't exactly run-of-the-mill, nine-to-five stuff. It's dangerous. And yeah, the kid's possessed – but even if he wasn't they could still argue I wouldn't be able to give him a 'normal' life – whatever that means. I can't win this one. There's just no point."

"Ok," Eduardo nodded slowly. "I take your point. But they claim the job's the only problem they have with you. What if you…?"

"Quit?" Garrett finished for him. "I've thought of that. They'd only find some other excuse, and I would have quit for nothing."

"But they can't do that," Eduardo objected. "If they're refusing you a child on the grounds of your disability, they're breaking the law. Talk to my brother – he'll tell you what to do."

"Oh Eddie – why bother?" Garrett cried desperately. "Yeah, I could quit the job and fight for the kid – but what if we lost? Jo's upset enough already. I'm not going to make it worse – and the waiting wouldn't do that poor kid much good either. He needs to find himself a family as soon as possible. There's one out there for him somewhere, and it's not us. It's just one of those things, ok? And besides – maybe they're right."

Eduardo shook his head incredulously. "How can you say a thing like that?"

"They've only got the kid's best interests at heart, Eddie."

"Oh – you think so, do you?"

"Of course I think so," snapped Garrett. "It's him they're thinking of. You and I know there's nothing wrong with a Ghostbuster raising a child. You and Kylie are doing it; Peter and Winston and Egon and Ray are all doing it – it's fine. But Social Services don't know that. They don't know what they could be sending that poor kid into. They have to be careful with him because he's their responsibility."

"They're just a go-between," Eduardo argued. "They look after kids who are between homes, but they don't own them." Garrett wasn't looking at him. "Garrett!"

"What?"

"They don't own Max."

Garrett looked at his hands again. Eduardo had been perceptive enough to notice that he couldn't bring himself to speak the child's name. He obviously didn't like hearing it either.

"They may be responsible for him," Eduardo went on reasonably, "but they don't own him. All they should be doing is trying to make him happy. Now Max may only be two, but he knows what he wants and that's you and Jo."

"Please stop," Garrett begged. "Maybe he did want us, but he'll want the next couple who pays attention to him just as much. He probably will have forgotten all about me and Jo by the time they get the demon out of him."

"Who?" Eduardo asked.

"Huh?"

"By the time who gets the demon out of him? We aren't allowed near him again – so what are they going to do about it?"

"They've seen The Exorcist same as everybody else," shrugged Garrett. "The kid even looked like Linda Blair. They'll get a priest to do it."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"How should I know? It's nothing to do with me anymore. The best thing for me and Jo to do now is just forget him and move on."

"Oh… bull," Eduardo muttered scathingly.

"Is it?" Garrett shot back in challenging tones. "Tell me about your dad, Eddie."

"What?"

"Go on – tell me. You never talk about him. I don't even know how he died. What were you – eleven? Must have hit you pretty hard. And how'd your mom take it? Was that when things really started getting bad between you and brother? Is it why you started to rebel?"

"Stop it," snapped Eduardo.

"Point made," Garrett returned disdainfully. "Isn't that how you deal with it – by pretending it never happened?"

"That's completely different!" Eduardo yelled, his exasperation driving him to his feet. "My dad's dead and I have to cope with the fact that he's never coming back! But we're talking about a little boy with a demon inside him who needs a home and a family! Don't you care what happens to him?"

"I know what's going to happen to him!" Garrett yelled back. "They'll exorcise the demon and then send him home with Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and as far as he's concerned it'll be like Jo and I never existed."

"How can you be so sure they'll get the demon out?" Eduardo asked. "They're not letting us help. What if he dies?"

"They're social workers, Eddie," Garrett retorted. "I doubt they'll let it get that far. If the worst comes to the worst, they'll probably call us back."

"And then what? You and Max will have to see each other again."

"I'll deal with it."

"And will Max?"

"Of course he will," Garrett insisted. "They'll give him what he needs and he'll be happy. You're wrong, Eddie: he's too young to know what he wants."

"You can't make me believe that two-year-old kids don't know what they want," Eduardo argued.

"Can't I?" challenged Garrett. "And what are you basing that on, Eddie? Rose? She wants an ice-cream; she doesn't want to get her booster shot… but when it comes to the important things in life, she wants whatever she's given. She lives with you and Kylie and Conchita in a small apartment with an incontinent old cat – and that's the way she likes it because she doesn't know any better."

"Are you calling my daughter stupid?" Eduardo demanded.

"Of course not," Garrett sighed despairingly. "I'm just saying kids don't question things."

"Shows what you know," Eduardo retorted. "I happen to think both of my kids would put up more of a fight than you are over this. And Pagan's not incontinent." He paused for thought. "I just… I can't believe you're accepting it. You and I both know how mad you get when you're told you can't do something; that's why you immediately set out to prove everybody wrong. You can't get around by yourself; you can't play basketball… you can't adopt a kid – what's the difference?"

"The difference is, Eddie, that this isn't just about me," Garrett explained. "There's a child involved – and there are people between him and me. Powerful people – not least that Harper bitch. If I want to prove to the world that I can play basketball, all I have to do is pick up a basketball. And what's more, if I do that, nobody gets hurt. But at least three people stand to get hurt here. Now I'm not too fussed about my own feelings. I've taken knocks before and I'd get over it. But I don't want to put that kid or Jo through it. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Yes, that I can understand," Eduardo nodded slowly. "Still, if I thought Kylie or one of my kids wanted something that bad, I'd fight for it."

"Even if they stood to get hurt?"

"I don't know. It's hard to imagine. I've never had to go through anything like this."

"Yeah," Garrett said with a humourless smile. "Nobody disputed that you could look after those girls. Anybody can just have a baby and nobody questions it – until somebody finds out the kid's been pumped full of drugs, that is."

"I'm sorry," Eduardo found himself saying.

"What for?" asked Garrett.

"Having an easier time than you."

"Hey – it's not your fault," Garrett shrugged resignedly. "And anyway, I'm glad you did. If I can't make babies somebody else has to do it. Are you going to have any more?"

"Probably not," Eduardo replied. "We might consider having another baby if we had anywhere to put it – but as we don't, the whole thing seems pretty academic."

"But you do have somewhere to put it."

"Do we?" asked Eduardo. "Where?"

"My place," Garrett answered, with a weak smile.

"Heh," Eduardo laughed dryly. "It may come to that."

"I wasn't being serious," Garrett hastened to assure him. "I was just trying to cheer myself up with a stupid inappropriate joke. I wouldn't really ask you to do that. Anyway – what have you done with those kids?" he asked. "I suppose you hoped if you didn't bring them with you I'd forget there was any such thing as children."

"I suppose we did," Eduardo replied. "They're not complaining, though. Kevin took them to Pizza Hut for breakfast."

"Wow – that's my idea of breakfast," Garrett approved. "And I noticed the twins are conspicuously absent."

"I saw them go off in a cab with Janine's nephew when I arrived," Eduardo reported.

"Great." Garrett rolled his eyes. "It's Send-your-kids-off-with-their-grown-up-cousins-so-they-don't-upset-Garrett Day."

"Kevin isn't grown up."

"He's eighteen, Eddie. That's how old you and Kylie were when you met."

"God, wow – so it is," Eduardo realised. "That's encouraging. Maybe he'll meet somebody at college and fall in love with her. Then perhaps he'll stop moaning and whining about Kelly for five minutes."

x x x

"I think," Egon muttered, twisting one of the knobs on his microscope, "that you just might be right."

"Me? Right? Wow – make a note in your diaries," japed Peter. He jumped down from the desk he had been sitting on and went to look over Egon's shoulder. "So can we trace it back to somebody specific?"

"Yes. Or at least you can," Egon replied. "As long as you're prepared to do some snooping around in the care home."

"Of course – no problem," Peter replied breezily. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. But let's make it quick, ok? I don't want this hanging over me when I see Oscar off to Memphis next week. And we still need your RSVP re his going away party, by the way."

"I told you I'll get back to you and I will," Egon returned curtly. "Janine and I are having trouble finding a babysitter."

"That's a flimsy excuse," Peter said scathingly. "You're just scared of all the teenagers that are going to be there. You needn't worry, Egon. You know most of them: Kevin and that Kelly of his; Charlene Zeddemore; Casey and Amy Jackson; Oscar and Jess, obviously… and the other three members of Mood Slime may look scary, but they're actually really nice when you get to know them."

"I'm telling you the truth, Peter," Egon maintained. "Nobody can sit for the twins because everybody will be at Oscar's party."

"There must be somebody," Peter insisted. "Who's looking after Eric?"

"You'll have to ask Ray."

"What about the little Riveras? Oh wait – don't tell me. Beth, right?"

"Naturally."

"I'll bet she wouldn't mind taking the twins as well," Peter suggested helpfully.

"I am quite certain that she would mind, though she'd never admit it. I don't want to take advantage of her generous nature, Peter," Egon nobly proclaimed.

"Really? I think if she really did mind, she'd get Carl onto you. 'Look, four-eyes, my wife isn't running a day care centre'," Peter mimicked Carlos Rivera's foreboding tones. "Speaking of which – do you think we should ask for his help on this?"

"I think that may prove advantageous," replied Egon.

"Ok, good. Now, getting back to the party…"

"Yes?"

"What about Janine?"

"Definitely going," Egon answered, a slight note of disapproval creeping into his tone. "She's thrilled. She thought she'd never be invited to a teenager's party again."

"Good," Peter approved. "She can help me force you to have fun."

"I may not go, Peter."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll get you there, Spengs," Peter was confident. "Anyway – tell me what to do next about the Max situation."

x x x

"Dr. Venkman!" Liz squeaked, in a most undignified manner. "We… uh… weren't expecting you."

That's what I was counting on, you evil scheming bitch… "I just came to check on the Max Sanford situation, Ms. Harper," Peter smiled falsely over the threshold at Liz. "That demon still eating away at his soul, is it?"

"Um… well… actually we got it out," Liz faltered. "Er – that is: we called a priest first thing this morning and he got it out."

"Yeah," a third voice chipped in, and Jessica Venkman suddenly appeared at her father's side. "People don't realise how true to life The Exorcist actually is. Dad, is this going to take long?" she added petulantly.

"I hope you don't mind, but I brought my daughter along," Peter told Liz. "It's just that there's nobody who can stay with her right now. My wife's out – and my stepson's busy busy busy right now, as you apparently know." (To his credit, this was all true.)

"Uh-huh." Liz eyed Jessica suspiciously. "How old is she?"

"She can speak for herself, you know," snapped Jessica. "And I'm thirteen, lady, ok? That's plenty old enough to stay home alone – but apparently you people don't agree. Hey, Dad – Oscar wouldn't have minded me tagging along during the recording session. Can you please take me to MTV?"

"Give it a rest, Jessica." Peter rolled his eyes and said dryly to Liz, "Kids, huh? So anyway, if Max is ok, you won't mind us seeing him."

"Um… of course." Liz stepped aside to let Peter and Jessica into the building. "The children just ate. The younger ones are in their rooms resting right now."

"Great," Jessica muttered, rolling her eyes. She even reached into her pocket for a piece of chewing gum to complete the effect. "This is totally how I wanted to spend my summer vacation, Dad. Thanks. Oh yeah, and you know what else? You suck!"

"Don't you think you're overdoing it just a little?" Peter asked, once Liz had left him alone with Jessica outside Max's room.

"You said be obnoxious," Jessica defended herself. "The more obnoxious I am, the less suspicious she'll be if she finds me, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Peter agreed. "What are you going to do if somebody else finds you? Liz Harper isn't the only person who works here, you know."

"So I'll be obnoxious to whoever finds me," shrugged Jessica. "But with a bit of luck, nobody will."

"Let's hope," Peter said seriously. "Wow – your mother would kill me if she knew I was having you do this. Got the PKE meter?"

"Oh shoot!" Jessica's hand flew to her mouth. "I knew I'd forgotten something!"

Peter stared at her incredulously. "You are kidding!"

"Of course I am," Jessica grinned impishly. "It's right here," and she tapped the zip-up pocket in the knee of her black combat trousers.

"This is no time for jokes, Jess," her father told her sternly.

"Right." Jessica mock-saluted him. "Sorry, sir. Third floor, right?"

"Right."

"It's probably not even going to be her after all this."

"Maybe not," Peter admitted, "but it's definitely somebody. If you get stuck, come and find me."

"Yeah, yeah," Jessica returned in bored tones. "I'm going now, ok?"

Peter saw his daughter into the elevator, and then entered Max's room. The little boy was sitting up in bed and watching his own hand as it steered a small plastic aeroplane around his head. He was also blowing raspberries, which Peter could only assume was his attempt at realistic aircraft sound effects.

"Hi Max!" Peter smiled warmly at the child.

"Hello, Petey," Max returned, putting his aeroplane down on the bed and breaking into a grin.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes… Petey?"

"Yes, Max?"

Max then proceeded to mumble something totally unintelligible, apart from the final word: "Rodie."

Peter regarded Max strangely as he asked, "You want to see Rose?"

Max nodded vigorously.

"Er… we'll have to see about that one, kid. Did you like Rose?"

Max nodded again.

"Did you tell Liz that?" asked Peter.

Max furrowed his brow as he began to falter, "Yeh but din…" and then he descended once again into incoherent mumbling.

"Didn't she understand you?" Peter asked slowly.

Max nodded his head. Perhaps most people would have replied in the negative: "No, she didn't understand." But Peter knew this child well enough to realise that this was what he meant.

"We need to teach you some more words," Peter smiled at the boy, thinking how cute he was. "Max, listen: remember when that other doctor used some little tools on you?"

Max nodded and smiled.

"I'd like to do that now," Peter explained, his tone clear and deliberate. "I'm a doctor too, remember – and I'm just going to point this at you, ok?" He took out a PKE meter. "It won't hurt."

Max obligingly let Peter take a PKE reading. Peter was not surprised when the reading showed up what Egon had told him to expect: the residual effects of a particularly powerful gypsy curse. Now all he had to do was hope that Jessica found what she was looking for – and that it would be enough for him to get what he (and a lot of other people) wanted out of this whole exercise.

x x x

Oscar Wallance was a very nice guy, and he wasn't about to let impending fame and fortune go to his head and make him forget his friends, acquaintances and parents' work colleagues. So after Mood Slime's recording session at MTV he had the chauffer-driven limo drop him off at the firehouse, where he quickly found Garrett surfing the net on a laptop PC.

"Hey," Oscar smiled in greeting.

"Oh." Garrett looked up from what he was doing. "Hey."

"Um… look," Oscar faltered, suddenly realising that he had no idea what to say. "I heard about all the… you know… stuff. Are you ok?"

"Can I get back to you on that one?" Garrett returned. "I'm just looking up discrimination laws on the Internet."

"Are you?" Oscar was surprised. "Dad said you weren't going to do anything."

"Yeah, well," Garrett shrugged. "Eduardo keeps bugging me. Apparently it's not like me to just accept something like this."

"You should hear Jess complaining about you," Oscar told him, smiling indulgently as though he liked nothing more than to hear his little sister complain. "She thinks you ought to find yourself a lawyer and take them for every penny they've got. I pointed out that it'd make dozens of kids homeless, but she doesn't seem too fussed about that so long as you get your way. Um… is there anything I can do?"

"You?" Garrett looked dubiously at his visitor. "What could you do?"

"Ah well," Oscar smiled furtively. "Never underestimate the power of celebrity, my friend."

Garrett cocked an eyebrow and said wryly, "You know, Oscar; fourteen years of being Peter Venkman's stepson is really starting to tell on you."

"I'm serious," Oscar persisted. "We're almost there. If our MTV debut on Friday doesn't bomb and kids like our music, people will really take notice of what I have to say. I could like – I don't know – endorse your campaign or something. Everybody loves a rock star with a soft spot for a minority group."

"I don't have a campaign," Garrett pointed out. "They're claiming the problem's my profession, not my disability."

"But that's not true," Oscar argued.

"Prove it."

"So why are you looking up discrimination laws on the Internet?"

"I don't know," Garrett returned irritably – and he made a point of slamming shut the lid of his laptop. "To look like I'm trying to do something about it, I suppose. But what if I did take this further? It'd be all that poor kid needs."

"It'd help if it was all publicised," Oscar suggested helpfully. "Between the wheelchair getting you the sympathy vote and your affiliation with rock music's hottest new teen sensation, you can't lose. I just got the number of a reporter from the Star when I left MTV. She'd be all over it."

"That seems a little underhand," Garrett remarked.

"Oh, and those social workers aren't?" Oscar retaliated.

"And that kid really doesn't need to be all over the papers."

"Excuses," Oscar retorted. "You're just scared of what'll happen to you and Jo if you lose."

"Well, what's wrong with that?" Garrett demanded. "I'll be surprised if Jo ever gets over it."

"Well… if that's what you want," Oscar relented, thinking: Time to change the subject. "Are you still coming to my party?"

"Yeah," Garrett smiled appreciatively. "You bet. Parties at your place always cheer me up. Hey – I'm really pleased this is working out for you," he added. "It's nice to see people get what they want. And you deserve it. Your parents must be really proud of you."

"Yeah," Oscar replied, a sad little smile haunting the corners of his mouth. "Most of them."

"Oh, come on – you can't seriously mean to tell me your dad isn't proud of you," Garrett said disbelievingly – he guessed at once to which parent Oscar was referring.

"Heh – Dad's proud of me," Oscar answered dryly. "So is Mom – and even my stepmom never tires of hearing how well the band's doing. But Andre… isn't really into rock music," he finished, with an unconvincing shrug of indifference.

"That sucks," Garrett sympathised.

"Yeah," Oscar sighed. "Listen, I gotta go. All these photo shoots and recording sessions and publicity meetings and things are really making me appreciate my family more – especially since they can't stay with me in Memphis for long. Anyway – bye." He started to walk away, but then paused in the doorway and added, "Hey… Garrett… think about what I said, ok? And please let me know if you change your mind. I think it's such a shame that you couldn't…"

"Couldn't what?" asked Garrett.

Hugging his chest as though embracing an imaginary person, Oscar took a step backwards out of the room as he finished poignantly, "Be Max's Peter."

x x x

Hardly surprising that Liz Harper, Bitch Extraordinaire and Official in charge of Pissing People Off, kept her office door locked. Not to worry, though. The old credit card (or in this case: video store discount card) trick was one of the first things that Jessica Margaret Venkman had learnt from her father. What she wasn't so confident with was the use of the PKE meter. But still, even she could tell that flashing lights and beeping must mean something was amiss among all those memo pads and file folders.

Admittedly the beeping and flashing was disappointingly low. Jessica wondered if she was getting anything more than residual traces. Moving around the room, however, she soon discovered she could follow a PKE trail that led her to the waste paper basket under Liz's desk. Crouching low to the ground, Jessica started rummaging around inside the basket and hoped that she wasn't about to have her hand chewed off by a hibernating goblin. (Her reasoning: Who says goblins don't hibernate in July?)

Ah, interesting: sections of Max's cheery little face on two torn quarters of paper. Jessica rooted around in the rubbish some more until she found the remaining two pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. They had obviously once been a whole, but just to make sure she assembled the picture on the floor in front of her. This was a colour photocopy of Max's file photo. She knew because Peter had already shown her another one just like it.

Even more interesting: this was the source of the faint PKE reading. Assuming that the waste bin would be emptied before the end of the day, Jessica stuffed the four little pieces of paper into her back pocket before continuing her search. What was she supposed to be looking for again? Oh yes: gypsy curses. Well, Jessica reasoned; if she wanted a gypsy curse, she'd look it up on the Internet.

Liz Harper's computer was switched on. Jessica smirked when the standard Windows XP screensaver disappeared to reveal Brad Pitt sprawled semi-naked across the desktop. Just for laughs, Jessica located a photograph of a less modestly dressed man on the Internet and set this as the desktop background. Well, she had been told to act obnoxious.

Right. Time to get down to business. Jessica scrolled through the recent Internet history until she found what she was looking for. Smiling serenely to herself, she clicked on the print icon and collected the five pages that the printer beside her spat out. Jessica skim-read the whole document, and saw to her satisfaction that this definitely seemed to coincide with Max's brief stint of questionable health and with what had been found among Liz's waste paper.

Yikes. Incredible timing. Just as Jessica was ready to leave the room, Liz appeared in the doorway.

"How did you get in here?" the redhead demanded, fixing Jessica with a toxic glare.

"Guess they don't build locks like they used to," Jessica returned insolently, hugging the five-page printout to her chest. "Nice desktop wallpaper, by the way. I gotta admit, I'm not surprised you can't find yourself a real man for that sort of thing. I'm no expert, of course, but I think they tend to prefer women who keep their heads firmly out of their asses."

x x x

"Jessica Venkman, you are an absolute gem."

"I know, Dad. Give it a rest now, huh?"

They were sitting side-by-side in Peter's car. They were also sitting in the middle of a fairly sizeable traffic jam.

"I'm going to buy you something with the money I make out of Max," Peter decided. "How would you like surround sound in your room?"

Jessica rolled her eyes and moaned, "Dad, please! If there's one thing to be learnt from this whole Max Sanford saga, surely it's that there are far more important things in life than stuff."

"Really?" Peter glanced sideways at his daughter. "You might have told me that before your grandpa and I turned your bedroom into a state-of-the-art cinema."

"Oh, come on – that was my thirteenth birthday," Jessica reasoned. "Everybody needs stuff on their thirteenth birthday. But this was just a favour. You know: a good deed is its own reward and all that."

"I thought you decided not to watch that Three Musketeers movie last night."

"Changed my mind," shrugged Jessica. "Ooh – look, the line's moving."

"About time too," Peter grumbled, reaching for the handbrake. "It would have been quicker to walk."

"This is why nobody bothers to drive in New York."

"Well somebody must, or where would all the queues come from?"

"That queue was like ninety percent taxis," Jessica pointed out, as Peter pulled into a side street and parked his car outside Carl Rivera's house. "Oh, wow – we were so close!"

"Maddening, isn't it," Peter smiled at her. "Come on then, Quincy. Let's do this thing."

Beth answered the door. She had a half-peeled potato in one hand and a small kitchen knife in the other. With her blond hair falling haphazardly out of its loose ponytail, she looked dishevelled and slightly harassed – but the smile with which she greeted her visitors appeared genuine enough.

"Hi!" she beamed broadly at them. "Come in! Would you like to stay for lunch?"

"Lunch?" echoed Peter, staring incredulously at his watch. "I'm sorry, Beth; I didn't realise it was lunchtime. We wanted to talk to Carl, but we can come back later."

"Don't be silly!" enthused Beth. "There's plenty. Do you need to call Dana?"

"I'll do it," Jessica volunteered, making for the phone in the hallway as Peter and Beth veered into the living room. Peter was faintly stunned to realise that he had just completely inadvertently accepted Beth's invitation to stay for lunch. Oh well – never mind. He had it on good authority that lunch with the Riveras was not an altogether unpleasant experience. According to Oscar: "Kevin's mom's an awesome cook."

Beth's cheerful expression turned sour when she entered the living room only to discover that Carl and Eduardo had entered into another one of their famous fights. Rose was in the room too, happily colouring in at the coffee table and apparently oblivious to the heated debate that was going on directly behind her.

"It doesn't matter!" Eduardo was saying hotly.

"Of course it matters," Carl argued. "For all you know she could be colour-blind."

Eduardo shook his head. "She's not colour-blind. She knows colours."

"Really?" challenged Carl. "Then how come she doesn't know what colour frogs are?"

"She does know what colour frogs are," Eduardo retorted. Then he looked down at the top of his daughter's head and said more calmly, "Rose?"

Rose looked up, turned her head to look at Eduardo and said enquiringly, "Yes, Daddy?"

"You know what colour frogs are, don't you?"

"Yes," Rose answered soberly. "Green."

Carl was momentarily stunned. Then he asked his small niece, in tones of bewilderment, "So why are you colouring that one pink?"

Rose simply shrugged, turned her attention back to her colouring and replied simply, "I don't have to do it green."

"You tell him, Rosie," Eduardo smiled fondly, tousling his daughter's long, black hair. Then he turned back to his brother and said curtly, "Just leave her alone and stop trying to stifle her, ok?"

"I'm not trying to - "

"Honey," Beth interrupted. "Dr. Venkman's here to see you." Then she turned to Eduardo and asked, "Have you called Kylie to let her know you're staying?"

Eduardo answered by shooting his sister-in-law a silly-me look and then making his way out to the hall. Beth followed, presumably on her way back to the kitchen, leaving Peter alone with Carl and Rose.

"You're here to see me?" Carl asked guardedly. "Look, if that hippie son of yours has gotten himself into some kind of trouble, it's nothing to do with Kevin."

Peter chose to ignore this slander on his stepson's character. Carl seemed to assume that just because Oscar had long hair and played rock music, he must inevitably indulge in the stereotypical rock-and-roller's lifestyle of illegal drug taking, excessive underage drinking and three different girls every day. It wasn't true, but if neither Peter nor Kevin had been able to persuade Carl to change his mind over the years, there seemed little point in trying again now.

"Um… actually I wanted to talk to you in your capacity as a police officer," Peter told him instead. "Has your brother mentioned anything to you about a little boy called Max Sanford?"

"Yes," Carl answered at once. "He was asking me about discrimination laws. But if they're claiming they don't want to give this kid to somebody who chases ghosts on a daily basis, they actually have a pretty flawless argument. Frankly it's no wonder this one thinks frogs are pink when you consider what her parents – ow!"

"Oops. Sorry," Rose smiled serenely, reaching out to retrieve the orange wax crayon that had just bounced off the back of her uncle's head (she had been using it to colour lily pads).

"Er… well," Peter went on, trying not to let himself become too distracted by the eccentricities of the various members of the Rivera family. "Jessica and I… uh… just happened to stumble across a few things in the care home this morning. We'd really appreciate your help concerning the conduct of one of the social workers: a woman named Liz Harper."

"Liz Harper?" echoed Carl. "Eddie mentioned her."

"She's made quite an impression on all of us," Peter explained. Then carefully he added, "She had some very unfavourable things to say about your niece."

Carl's expression darkened as he asked, "Which one?"

"Which one do you think?" returned Peter, unable to stop himself.

"KEVIN! CONCHITA!" Beth's voice reverberated around the house. "LU-UNCH!"

"You're staying for lunch, are you?" Carl asked brusquely.

"Uh… yeah. Looks like it," answered Peter.

"Right. We'll discuss this Liz Harper while we eat," Carl decided, leading the way into the dining room. "What exactly did she say about Rose?"

"She implied that her behaviour was abnormal," Peter replied, smiling a greeting at Kevin and Conchita as they made their way downstairs. "She also seemed to think that Rose would be a bad influence on Max, and implied that both her home environment and her parents' occupation were responsible."

"What's wrong with her home environment?" Carl demanded. "Ok, so there isn't enough room in that place to swing a cat…"

"Lucky for Pagan," Peter japed, taking a seat beside Jessica at the gradually filling table. "Hi honey. Um… Ms. Harper apparently thinks that Eduardo and Kylie's marital status – or rather the lack thereof – is having a negative effect on their children." Well, he might as well make himself sound good with a few big words.

"Hmph," grunted Carl. "Sounds to me like that woman should be struck off."

"I thought you were with Mama on that one," Eduardo muttered, half to himself, as he lifted Rose into the highchair that had been in the house since Kevin's day.

"I think you should marry for legal reasons, Eddie," Carl returned shortly. "For one thing, if you and Kylie ever break up, you won't have a hope in hell as far as custody of the kids goes. But that's not the point. Aside from the fact that she's wrong, it's none of this Harper woman's business."

"Rock on, Dad," Kevin smiled frivolously, winking at Conchita. He had just walked into the room with a stack of plates in his hands. "She sounds like a bitch to me."

"She is a bitch," Jessica stated zealously. "And just you wait 'til we show you what she did to Max. Hey – do you need a hand?"

"Not from you, honey," Beth smiled at her, carrying a large joint of beef into the room. "You're our guest. Nobody here is a vegetarian, are they?"

They quickly established that nobody was a vegetarian, and so started eating. Eduardo and Beth entertained Conchita and Rose, while Kevin and Jessica discussed what they were going to do with their backstage passes at Mood Slime's concert in Memphis next week. Peter, meanwhile, took charge of the incriminating evidence that Jessica had uncovered in Liz Harper's office.

"The residual PKE reading on this is getting fainter all the time," he explained to Carl, holding out the four torn fragments of Max's photograph. "But it doesn't matter. This is a gypsy curse that Jessica found on Liz Harper's Internet history." He then picked up the five sheets of paper and waved them next to his left ear for emphasis. "There are at least five witnesses to say that Max's symptoms last night corresponded exactly with the effects of this curse."

"And what does the picture have to do with it?" asked Carl.

"It's how you break the curse!" Peter exclaimed triumphantly. "In order to perform the spell, you need an image of your victim. When the image is destroyed, the curse is lifted. And another thing: it was only last night that Max was dribbling mucus and spitting blood around. Now he's fine. Harper claims she got a priest in. If it comes to it, we can almost certainly prove that she didn't."

"Hmm… I don't know," mused Carl. "I kinda wish you hadn't sent your daughter snooping around. Surely now Harper will delete that website from her computer. She can claim you got that picture and the printout from anywhere. And as far as this priest business goes, it'll be hard to prove."

"That doesn't matter," Peter insisted. "Or rather it shouldn't. You see, we're not going to have her convicted."

Carl looked surprised. "We're not?"

"No. This evidence looks better than it actually is, right?"

"I suppose so," Carl grudgingly agreed.

"So all we need you to do is convince her that you could charge her if you wanted to. That ought to work… statistically."

"What do you mean 'statistically'?" Carl asked scathingly. "Do you do this often?"

"It's classic psychology," Peter explained breezily. "Obedience to authority. Basically people are suckers for a uniform. You're a cop, so Harper will probably do anything you tell her to. What you'd do is come with me - "

"And tell this woman lies?" Carl interrupted. "I don't think so. And besides, I'm off-duty. I can't just flash my uniform around to get my way when it suits me."

"Huh," Eduardo muttered scathingly from the other side of the table.

"You go on duty in an hour, Dad," Kevin pointed out.

"And you wouldn't even have to say anything," Jessica put in. "Dad could do all the talking. What we want is to persuade Harper to leave – right after she's signed Max over to Garrett and Jo. If you just stand there and look menacing, Dad can talk her into believing we can get her struck off if she doesn't do what we want."

"It does sound iffy," Beth ventured timidly.

"Serves her right," Kevin insisted. "If she's really been casting evil spells on a two-year-old kid just to avoid giving him to somebody in a wheelchair, doesn't that give you guys the excuse to be as underhand as you like?"

"Of course it does," Jessica agreed.

"Well… something like that," Peter said dubiously. "I'm only thinking of Max. I really believe he belongs with Garrett and Jo. And he really liked Rose too."

Eduardo looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yep," Peter nodded. Then he turned to Carl and said, "Look, Liz Harper is evil, underhand, heartless and quite ridiculously prejudiced. You're going on duty in an hour. Before you do, could you please just come along and help us out?"

"Oh… sure," Carl agreed. "If this really is such a moral crusade…"

"What would you say," Jessica asked slowly, obviously thinking hard, "to a Plan B?"

"How d'you mean, sport?" asked Peter.

"Just something to make sure we get what we want," Jessica replied. "The icing on the cake, as it were. And I swear, this is totally above board. May I please use your phone to call my brother?" she asked politely, turning to face Beth.

"Of course you can," Beth agreed. "Actually you're number eight on the speed-dial."

"Cool, thanks," Jessica smiled at her, getting up from the table and making her way out into the hall.

"Hey, Eduardo – Max is really desperate to see Rose." With Jessica out of the room, Peter took the reins again. "Would it be ok if we took her along?"

"Do you mind, Rosie?" Eduardo asked his daughter.

Rose simply shrugged.

"Yeah, you can take her," Eduardo agreed. "If Carlos leaves his gun behind."

"I can't just leave the gun behind, Eddie," Carl argued. "I'm required to carry it."

"So leave it outside on the cycle," Eduardo suggested. "And don't start trying to tell me it might get stolen – you'll just have to hide it well. There's no way you're taking that thing in the same place as my daughter."

"It doesn't sound like a good idea to take a gun into a place full of kids anyway," Kevin put in. "I'd imagine you could get yourselves into a lot of trouble over that."

"Ok, fair point," Carl relented. "We'll have to wait a while, though. If it's not even close to my shift I could be in trouble for serious misconduct."

"Yeah – bound to happen one day," Eduardo muttered, just audibly.

"Eddie…!"

"Ok, Oscar's in," Jessica announced brightly, reappearing in the doorway. "He just needs to make a phone call. Dad, can you please drop me home first? I'll need to arrive with him."

"What's Oscar going to do exactly?" Kevin wanted to know.

"Ah, well," Jessica smiled furtively at him, as she took her seat at the table. "Keep reading the Star and you'll find out."

x x x

"You again." As Liz Harper closed her office door, she eyed Peter with deep suspicion. "And with a police escort this time, Dr. Venkman. I wonder why that is. Perhaps this one has prematurely gone off the rails," and she looked contemptuously down to where Rose was holding onto her uncle's hand.

"We are not here to discuss my niece's conduct, Ms. Harper," Carl returned brusquely. "We are, in fact, here to discuss yours. Carl Rivera: NYPD." He pulled out his badge and flashed it in front of Liz's face. "Dr. Venkman informs me that you recently cursed a child in your care using tribal magic."

Liz raised her eyebrows and said coolly, "That is a very serious allegation, officer. Has Dr. Venkman any evidence to support this claim?"

"I certainly do, Ms. Harper," Peter chimed in. "I must apologise for my daughter's behaviour this morning – but on the plus side, her little trip to your office did turn up something very interesting," and he held out Jessica's printout and the mutilated picture of Max for Liz's inspection.

"We can only wonder why you would do such a thing," Carl took over again. "Perhaps it has something to do with Garrett Miller's unfortunate disability."

"That's slander," Liz spat vehemently – although the look in her eyes betrayed her anxiety. "You can't prove that."

"We can prove, however, that you have cursed at least one child in your care," Carl went on coolly. "I am tempted to charge you, Ms. Harper. This is a very serious offence. The Ghostbusters' testimony may put you away for a long time."

"And if not, it would certainly be enough to lose you your job," Peter added. "But maybe we can strike up a deal."

"A deal?" echoed Liz. "What on earth do you mean, doctor?"

"As the person responsible for Max Sanford's emotional well-being, I am in a position to press charges against you." Peter had no idea whether this was true or not. "However, I am prepared to let you resign from your post here with your dignity and good name intact, on condition that you agree to allow Garrett and Joanna Miller to adopt Max Sanford before you go."

"What?" spluttered Liz. "Dr. Venkman – this is blackmail! I won't have it!"

"Oh yeah?" challenged Peter, folding his arms across his chest and smiling smugly at Liz. "What are you going to do?"

"Ok," a young female voice whispered outside the office door. "Go in now."

"Are you sure this is going to work, Jess?"

"If you make it work, Oscar. Go on – get in there! Sally and I are right behind you."

Oscar took a deep breath, switched on his most bewitching smile, opened the door and sauntered into Liz's office. Liz looked incredibly surprised – especially when the juvenile delinquent she had met earlier entered the room also, along with a professional looking young blonde with a camera slung around her neck.

"Liz Harper?" Oscar enquired politely, grabbing Liz's (notably clammy) hand and shaking it vigorously. "Oscar Venkman. My sister tells me you've heard of me."

"Um… y-yes," stammered Liz, visibly stunned.

"No need for long introductions, then. I just want to tell you," Oscar went on, still smiling, "that I think what you're doing is truly commendable."

"D-do you?" Liz faltered. "Um… what am I doing?"

"Why, ensuring that a disabled man is allowed to adopt one of the children in your care," Oscar replied breezily. "That's right, isn't it? My stepfather told me about you yesterday. Hi Dad," he added, directing his false smile at Peter. "Ms. Harper, your actions are quite exemplary. That's why I brought Sally along. I wanted everybody to know what a good deed you've done for that poor little boy. It's just so moving: a two year old abused by his parents retains the innocence to love a man despite his handicap. You can quote me on that, Sally," he added, turning to the blonde.

"Sally Green from the New York Star," Sally cut in, grabbing Liz's hand and shaking it as Oscar had done. She then whipped out a miniature tape recorder, shoved it in front of Liz's face and asked brightly, "Could you say a few words for our readers, please?"

"Um… yes… of course," Liz faltered. "I… um… have made it my ambition to ensure that every childless couple that comes to us is treated equally regardless of… um… whatever imperfections they may have. However I now feel that I have done all I can for this particular institution, which is why I shall be retiring as soon as the paperwork for Mr. and Mrs. Miller's adoption of Max Sanford is completed."

Standing behind Liz, Peter rolled his eyes and mouthed at Oscar and Jessica, "Lying cow."

"Oh good – is this him?" Oscar asked brightly, as a young man in jeans and a t-shirt entered the room, leading Max by the hand. "Thanks – Jake, right? Make sure Jake gets a mention, Sally."

"Will do, Oscar," Sally smiled toothily back at him. "Now, how about a picture?"

"Good idea," enthused Oscar, moving towards Rose and then crouching down beside her. "C'mere, Max," and he held out an arm to the smilingly bemused little boy. Then, with one hand on each child's shoulder, he looked enticingly up into Sally's camera.

Moments later, a blinding flash filled the room. Liz blinked rapidly in surprise; Peter very much hoped that the intensely bright light had blinded her. No such luck, though. She quite clearly saw Jessica mouth the word "Bitch" at her, and scowled her disapproval.

"Right – glad that's all sorted," Peter smiled falsely at Liz. "We'd all better be going then, Ms. Harper. Don't forget that you have a phone call to make."

"The adoption is definitely going ahead, right?" Sally put in helpfully. She had been fully briefed on the situation and was very much in on this covert operation.

"Um… yes," Liz muttered grudgingly, picking up the phone and staring at the handset in apparent disgust. "Definitely."

x x x

"Sure, yeah, you can use it," Kylie told the journalist who had just turned up unexpectedly at the firehouse with Oscar. "We won't sue, I promise. Hell, that's the happiest she's looked in a photograph since she was about eight months old."

The remark was sarcastic. Oscar looked good as always, smiling seductively out of the picture whilst looking endearingly paternal in between the two kids. Max was smiling too, if only in sheer puzzlement. But Rose was looking down at the hand on her shoulder with her brow furrowed and her upper lip curled derisively.

"Thanks," Sally smiled gratefully at Kylie. "Is Garrett Miller around? I'd like a quote from him before I get this written up."

"Just don't make it too puke-making, ok?" Oscar requested. "People love caring compassionate rock stars, but nobody likes a kiss-up. This is my career you're playing with, Sal – not to mention my lifelong dream."

"I'll do my best," Sally assured him. "Aww… she's a pretty little girl. You three look great together. I can do more publicity shots like this you know, Oscar. I want you to remember that. This is my career as well."

"Garrett's upstairs in the rec room," Kylie answered Sally's question of several sentences ago. "Go on up if you want to."

Just for a change, Garrett's main concern was not the opportunity to be in the public eye. But still, press was press, and he certainly didn't object.

"This is the best thing that's ever happened to me or my wife," he told Sally's tape recorder dramatically. "It looked for a moment there as though my disability was going to get in the way for the first time in my life. Blame Liz Harper for that – and you can quote me on that, Sally, after she's signed the relevant documents and we've changed Max's name to Miller. And one more thing, folks: if you're being troubled by things that go bump in the night – who ya gonna call?"

THE END