GHOSTBUSTERS (2016)
"Personal Demon"
Disclaimers: I don't own the characters. Columbia Pictures, Ghost Corps, Paul Feig and Katie Dippold, Dan Aykroyd, and Harold Ramis and a bunch of other studios and folks own the crew, I'm just borrowing them for a little bit because this story was a thorn in my brain that I had to remove before it drove me crazy. I also deliberately borrowed or paraphrased a couple of my favorite lines from the original "Ghostbusters" because they just seemed to fit those points in the story and I couldn't resist. Those dialogue bits obviously belong to the incomparable writers Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis. I haven't had a chance to read all the other fanfics for this movie (yet), so I apologize if this is similar to anyone else's ideas. All original characters are strictly fictitious and not based on any other person, real or imagined.
I have to give recognition to Nancy Holder's movie novelization, since she was the one who mentioned Holtzmann and her coma guys and alluded the CERN incident, that was too irresistible for me not to spin in my own direction (yes, I'm one of those who reads movie novelizations when I get impatient waiting for the actual movie to be released). It's also based on Holtzmann's speech at the end of the movie. I'm not a particle physicist or an engineer, so forgive me my science ignorance. To say I'm taking liberties with the characters' backstories would be understating, so AU warning.
Also, blame the theater for playing that darn Cat Stevens song every time I go watch this movie. I feel compelled to say I enjoy his music very much, I'm sure the Hadron Collider would never work the way it does in this story, and M.I.T. is a fine institution. Opinions expressed are strictly for creative purposes so hopefully we all have a sense of humor.
Rating: PG-13 (or T or whatever) for strong language (stronger and more of it than I'd normally use), major whump, and for adult themes and situations. There is mild H/OC, but not what I'd really call a pairing. No pairings for the regular characters, just friendship. Spoilers abound.
1
"Don't Get Caught Alone"
Patty Tolan had the gas pedal to the floor. Ecto-1 tore down the streets faster than she would normally dare, full lights and sirens going, but she had the sinking certainty in the pit of her stomach that it still wasn't going to be fast enough.
Holtzmann normally handled the driving. Patty didn't know such a little hiccup of a girl could maneuver the converted hearse-which was heavy enough without being loaded down top to bottom with additional equipment on the roof and a couple hundred pounds of the Ghostbusters' gear in the back-so easily at such breakneck speeds. Maybe if you wanted to survive driving in New York, being slightly insane helped. At this speed, Patty was just praying not to mow down some poor pedestrian or lose control and slam through a storefront. Mercifully, it was later in the evening and the traffic wasn't quite as bad as during the day or she was certain she'd have crashed before she made it three blocks from the firehouse at this pace.
She didn't slow down for so much as an instant. She blared the horn in unison with the siren. She screamed obscenities that a good God-fearing woman probably shouldn't utter. She was pretty sure she had taken that last corner on just two wheels. But, she didn't slow down.
Ten minutes ago, Patty had been watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy back at the firehouse. She was on call for the Ghostbusters that night, which was basically a snooze-fest since there had been almost no paranormal activity in the city since they'd shut down Rowan and his plans for the Apocalypse. She only half-listened when the phone rang, except to make sure that Kevin (their mostly-useless receptionist and her company until ten p.m.) actually managed to answer the call.
"Ghostbusters," Patty heard him say. There was a short pause, followed by: "No, sorry, we already have a Holtzmann here. Thanks." Then, there was the unmistakable sound of the handset being place back on its cradle.
Patty rolled her eyes and pushed herself up off of the couch. "Kevin, sweetie, did you just hang up on Holtzmann? Didn't your mamma teach you not to piss off crazy women who carry weaponized unlicensed nuclear accelerators? You want to wake up with your face burned off? That won't help your acting career." Shaking her head, Patty pulled out her cell phone and dialed Holtzmann's apartment. "Holtz-"
"Patty! Help!"
Before Patty's mind had fully registered the terrified words or identified the background noise as the sound of one of Holtzmann's "ghost grenades" detonating, she was already moving. "Holtz, what's happening-?"
There was the sound of a crash, like heavy furniture being upended, and the line went dead.
"Jillian?! Hello? Damn it!" Patty was already down the fire pole. She ran for the lockers and started loading proton packs, the chipper, the glove, and several more grenades into Ecto-1 with one hand. With the other, she thumbed a pre-set number in her phone. "Abby? It's Patty. Get over to Holtz's apartment now, something bad's going down….I mean bad as in ghost grenades are going off, just get over there! And call Erin. I'm bringing the gear."
It felt to Patty like it was taking an eternity for what in reality must have only been a five minute ride. Abby's apartment was closest to Holtzmann's place; she might get there before Patty, but it would take her a couple extra minutes to stop for Erin, and Patty didn't know what the hell Abby and Erin could do without weapons if the proton grenade wasn't slowing down whatever was attacking their friend.
Patty's gratitude when she finally turned onto Holtzmann's street was short-lived. The first thing she saw was smoke and gushing water pouring from what she hoped in vain wasn't Jillian's building. The crowd that had gathered on the stoop and the sidewalk parted at the noise of Ecto-1's siren. She brought the vehicle to a stop practically on Holtz's doorstep just as Abby Yates and Erin Gilbert pushed their way through the spectators.
Abby tore open the back door before Patty had even climbed out. She was snatching up her pack, the PKE meter, and the proton glove, not stopping to waste precious time changing out of her flannel pajamas into her jumpsuit. "Patty, do you know what we're dealing with?" she shouted to Tolan.
"All I know is Holtz called for help and the line went dead. I'm pretty sure I heard her set off a grenade. Your guess is as good as mine," Tolan snatched up her own pack and the chipper.
Erin had paused to study the scene. There were chunks of brick and mortar littering the sidewalk, roughly the same size as the holes in the side of the building…holes in the walls of the second story apartment she knew belonged to Holtzmann. The front window had been shattered; glass had rained everywhere. The water cascading down the stoop to flood the sidewalk was definitely coming from the second story.
Then, Erin saw Abby running into the building with Patty on her heels. She rushed to grab her pack and follow them inside. "Abby, slow down! We don't know what's waiting up there!"
Abby flatly ignored Erin; her focus was on getting to Jillian. She barreled up the interior stairs, taking them two at a time in her haste, trying not to lose her footing on the wet steps. She spared a glance at the PKE meter. It spun idly. "There's nothing on the PKE, no sign of any ghost activity."
Tolan tapped Abby's shoulder. "I think that might be a sign." She was pointing to the exterior of Holtzmann's apartment. More chunks had been shot out of the wall. The tiny, singed holes were obviously made by beams from Holtzmann's proton pistols. She'd been shooting at something. The torrent water was coming from inside the apartment.
There was another small group of people gathered around Holtzmann's door. A dark-haired man in a bathrobe was trying to break open the door by ramming it with his shoulder. Patty would think he'd notice that there were five different deadbolt's on Holtz's door; his shoulder would break before that door would open on a good day-and that was assuming something otherworldly wasn't holding it shut from the inside.
The neighbor man glimpsed the women out the corner of his eye. When he caught sight of the Ghostbuster uniform Patty wore, he nearly slumped from relief and fatigue. Abby vaguely recalled he lived in the apartment above Holtzmann's. His name was Brian or Bobby or something, she remembered it was definitely something with a "B". At the moment, she couldn't have cared less.
"You're Jillian's friends, right? The Ghostbusters? We can't get the door open," he said to Tolan. "We've been trying."
Abby drew her proton wand with one hand and banged on the door with her other. "Jillian?! Can you hear me? Are you all right?"
Erin noticed a little girl sitting on the dry steps above, watching the activity below. Her face was pale and her brown eyes wide with shock. She'd obviously seen something, maybe she'd been there when…
Cautiously, she approached the child. "Hi, I'm Erin."
"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," the girl retorted.
"It's okay. I'm here to help," Erin promised. The girl blinked, which Erin hoped was consent to talk. "Did you see what happened here?"
"I did," the dark-haired man overheard and answered for the child. "I'm Brian; that's my daughter Tamara. We were here when…Tamara sometimes plays with the circuit breakers." He gestured to the master control panel for the building, which—in the landlord's infinite wisdom-was located in the main hallway and had no cover or cage to block access to the switches. "I tell her not to, but…she shut off the power to Jillian's apartment. I was bringing her over to apologize when…" Brian went just a bit pale thinking about it. "I…honestly, I'm not sure what happened. Jillian saw something or heard something. She shoved Tamara and me out into the hallway. I thought maybe the power being off messed up one of her experiments and maybe she just needed to calm down, but-all of a sudden it was like everything in the apartment exploded. There were books and silverware and furniture flying everywhere. I didn't see anything, but something must have been there because it dragged her back inside and slammed the door. We can't get it open."
There was more to the story. All the while that Brian and the other neighbors had been trying to get in, they had heard the sounds of explosions and breakage from inside the apartment, the crackle of some sort of electricity or energy. Then the water began to pour from beneath the door. There was one more large crash after that.
Then there was silence.
He didn't get a chance to tell them. Abby was aiming her proton wand at the door. "I can open it. Jillian! If you hear me, get clear of the door!"
Patty, Erin, and the neighbors heeded her warning, turning their backs as Abby fired. One shot and the proton stream splintered the door, sending pieces flying in all directions.
Abby barreled into the apartment, weapon at the ready, calling: "Jillian?! Do you hear me?"
Patty and Erin were close behind. Tolan gasped at the sight that greeted them. "Holy-some bad shit went down here," she muttered.
As she had outside, Erin kept her growing panic in check by trying to be clinical in analyzing the scene. It clearly had been one hell of a fight. There was not one piece of furniture, appliance, or knick-knack that hadn't been toppled, overturned, or broken. The immediate source of the water was the kitchen sink. The faucet had been blown off (or torn off) and water overflowed the sink and spilled across the floor. The couch lay on its back. It had been impaled by multiple pieces of silverware.
Erin counted two spent proton grenades on the floor. There were burns from Holtzmann's one of proton pistols all around the room. Where were the pistols? Erin didn't see the weapons anywhere. At Holtzmann's unwavering insistence, all of the Ghostbusters kept at least a couple of the ghost grenades or one of the small proton pistols at their personal residences, just in case a vengeful specter made a home visit.
A majority of the living room was a home version of Jillian's workstation at the firehouse. The workbench had been overturned; tools and pieces of new inventions were strewn from one end of the room to the other.
Holtzmann's cell phone lay amidst a pile of books, tools, gadgets, and few knick-knacks. It was fried. Erin was shocked to see her own phone number permanently burned into the screen. Jillian had obviously been dialing her when the phone was destroyed. The phone for the landline was a twisted heap of melted wires.
Abby disappeared down the short hallway to the apartment's only bedroom, still calling Holtzmann's name. Patty was picking her way through the debris in the apartment, fear growing to dread the longer the silence dragged on without a sign of their friend.
"Abby—this is going to sound stupid, but do you notice something strange about all this?" Erin called.
Yates returned to the living room. She was pale, distracted, and barely tuned in to what Erin was saying. "Like-?"
"Like…no ectoplasm. No AP-xH shift. Almost no readings on the PKE meter despite the obvious psychokinetic activity that did all this…" Erin catalogued.
"Are you saying it wasn't a ghost? Cause I'm pretty sure Holtz knows a ghost when she sees one," Patty said.
Erin couldn't argue that. "I'm saying what kind of ghost wouldn't leave a single trace that it was ever here?"
Abby was barely keeping a rein on her panic at the moment. She bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at Erin. Their friend was trying to help the best way she knew how-by solving a puzzle-but at that moment, Abby didn't care about identifying the specter. There'd be time for that after they found-
Water was running from beneath the bathroom door. Abby hadn't noticed it the first time she'd ran through the hallway. There was definitely the sound of water gushing coming from the other side of the door. Sudden comprehension sent Abby charging at the door, smashing it open with one kick.
The scene that greeted Abby was going to give her nightmares for the rest of her life. The bathroom was in the same shambles as the rest of the apartment: Cabinet doors torn from their hinges. Faucets ripped from the sink and showers, sending torrents of water that overflowed the bathtub and flooded the room. Holtzmann's proton pistols floated out of the room when Abby battered the door open. The toilet had been torn off its base. The tank lid was smashed in half…and smeared with blood.
Holtzmann was slumped at the center of the room, sprawled half across the side of the overfull bathtub, face down in the water. Blood from a gash at her temple washed away in the flow of the water, tinting it red.
"Erin! Patty! She's here!" Abby shouted.
She dove for Jillian, gathering her up out of the water. Her friend was pale as death. Her lips were tinted blue. A nasty bruise was already forming beneath the wound on her head. Abby pressed trembling fingers to Jillian's throat, praying for a heartbeat and finding none.
"No, no, no, come on, Jillian."
Suddenly, Patty was there, kneeling beside Holtzmann. Her expression was grim. "I can't find a pulse," Abby said.
Patty swore beneath her breath, shrugging out of the cumbersome proton pack so she could move around the tight quarters of the debris-littered bathroom. She handed it to Erin. "Abby, lay her down flat. Hurry."
NYC had trained their subway workers for what to do in an emergency. Patty had taken plenty of CPR classes. They all began with the same warning from her instructors: Real life is not like the movies. There will be many times that CPR will not work. You will crack or break their ribs in the process. If you are not careful, you will break the tip of the sternum and puncture their lungs or their heart. Patty had to perform CPR once on a passenger who collapsed on the platform. It had been every bit as ugly as her instructors had warned.
This wasn't a stranger in the subway. This was Jillian. Patty had to try. Uttering prayers, Patty found the correct spot on Holtzmann's chest, laced her fingers together, and started the compressions. In the background, she heard Erin dialing for an ambulance.
Patty counted off the compressions. "Abby-you gotta breathe for her."
Abby nodded. She knew what to do. Hands trembling, she tilted Jillian's head back, pinched her nose shut, and blew air into her mouth.
Another virtual eternity passed with Patty continuing the compressions, wincing when she felt bone snap beneath her palms. Sorry, baby girl, I gotta do this, she silently begged her friend's forgiveness.
Erin stood in the doorway, feeling utterly powerless to help other than guard against the return of whatever ghost had done this to their friend. Each passing second heightened her fear…
…and then Holtzmann coughed. Erin nearly sagged to the floor in the rush of relief and gratitude. Abby stifled a sob, wiping impatiently at her eyes against tears that threatened. She took Jillian's cold hand into her own, squeezing tight, hoping for some response.
"That's right, breathe, baby girl," Patty encouraged, rolling Holtzmann as gently as she could to her side, mindful of what were surely cracked ribs, as her friend coughed up water. "Holtz? You hear me?"
Jillian's eyes opened, two small slits of blue, then closed again.
There was a shout from the direction of the living room as the paramedics arrived. Erin met them halfway, "Here!" She was a little surprised to spy Hawkins and Rorke—the mayor's personal Men in Black-guarding the apartment door, keeping spectators at bay. They must monitor the emergency channels, probably recognized Holtzmann's address. As long as they didn't interfere, Erin was grateful for their help.
Time sped up into a blur of activity. Patty stepped out of the tiny bathroom to allow room for the medics. Abby made herself small as possible in the narrow space where the toilet had once stood, but refused to relinquish her death grip on Jillian's hand despite the medics' efforts to shoo her out of the room.
The paramedics fired questions non-stop as they swiftly set to work: What was their patient's name? How long had she been unconscious? How long was she down? Did she have any food or medicinal allergies? Was she taking any medications? Did she have family to notify? Abby had known Holtzmann the longest, knew her better than anyone. She automatically supplied what answers she could, watching numbly while they worked setting up an i.v., inspecting the nasty head wound, checking Jillian's pupils, and continued the barrage of questions at the Ghostbusters.
Erin was trying not to do the math in her head, but her mind automatically calculated that Holtzmann had called Patty eleven minutes ago and tried to dial Erin nine minutes ago. That meant she could have been in the water anywhere from one minute to…no, don't calculate how the odds of survival drop with each minute without oxygen. Erin stopped herself from thinking about it anymore. She's here. She's breathing. Focus on that.
The medics carefully lifted Holtzmann onto a backboard; it was the only way to carry her over the wreckage of the apartment to the waiting gurney and from there to the ambulance. Abby climbed into the ambulance without bothering to ask permission, pausing only to leave her gear with Erin at the medics' insistence.
"We'll be right behind you, Abby," Erin called. Abby was so preoccupied that Erin wasn't sure if she'd heard.
The medics closed the doors and the ambulance sped away, leaving Patty and Erin there. Together, they trudged back to Ecto-1. Patty felt somewhat shaky, which she supposed was the shock of everything that had just gone down.
"There's like no chance that whatever did this randomly singled out Holtz, is there?" Patty asked.
"A ghost just happened to pop up in a Ghostbuster's apartment by random chance? I don't think so. This wasn't a haunting. It was personal. This thing tried to kill her," Erin answered.
Patty had an unpleasant flashback to Rowan dangling Holtzmann from a second story window, intent on pitching her to her death. "It's coming back for her, then, isn't it?"
Erin nodded. She'd be willing to bet on it.
