GHOSTBUSTERS
"Sweet Child Of Mine"
By llnbooks
AU. In short: Janine gets word of the events of 'Personal Demon'. One-shot companion piece to that story. If you haven't read that story, you're going to be really confused. You may also want to skip the rest of my author's notes to avoid a huge spoiler. This is basically the extended version of chapter one of the sequel I had in mind for "Personal Demon".
AU because I pretty much choose to ignore that "Ghostbusters II" ever happened (sorry. No, actually, not sorry.)
And, apologies about writing Egon out of this timeline. Egon's my favorite of the original Ghostbusters. It's not my style to write character deaths, but in my weird way, I'm trying to be respectful of the irreplaceable Harold Ramis. However, I do have plans for Egon's return-and no, not as a ghost-in a future story (depending on whether there is any interest in me writing any more stories for this AU, so, please follow this story and/or "Personal Demon" so I will know if anyone wants me to finish the rest of the sequel).
PG-13 for bad language, adult situations and just a ton of angst. No action whatsoever in this one (but remember, it started out as a first chapter, not a stand-alone piece).
If the title causes the song to get stuck in your head, I recommend the Guns N' Roses version. ;-)
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She barely had her keys in the deadbolt of her front door when she heard the telephone ringing.
Cursing, she juggled tote bags full of groceries and the camping gear she'd schlepped all the way from the bus stop so that she could hurry to unlock the door and shoved it open with one swift thrust of her hip. She dropped the bags by the door before navigating her way through the cluttered, narrow living room to the table where her landline beeped for her attention.
The answer machine was quicker: "Hi, this is Janine-what do you want?"
I've really got to change that message, Janine mused. She hadn't worried about it because her friends usually called her cell phone; the calls to her home phone were primarily solicitors, and she didn't care if she upset them.
"Janine, it's Ray…did you forget to charge your phone again?"
She winced as she picked up the handset and thumbed the 'answer' button. "Ray, I took the students on that camping trip to Virginia, remember? No cell phones allowed? I told you I'd check in when I got home." Janine couldn't have called if she'd wanted to—as soon as she'd confiscated the cell phones that the students had sneaked in to the retreat, they'd stolen hers and pitched in the lake.
Ray Stantz paused for several seconds before speaking, which meant that he was going to tell Janine something she didn't want to hear and was wracking his brain for a good way to do it. "You watching the news?" he finally asked.
The question sent a shiver of dread down Janine's spine. The only other time someone called and asked her that was September 11, 2001. That time, it had been Dana Venkman summoning Janine because Ray's wife had been in the south tower of the World Trade Center.
"No. I just got in the door."
"Haven't been on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram?" he pressed.
"Ray, my phone is dead. I've got frozen food melting in my grocery bags. For God's sake, whatever it is, spit it out." Exasperated, Janine searched her messy living room for the remote control to her television.
His tone was suddenly commanding: "Janine-sit down."
"Sit? I'm not a Chihuahua, Ray." She finally fished her remote from between her couch cushions and clicked on the t.v., scanning the programming menu to find a station that was still running the news. "Am I looking for local or national news?"
Channel 10 news was showing some kind of apartment fire or gas explosion-lots of smoke, water, and disoriented neighbors milling around. The caption identified the location as New York City. It wasn't Winston, Ray, or Peter's apartment as far as Janine could tell. This couldn't possibly be the reason Ray had called; it looked like the usual bleak news stories. The television's volume was too low to hear the newscaster. She jammed her thumb against the unresponsive volume button, causing the remote's "low battery" warning light to blink.
"What am I looking at? Did another dipshit set off a pipe bomb?"
"Janine, she's going to be okay. I talked to-"
Janine had stopped listening because the video caption changed from "New York City" to "Spectral Skirmish Hospitalizes Ghostbuster".
Her heart was either going to explode out of her chest or stop beating altogether. The still-rational part of her brain told her that there was only one reason that Ray would be on the phone sputtering reassurances, but still Janine prayed a silent prayer:
Don't be Jillian.
The angels responded by finally kicking on the television's speakers as archival footage of the Ghostbusters' fight at the Stonebrook Theater. The camera zoomed in on the petite blonde Ghostbuster. "-has been a media blackout about this event due to safety concerns for the facility where the Ghostbuster is being treated. Witnesses to the incident confirmed Dr. Jillian Holtzmann was hospitalized after rescuing two of the building's residents from the poltergeist just over a week ago. Chief of Surgery, Dr. Harold Menken, released a statement this morning that Dr. Holtzmann's condition has been upgraded to 'serious, but stable'. The mayor's office isn't commenting-"
Janine couldn't stifle a curse, "Sonuvabitch-"
Ray's voice over the tiny phone speaker barely registered in her awareness. "Janine?"
She was paralyzed, slammed with a wave of turbulent, churning emotions…fear at the forefront. Every fiber of Janine's being cried out for her to move, to go, to see for herself that Jillian was alive and that she would survive. Anger burned beneath the fear, urging her to find the ghost responsible if it had somehow escaped the Ghostbusters and end its existence in a fiery blaze of nuclear particles. It deserved a painful demise. It had tried to kill Janine's daughter.
As it had so many times in the past three decades, the fear turned against Janine. It betrayed her with pangs of guilt and painful doubt. It reminded her of one simple, unavoidable fact: She had no rights to such maternal fire and protectiveness. She had signed away such rights when she signed the adoption papers that effectively transformed her baby from 'Jillian Melnitz' to 'Jillian Holtzmann'.
The nasty, hurtful doubt warned her that there was little point in charging up to New York City and demanding visitation at the hospital. Janine could call in a favor with the mayor, but he apparently had appointed himself to be a barrier between the public and the Ghostbusters in an on-going campaign to deny the paranormal exterminators' legitimacy. However, if she should somehow gain access to Jillian, there was no guarantee her daughter would want Janine there.
"Janine? Are you there?" Ray's persistent voice insisted on interrupting her dark thoughts.
She heard herself answer, "Yeah."
"Are you okay?"
"Do I sound okay?!" Janine regretted her own harshness. Ray was her best friend. At times like this, that meant he was the recipient of her misdirected rage. "Sorry, Ray, I'm sorry. I can't-I'll call you later, okay? Sorry."
She clicked the phone off, dropping it on the couch. Her gaze was still riveted to the television, but the newscast had moved on to a fluff piece about a basset hound that liked to go to the cinema. If it were physically possible, Janine would have reached into the television, grabbed the anchorman by his ugly yellow tie, and demanded more information about her daughter's condition.
She didn't need to ask for details of what had happened. Janine could fill in those blanks herself. Some damned ghost had come after Jillian just as they'd come after her father during his days as a Ghostbuster. If Jillian persisted in following in his footsteps, the ghosts would eventually take her forever.
Just like they'd taken her father. Forever.
This had been Janine's deepest fear from the day she'd found out she was pregnant. Suddenly, Janine had reconsidered the life she'd chosen for herself, seeing it with brand new eyes-the eyes of a mother whose choices would now impact her child.
It was one thing for Janine to have fallen in love with a Ghostbuster. She had always been attracted to tall, dark, and intelligent men. Rather than chasing the athletes during her high school days, she had pursued to chess champions, future scientists, and book worms. So, she wasn't at all surprised by her own instant attachment to Dr. Egon Spengler, physicist, genius, engineer, and founded member of the Ghostbusters. She had set her sights on him, pursued him, and with her unique combination of charm and tenacity, eventually won his heart.
But there were consequences to the attraction. Egon was a Ghostbuster. As it turned out, ghostbusting wasn't a quiet life of staking out haunted houses, holding séances, and making grainy videos of Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster. It was a perilous job. In the year that Janine spent as their receptionist, she'd watched every one of the original Ghostbusters-Ray, Egon, Peter Venkman, and Winston Zeddmore-escape becoming ghosts themselves by the skins of their teeth and stupid luck.
So, it was quite another matter to expose her child to the danger. Janine's sleep became plagued by nightmares of ghosts, ghouls, and demigods floating skyward with her baby, abducting her baby, possessing her baby, or making her baby a human sacrifice to some other demon. Finally, she could take it no more.
Janine had left her letter of resignation on her desk without a word to any of them, including Egon. They would want to know why she was leaving, and she hadn't told them she was pregnant. Winston would try to reason with Janine. Ray would turn those big, brown, puppy dog eyes on her and beg Janine to stay. Peter would make some snarky comment and—in her highly hormonal state—she would haul off and slug him.
Egon would demand an explanation. He would pull her aside and talk her out of leaving. They'd go back to his apartment and she would tell him that she was pregnant. Egon would start assembling a child-size laboratory and purchase onesies that read: Daddy's Little Scientist. She'd ask him to give up being a Ghostbuster. He'd refuse. Peter would buy wildly inappropriate pregnancy and baby gifts. Ray would pester Janine and Egon to get married out of concern for the child being born out of wedlock. Winston would referee the chaos.
All four of them would want to be in the delivery room with her. Peter would chase the nurses and complain about all the icky things that accompanied childbirth. Ray would have his video camera and film the birth. The next thing Janine knew, she'd be chasing her baby's stroller down the sidewalk while a ghost tried to steal the infant.
Janine went straight from the firehouse to the airport. She had packed her bags already She would not go back to her apartment. The guys would either follow her there or there would be an answering machine full of messages from them, from Egon.
Egon was waiting at the airport, suitcase in hand.
Somehow, Janine wasn't remotely surprised.
"I assume we're going to Michigan to stay with that college friend of yours?" Egon greeted Janine. "If not, I'll need to go home and repack, especially if we're heading someplace with a warm weather climate."
Janine blinked.
"If the destination is open for discussion, I have a colleague who can probably get me tenure at Stanford. We might have to stretch our savings for a few weeks until I get my first paycheck."
She finally found her voice. "Egon, what are you doing here?"
"Discussing our itinerary," he answered. "I wasn't planning to travel, so if you could tell me-"
"I mean why are you here?" Janine clarified.
He fiddled with his glasses nervously. "I'm obviously not going to allow you to travel alone in your condition."
Her breath hitched in her chest. She could only imagine the guilty expression that must have been on her face. Should have known he'd figure it out.
"You have the signs of pregnancy-nausea, swelling in the breasts, rounding of the abdomen, throwing blunt objects at Venkman. The latter is not a response exclusive to pregnant women, of course."
"It's not yours," Janine lied.
He quirked his eyebrow.
"We had that fight-you chased that hell hound after I'd asked you not to. Remember? I had a revenge fling with that Louis Tully guy. You know I like nerdy intellectual men."
Egon didn't believe her. "We can have a paternity test done after the baby is born if you wish. Statistically, it's more likely that I'm the father if you compare the odds of a one night stand resulting in pregnancy versus a longer term physical relationship."
"I didn't sleep with Louis," she admitted.
"It wouldn't change anything now if you had."
"I'm not raising a baby Ghostbuster, Egon. I can't put my child in that kind of danger. I can't handle worrying about becoming a widow every time you go ghost-chasing. I'm sorry if that makes me a terrible person, but I can't handle a life like that," Janine spilled her guts. "She'll grow up-"
"She? You know the gender already?"
"I told you, I'm normally very psychic. Plus, Melnitz women always carry girl babies high and boy babies low." Janine patted her abdomen.
He was unimpressed. "There's no scientific basis for that."
"As I was saying, she will grow up hearing her dad and her uncles talking about their glory days of ghostbusting and next thing I know, she's running around with her own proton accelerator."
Egon considered all this. Then, he shrugged his shoulders and took the heavy suitcase from her hands. "So…Michigan?"
Janine was stunned. Had he just agreed to leave the Ghostbusters? "You're serious?"
"I go where my ladies go. And, incidentally, I love you, Janine," he said simply.
It would have been a fairy tale ending…
…if they'd only got on that damn plane.
But, no, Janine had agreed to Egon's suggestion that they say a proper goodbye to their friends and that he should spend a few weeks sending applications to good universities on the West Coast.
Next thing she knew, Janine was giving birth in the back seat of Ecto-1, which was hopelessly marooned in rush hour traffic. Egon and Winston coached Janine through the delivery while she cursed every one of them for waiting until after the Yankees game to take her to the hospital. Peter bolted as soon as Janine's water broke, heading into the nearest building to look for a phone to call an ambulance. Ray stood outside the converted hearse, keeping spectators at bay, trying to be encouraging: "Janine, remember your breathing. Try to relax."
Janine uttered a scream. "DON'T TELL ME TO RELAX! MY BABY'S BEING BORN IN A FUCKING HEARSE!"
Ray obediently retreated to his place by the front of the car.
A hearse, Janine cursed. Her daughter was going to be born in the back of a damned hearse…that wasn't an omen or anything.
An eternity later, Egon finally wrapped their tiny bundle in the jacket Peter's had left on the seat and laid their baby girl in Janine's arms. She forgot to be angry with the boys for the moment.
The baby was beautiful. She had Janine's eyes, but the curves of her tiny face were definitely Egon's. Janine had no idea where in their respective gene pools the tiny tufts of blonde hair had come from, but it set off her tiny blue eyes.
"We still don't have a name for her," Egon reminded Janine.
"I'm not naming her 'Marie Curie'. It's like tempting fate," Janine was adamant.
"Well, I'm not fond of 'Delilah Jillian'," he countered. "She doesn't look like a 'Delilah'."
Janine pursed her lips. "Okay, so what about a compromise? I like 'Marie', you don't like 'Delilah'. So…Marie Jillian?" The name didn't exactly roll off the tongue. "Jillian Marie?"
"Jillian Marie Spengler would be an acceptable compromise," he agreed.
"Whoah-you mean Jillian Marie Melnitz. She's not a Spengler until I'm a Spengler, mister." Janine displayed her pointedly ring-free left hand for him.
Egon frowned. "You said marriage was nothing more than anthropologically-based bondage."
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I didn't," she disagreed.
"Aw…mom and dad's first fight." Peter chose that moment to make his return, leaning over the front seat to kiss the baby on her small forehead. "You have no chance of being normal, Baby Spengs."
Janine handed the baby to Egon so that she could whack Peter with a newspaper someone had left in the back seat.
Jillian.
Preoccupied with her troubled thoughts, Janine hadn't realized she was picking up her purse and stepping over bags of forgotten, melting groceries and her sleeping bag until she found herself standing on her stoop.
It didn't surprise her at all to spot a familiar, battered yellow taxi parked in the red zone in front of her building or the driver who leaned against the hood of the car. Ray Stantz grinned as soon as he saw Janine barrel out of her house. It was the smirk of someone who'd known what his best friend would do before she did. He had his cell phone and was live streaming the news…no wonder he'd known the story was airing at that precise moment.
"Need a ride?" he asked.
Still galvanized by indecision, Janine had no idea how to answer that question. The conflicting desire to go to her daughter and the fear of her daughter's rejection chipped at Janine's tenuous self-control. She stood there staring dumbly until Ray climbed the steps. He wrapped his muscular arm around her small shoulders, both comforting her and directing her towards his cab.
"Come on-it's a four hour drive to New York City. There'll be plenty of time for brooding, fretting, and self-recrimination. I brought a newspaper. You can whack me with it if it will make you feel better," he offered.
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Janine had been back to New York City only a half dozen times in the last thirty years, and then only in the suburbs and outskirts of town where her friends lived. She almost immediately regretted the need to come into the city now. Free-floating vapors, semi-anchored entities, and other specters were nothing compared to personal demons, and this city had too many of those for Janine.
Her last day officially living in New York City had been the worst day of her life. She had boarded a plane at La Guardia to fly to Phoenix for what would end up being a six year battle with ovarian cancer. Stage Four cancer, her doctor had said. While she was pregnant, she had ignored the warning symptoms, afraid to lose her baby. Get your affairs in order, take your last vacation, the doctors had advised her as her disease progressed abnormally fast. Janine blamed exposure to all the radioactive gear at the Ghostbusters HQ for her disease and its rapid spread.
She had expected to die in Phoenix-indeed, she very nearly had several times over-but Janine hadn't cared. That morning, sitting on the plane, her life was already over as far as she was concerned. She had buried half her heart three months earlier at a quiet cemetery in upstate New York. She had signed the other half of her heart over to adoptive parents two hours before she'd headed to the airport.
"You're taking Jillian away from her family, Janine!" Peter had been pissed off, to put it mildly. Janine supposed she couldn't blame him.
"I said before, I'm not raising a baby Ghostbuster. I'm not letting Jillian get killed like her father," she shot back.
Peter's gaze narrowed to a dangerous glare. Janine met his glower with her own unwavering stare. Her words had ripped open a wound that hadn't even begun to heal, not for him, Janine, Ray or Winston. Egon's death was still too fresh in their hearts. "Are you blaming us for what happened to Egon?"
Janine wanted to deny that accusation. The guys would never have intentionally put their friend in harm's way. Egon was a competent, intelligent adult fully capable of saying 'no' to his friends. None of them would have chased that poltergeist if they'd known what would happen.
Unfortunately, they had chased it-a nasty specter that lived in the city's power grid. The bolt that electrocuted Egon hadn't been kind enough to kill him instantly. It had let him die slowly over a six week time span from a damaged heart.
Egon had spent almost every minute of that time with his family. The birth of his daughter had brought out a side of his personality that Janine never anticipated. The first morning after they'd brought Jillian home, Janine had awakened to the sound of music from his basement laboratory. She'd gone downstairs to find Jillian tucked into her baby chair, which sat on one of Egon's work benches. She stared with fascinated blue eyes as her daddy entertained her with a combination of (truly awful) dance moves, the chaser lights of the proton accelerator her was repairing, and singing to her in silly voices.
Other mornings, Janine would find him teaching the baby about the myriad gadgets in his lab while she smiled as if the words weren't just a nonsensical litany to her newborn mind. Still other times, Janine found Egon holding Jillian in his arms as he danced. Janine could still remember feeling some silly pangs of jealously that her daughter was getting more sugar out of her dad than she did.
The rest of the Ghostbusters were nearly as bad. Ray showed up every other day with an armload of presents to spoil his goddaughter, but Janine forgave that since he also helped her with the housework (which was taking second priority to caring for her newborn). Peter would plunk Jillian on his lap whenever there was a Devils or Islanders game on t.v., determined to make a sports fan out of the baby girl. He'd keep her until her diaper needed changing, at which point "Uncle Peter" passed her off to the nearest adult and headed for the hills. Winston talked to Egon and Janine about practical matters such as college funds and insurance policies and presented them with a list of his family members who were ready and available at any time to babysit.
After his accident, when negotiating the staircase to the basement became too much for his damaged heart, the guys had moved one of Egon's workbenches and many of his tools into the living room. Egon spread a blanket on the floor and worked there, baby Jillian constantly beside him as he tinkered and talked with Janine. He would fall asleep every night stretched out on that blanket with Jillian tucked against him. Sometimes, Janine woke him up and urged him to bed. Other times, she curled up beside them.
Janine never brought up 'what ifs' in those last few weeks. There was no point in filling what time they had left with anger or blame…
"You think Jillian's better off with strangers instead of her godfathers?" Peter challenged.
Janine rolled her eyes. "This from the man who changes apartments every six months because he doesn't want to clean his bathroom?"
Ray intervened: "Janine, Carla and I can take care of Jillian until you're through your treatments." He had made the offer twenty times since Janine was diagnosed with cancer.
"Kim loves Jillian. We'd love to have her," Winston added.
Janine had nearly caved-but even if Ray and Winston were inclined to give up their paranormal endeavors, it wasn't that simple. Ray and Carla barely made ends meet paying medical bills while she waited for a kidney transplant. Janine didn't see how Ray could care for both of them, and he would kill himself trying, she knew he would.
Winston already helped care for a small army of nieces and nephews in addition to his two children. The last thing he needed was to juggle an infant.
Dana was threatening to leave Peter. They'd already split up once due to his inability to commit. She had come back to him, but the tension resumed after Egon's death. Dana was worried about Peter meeting the same fate now.
And they would never give up being Ghostbusters.
Since losing his friend, Peter had become more sullen and snarky and rarely left the firehouse, obsessed with taking out his grief on any ghost that crossed his path. Ray considered it a tribute to Egon to continue their work. Winston simply wouldn't give up because it wasn't his style.
Now, they were in denial: Janine wasn't coming back for Jillian. She was dying. This wasn't temporary guardianship they were volunteering for-it was an adoption, whether they acknowledged it or not.
"Guys, you are who you are, and I love you. But I need to know that Jillian's going to have a nice, normal, and safe life…can you promise me that?" Janine glanced at each of them one by one. One by one, they wouldn't meet her gaze.
Peter shook his head in disgust. "So, you do blame us for Egon."
"Yes-I blame this crazy life you chose for yourselves. You don't get to choose it for my daughter. She deserves her own life." Janine sighed. "I'm sorry if you all hate me, but I'm still her mother."
"Not for long, apparently," Peter fumed. He headed for the stairs.
Ray nervously pulled at his collar. "We don't hate you, Janine…"
Peter called from upstairs, "We do. A little."
Winston made a rude gesture at Venkman. "It's 'cause we love you and Egon and Jillian-we don't want to lose you, too. We're trying to keep you from doing something that you're going to regret later."
And Winston hadn't been wrong. Janine had regrets before she ever signed the adoption papers. She had consoled herself, as the days of cancer treatment stretched into weeks and then months and years, that her baby was with a good family, safe and loved. She consoled herself, as the disease took its physical toll and she expected each day to be her last, that she might be reunited with Egon soon. They could watch over their daughter from heaven-and if she didn't make it to heaven, maybe she could haunt the firehouse and slowly drive Peter insane.
The worst part was that the disease never took her. One year became another and then another, and Janine survived. Her savings ran out, forcing her to the realization that keeping a roof over her head and feeding her body-which was surprisingly growing stronger-required her to leave her empty apartment, pull out of her depression, and actually get back to the real world. As one temp job followed another, two more years rolled by, and Janine accepted that the freaking doctors had underestimated her. She was going to survive. She gave up her home, said goodbye to her friends and family, and gave up her daughter, and she was going to survive.
Shit.
"Ray, stop the car," Janine blurted. What the hell was she doing?!
"We're on the bridge, Janine, can't exactly pull over," he apologized from the driver's seat.
Janine's chest tightened. "Stop somewhere. Or turn around. I can't do this." She was definitely on the brink of hyperventilating.
Ray met her gaze in the rear view mirror. Seeing his passenger about to have a panic attack, he got the cab across the bridge at a speed reckless even by New York standards. He found a gas station and pulled into the parking lot.
Without a word, he disappeared into the station's mini mart and returned with a bottle of water, which he handed to Janine. Ray had the impulse to climb into the back seat with her, wrap an arm around her shoulder until she calmed down, but instead he hovered outside the door and gave Janine her space.
He'd been down this road with Janine before.
It had been an open adoption. Janine had some say in choosing Jillian's new family. The Holtzmann's were a sweet young couple who were unable to have children due to an injury the wife had suffered as a teenager. They had cried and clung to Janine, unable to articulate their joy and gratitude or form words around the lumps in their throats the first time they set eyes on baby Jillian.
Janine never saw them again. She prayed about Jillian and her new family every night for fifteen years and stopped herself from searching for information about their location.
Unable to bring herself to return to New York City after the battle with cancer, Janine had settled down in Pawtucket, Delaware. She'd got a teaching certificate and landed a job at a charter middle school. The bitter part of her mind derided her that she had changed professions in a vain attempt to fill the void left by her daughter. The world of the Internet and social media was in its early stages, so it was difficult for Janine to find any information on Jillian or the Holtzmanns. She contented herself knowing her daughter had a loving family. It wouldn't have been right to stalk them in some pathetic attempt to keep a faint connection to Jillian.
So, she had nearly fainted the first time she clicked on the news and heard the reporter use the name "Jillian Holtzmann".
It was a human interest piece on a New York orphan who'd won a prestigious college scholarship despite a life of bad foster homes and periodic truancy and homelessness after losing her adopted parents at the tender age of five.
Janine had screamed at the television, at herself, and the universe in general: "What the fuck?!" Her daughter was supposed to be having a happy life with a good family. What they hell did they mean by bad foster families and homelessness?! Janine gave up everything so she would…clearly that had been a mistake, one in a never-ending stream of them.
The New York Times ran a companion article on the scholarship winner-the story was mostly cobbled together from what information hadn't been sealed by Social Services and other government agencies. Foster siblings and foster parents painted a picture of a teenage hellion prone to running away, dangerous science experiments, arson, and periodic violent behavior. One foster mother—some bitch named Lydia Englebright-blamed Jillian for an assault that resulted in the amputation of one of her son's testicles (the police ruled it an 'accident'). Jillian's teachers praised her as the most brilliant student to grace their classrooms (and occasionally cause small fires and minor explosions in their classrooms) in decades.
Janine couldn't stand it anymore.
She had lied her way into the graduation ceremony by calling in a favor, teacher-to-teacher with the faculty at Jillian's high school. She had sat in the bleachers and watched her daughter graduate. She was so far back from the stage that she'd needed binoculars just to see Jillian's face.
Absurdly, Janine half expected to see the infant she'd left behind years ago, not the young woman briefly at the podium (Jillian's valedictorian speech was exactly twelve words long, then the teenager races back to her seat.)
She was gorgeous. Janine wiped a tear from her eyes. Jillian still looked like her father. Apparently, she'd inherited his genius as well. And she was grown up—a sixteen year old body with an Einstein I.Q., already declared an emancipated minor and off to college.
She didn't need a mother. What if Janine walked up and introduced herself? No doubt her daughter would think the mom who'd abandoned her was showing up to steal the spotlight, an unwelcome intruder on Jillian's big day. Janine was lucky just to have the chance to see her graduate. That would have to be enough.
Janine had tried to make a discreet exit, but when she passed the gymnasium, the sound of muffled curse words and fists banging against metal drew her into the empty building.
Ray Stantz stood in the hallway, leaning against the door to the janitor's closet. He jumped a bit, startled at the sound of approaching footsteps, his expression the look of a child caught being naughty. When he recognized Janine, he broke into a wide grin.
Janine gaped, "Ray?"
"Janine!"
From inside the closet, a woman's muffled voice threatened: "I'm calling the police-shit, there's no reception in here."
Ray winked at Janine, but addressed his impromptu prisoner in the closet contritely: "So sorry, ma'am, this door really does get stuck. I called my supervisor, and he's going to shoot right on over here. Shouldn't be more than two hours, three hours tops." As he spoke, he busily programmed the door's keypad. The display began counting down from one hour.
She shrieked, "Are you kidding-"
"Uh, ma'am, you might want to conserve your air," Ray suggested. He shook his head at Janine and mouthed, "She'll be fine."
"Who's in there?" Janine whispered.
Ray made a face. "Lydia Englebright."
Janine scowled, remembering the newspaper story.
He read Janine's mind. "Yeah. Nobody ruins my goddaughter's graduation…" He checked his watch. "Which should wrap up any time now."
"Let the bitch out. I can take her." Janine set down her purse and started to shrug off her sweater, fully prepared to make good on her promise.
"I bet you could." Ray grinned at her…but he definitely wasn't letting Lydia out of there until the stadium had cleared out. For one thing, she had shown up fully intent upon marching up to the podium and disrupting the ceremony on behalf of her 'poor victimized son' (the little punk, Ray could imagine full well what the kid had done to make little Jillian burn off one of the his testicles. It turned Ray's stomach.) For another, she hadn't got a look at Ray when he shut the door on her, and he was going to make sure it stayed that way. Technically, he was committing a minor felony here, but family was family.
"Dad! Uncle Peter says the security cameras are only going to be off for a couple of minutes, so move your ass. His words, not mine." An auburn-haired teenage boy rounded the corner and nearly collided with Janine. "Oh, hey, sorry ma'am, did I say security cameras? I meant digital cameras."
Ray gave the boy a light tap on the shoulder. "Smooth."
Janine couldn't help staring. The boy looked all of fourteen maybe, and he was the spitting image of Ray. She gave Ray a quizzical look.
"Janine, this is my son, Ryan. World's worst liar."
The boy rolled his eyes. "You know how many laws you're breaking right?" he asked his father. "Technically, you're corrupting a minor. I'm going to have to testify-"
Ray waved him off. "Technically, she walked into the closet herself." Mostly because Peter had told her it was the shortcut to the stage where the ceremony was taking place. "Technically, the lock is out of order right now." Mostly because Ray had made sure it was broken before Lydia ever set foot in the stadium. He and Peter had read the newspaper article and heard Mrs. Englebright ranting on the local news channel. It hadn't been difficult to guess she'd show up that afternoon. "So technically, I'm rescuing her."
"And technically they can't prove anything, since the security cameras are having a temporary malfunction." Peter Venkman arrived, brandishing the tiny control box that was creating said 'temporary malfunction' with a grin. Janine might have guessed he'd have a hand in this.
Then he spotted Janine and froze. Something flashed behind his eyes, the familiar scowl tugged at the corners of his mouth. Peter and Janine hadn't spoken a word to each other since the day they'd quarreled over Jillian's adoption. He gazed at her now with the look of a stranger, not the least bit happy to see her.
Janine crossed her arms, fixing both men with a stern stare. "I suppose Winston is outside rigging the gym doors to stay locked for two, maybe three hours?"
Peter blinked at her. "I officially have no idea what you're talking about."
She turned to Ray. "So, you guys saw the news story and decided to come play overprotective godfathers? Do you realize how much trouble you could be in if Lydia figures out who you are?"
Ray nodded. He didn't particularly care. They may have promised Janine that they wouldn't directly contact Jillian, but that didn't mean they couldn't watch over her in their fashion.
Janine had no choice: She closed the distance, flung an arm around each of them to hug both men at once. "I still love you guys."
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Janine downed most of the bottle of water in one pull. When it was empty, she nervously fiddled with the label and squeezed the plastic until the noise finally prompted Ray to take the empty container from her hands. "Thanks, Ray."
He still hovered nervously by the passenger door, watching to be sure she was calming down. The tremble of her hands told him 'no'.
She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. "I should have listened to you guys a long time ago. I never should have given her up. Look what happened," Janine admitted.
Ray scratched the side of his head. "What happened is you have a genius daughter who just helped prevent another Apocalypse and saved billions of lives. That's pretty good, I think. Take that every parent with a "My Kid's On the School Honor Roll" bumper sticker."
She chuckled in spite of herself. "Yeah. I have a beautiful, brilliant Ghostbuster. Just like her daddy. You can't fight destiny." She exhaled slowly. "Guess I don't have the right to barge in after thirty years and criticize her life choices."
Jillian wasn't going to want to see her, Janine knew. For her part, since the day Janine had turned on her television to see her daughter walking out of the Stonebrook Theater brandishing a ghost trap and wearing overalls with a too-familiar "no ghosts" logo, Janine had looked up every story on the internet and followed every Facebook page remotely connected to her daughter like some demented cyberstalker. She had called the firehouse at least fifty times trying to summon the courage just to ask to speak to her, and always hung up (if she wasn't disconnected by their sweet but inept receptionist).
She'd heard nothing from her daughter in turn. If Jillian wanted to speak to Janine, she surely would have tried to find her mother by now.
Ray kneeled next to the passenger seat, bringing himself down to Janine's eye level so that she had to meet his gaze. "Beautiful and brilliant, yes. But she didn't get it all from Egon."
Janine blushed.
"Anyway-let's get going. Buckle up." He closed the door.
"I'm sorry I dragged you all this way for nothing, Ray," Janine apologized.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Ray clicked the automatic door locks. "I'm going to see my goddaughter."
He pulled into traffic in a squeal of tires, narrowly avoiding a collision, before Janine could overcome her shock or think to jump out of the cab.
"Ray-! What the hell-?!" Janine protested both the driving and the destination.
"Janine, the worst that can happen is that she says 'no'. You're no worse off than you are now. Best that can happen is she says 'yes' and gives you a chance. Either way, you can stop making yourself miserable."
She disagreed. Saying 'no' wasn't the worst thing Jillian could do. She could blame Janine for the bad foster homes, the homelessness, and Janine wouldn't be able to argue if she did.
"She could have a ghost throw me out a window," Janine grumbled.
"Eh, Peter shouldn't have been there. He gets carried away with that 'Martin Heiss' garbage sometimes. And he knows better than to open a trap once a ghost is inside. 'Sides, he's awake and back on solid foods now, no harm no foul," Ray dismissed that argument. He was sure Peter had been looking for an excuse to see his goddaughter, too.
"Take me home, Ray."
Ray would have banged his head on the steering wheel if the cab wasn't in motion. "You know, I've been driving past the firehouse almost every night after my shift."
Janine's eyes widened.
"Just checking that everything's quiet," he explained. Of course, it was also in case his goddaughter happened to be there needing a cab ride…or under attack and needing a hand from an old pro. Considering what had happened to Peter, Ray didn't want a ghost to drop Jillian out a window, too.
Janine lapsed into silence, staring out the window with wide, apprehensive eyes at the passing cityscape. Clearly, she was quite pissed off at him.
Steering with one hand, Ray fished his cell phone from his pocket with the other. Janine stifled a cry as Ray thumbed through the tiny screen, almost drifting into the on-coming lane several times. Finally, he tossed the phone back to his passenger. "Tell me what you see."
With trembling hands, she accepted the phone. He'd called up his photo gallery. It was full of photos of Carla and Ryan, old photos of the Ghostbusters downloaded from the websites of ghost fanatics who still remembered the original team, and photos of Jillian and her Ghostbuster friends.
"I give up, Ray, what answer do you want?"
"Look!" He was emphatic. "The proton pack….the ghost trap…Ecto-1. I read the blogs and the interviews. Jillian built all of that." He risked glancing back at her. She was staring at him, still unsure what he was playing at.
"Janine-Jillian might have been raised by adopted parents and foster families, but for the first six months of her life, she was our baby. Yours, Egon's, mine, Winston's, and Peter's. We were her family. She sat in Ecto-1 dozens of times. She saw the proton accelerators-"
Janine's eyes widened. "You guys did not shoot off a proton gun near my child-?!"
Ray looked away quickly. "Of course not."
She rolled her eyes. He was such a godawful liar, couldn't hold a lie with those child-like eyes.
"-isn't it obvious? Some part of Jillian remembers us. It's all imprinted on her memory. If you ask me, I think some subconscious part of her has been looking for us," Ray concluded. "I know you didn't want her to be a Ghostbuster. I completely get it. But, she made her choice, Janine. She could have been at CERN or Hudson Aerospace or any place that she wanted. I don't think it's a coincidence that she became a physicist. I don't think it's a coincidence she teamed up with Dr. Yates when she clearly had other options, and I sure the hell don't think it's a coincidence she recreated our old gear. Maybe that's because of us, maybe it isn't. But, if she has been looking for us-consciously or not-then don't you think it's time we stopped hiding and let her find us?"
Janine had no answer for that, so Ray kept driving.
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New York City and Manhattan had changed a lot in the last thirty years, Janine mused. Some old landmarks remained: The precinct where the boys had been jailed after Egon's containment unit blew up; Times Square (more neon, fewer hookers); Nemo's Pizza, where Janine and Egon had gone for their first official date (he spent the night scribbling notes about proton pack upgrades until Janine threatened to throw his gear into the aquarium)….
….the Mercado, where her daughter and the Ghostbusters had fended off the Apocalypse a few months ago.
Janine's old hairdresser's salon was now a day spa. Egon's favorite computer store, Gizmo's Gadgets, had become a Circuit City, then a Fye's, and now was a Best Buy. She remembered going to the theater with Dana to see Evita when the boys all mysteriously contracted what Peter had dubbed 'ectoplasmic reactions' (which suspiciously resembled oatmeal colored with green food dye and stuck on their faces). The bookstore Egon had derided with his 'print is dead' attitude whenever she dragged him there was a souvenir shop. Janine smiled, thinking how Egon would have loved the age of e-books and Kindles. They passed the '24 Hour Gourmet Buffett', where pregnant Janine had eaten her body weight in pasta and coffee cake while Peter and Ray wagered on how much she could eat before she puked. 77th and Central Park, where the boys had headed off the first Apocalypse thirty years ago, had been rebuilt but was no less creepy. Janine couldn't stand to look at the building.
Finally, they rolled up to the hospital. Ironically, it was the same hospital where Jillian was supposed to be born before the car had been stranded in gridlock traffic. Janine stared at the hospital, the knot in her stomach so tight it was physically painful now.
"You guys aren't chasing ghosts anymore?"
After running into each other at Jillian's graduation, Janine and the guys had gathered at a nearby pizzeria. Several hours passed like minutes as they caught up on sixteen years.
Janine could not believe what she'd just heard. She raised an eyebrow, and Ray nodded. "Turns out you were right. You see the job a little differently when your first kid comes along," he confessed.
"Carla was able to have a baby. That's something. She got her transplant?" Janine wanted to know, feeling guilty she hadn't kept in touch, preoccupied as she had been with her own health crisis.
"She's better. She got her Accounting degree and went back to work."
Winston hiked a thumb in the direction of the corner where Peter and Ryan were trying to one-up each other at skee ball. "Peter's youngest was born with autism. He's been a stay-at-home dad the last ten years."
"After Gozer, there weren't enough manifestations to pay the rent on the firehouse, much less the rent on our apartments," Ray added bitterly. He didn't add that it was too difficult to continue battling the paranormal without Egon's expertise.
Janine nodded. "So, what are you doing now?"
"It's interesting, actually. A couple of months ago, we got a call from the NSA asking us to hire on as consultants. Some bureaucrat watched too many episodes of 'The X-Files', I guess, and decided to start up a real one."
She hid a smile. "So, basically, you get paid to quote 'Tobin's Spirit Guide' and tell ghost stories to government agents?"
Winston grinned. "It's a good job."
"Yeah, but the pay sucks. I have to drive a cab at night to buy groceries, and Winston and his brother Bill own a mortuary. Hope you appreciate the irony," Ray winked at Winston, who gave him a dirty look.
Changing the subject, Winston asked Janine: "What about you? You back in the city?"
"I took a teaching position out in Delaware."
Peter made a face. "Delaware? Why?"
"You need to come to the house," Winston invited her. "Kim and the kids will want to see you. We've been trying to look you up in Phoenix. Guess we were looking in the wrong place." He didn't mention that, failing to turn up an address for Janine, they'd been searching for her obituary, fearing that the cancer had indeed claimed her. Not just Winston and Kim, he knew full well that Peter and Ray had searched as well (whether Peter admitted it or not). Janine was their friend and the mother of Egon's only child. The grudge over the adoption had dragged on too long as far as he was concerned. "And Ray can bring Carla and Ryan."
Janine marveled at the unconditional forgiveness of that invitation, like they had never had their horrible falling out over Jillian's adoption and sixteen years hadn't slipped away without a word. "Yeah, maybe," she answered.
"My Spidey senses are tingling. That means Winston and Ray are planning a barbeque." Peter plopped onto one of the barstools at their table. "I'll bring the beer."
Winston frowned at him. "If you're expecting a barbeque, you're bringing the beer and the ribs. As I recall, the last time you brought me an 'I.O.U.' for a keg and ate half the food."
Peter affected a wounded look. "Hey, how about a little sympathy? Dana doesn't let me eat red meat anymore. Or any meat. God, I'm hungry," he pouted, taking a large bite of a forbidden pepperoni and sausage pizza to make his point.
Janine smiled. "I missed you guys."
Ray lifted his beer bottle in toast. "Welcome home, Red."
Janine would forever be grateful that she'd accepted Winston's invitation that day: It was the last time she would see Carla before Ray's wife died on September 11, 2001. She was grateful to have seen Carla healthy, happy, recovered from her kidney transplant and full of life. Janine would remember her that way. Janine, Ray, Peter and Winston had gathered together was for Carla's memorial.
Knowing something of what Ray was going through, Janine had extended an open invitation for Ray and Ryan to visit her in Delaware any time they needed to get away from the city, to talk, or to not talk. She got them into grief counseling. When they did visit, Ryan usually fell asleep on the couch while Janine and Ray sat up all night, talking about Egon, Carla and Ray's years together, the Ghostbusters, Janine's battle with cancer, and—eventually—about Jillian, and Janine's wish to reconnect with her daughter.
Janine, Peter, Winston, and their families attended Ryan's graduation. When the time came, Janine wrote a letter of recommendation for Ryan to include with his college applications.
Their work with the NSA turned into consulting with Homeland Security. They kept pretty mum with Janine about what they were doing ("Classified information. Sorry, Red.") Janine could pretty much piece it together. Ray drove around in a cab watching for spectral activity (knowing him, he probably had a PKE meter mounted under the hood). Peter, with his ridiculous 'Martin Heiss' persona, went around investigating people who claimed to have seen ghosts in order to find out if there was legitimate paranormal activity and reported back to Homeland Security. Winston…well, Janine guessed he was probably done with chasing ghosts and settled on doing research (perhaps with an ear to the ground with the City Morgue in case they found something unnatural in the circumstances of someone's death. Janine was afraid to ask.)
Somewhere in that time, Ray had become Janine's best friend…
…which was the only reason she didn't strangle him when he plucked her out of the cab and guided her into the hospital.
One or two reporters still milled around the lobby, mostly those low on the office totem pole who basically waited for the daily update on the Ghostbuster. It had been so long since Ray's heyday with the original Ghostbusters (and the mayor's office and Homeland Security had done such a thorough job of covering up proof that the group had ever existed) that nobody looked twice at him or Janine as they moved toward the Reception Desk.
Janine had no good memories of this hospital (her daughter had been born five blocks away from these walls). This was the hospital where the doctors had dispassionately informed Egon of the irreversible damage to his heart. This was the hospital where Janine was diagnosed with her 'terminal' super-cancer. She didn't want it to one day be the place where her daughter would pass away due to a skirmish with a malevolent entity. Irrationally, Janine thought as long as she stayed away it wouldn't be.
Ray was not at all surprised when Janine squirmed out of his grasp and bee-lined straight to the chairs instead of the reception desk. With a sigh, he followed, watching her for signs of another panic attack.
The nurse who was attending the reception desk stared at the ashen-faced Janine with concern. "Ma'am, are you having difficulty breathing? You should have used the Emergency entrance-" She picked up the phone, intending to summon a wheelchair.
Janine shook her head vehemently and supposed she'd be more convincing if she could actually draw a breath and reply verbally to the woman.
"She's fine," Ray promised. "Little nervous. Visiting family."
The nurse remained unconvinced but retreated to her desk. "Visiting hours are almost over."
"We had to drive from Delaware," Ray explained.
She gave them a look of sympathy. "I'll see what I can do. What's the patient's name?"
Ray looked down to see Janine was bent, head over her knees, trying to get her breathing under control. Her hands trembled, and he heard the muffled sound of her babbling: "Mistakemistakemistakemistakemistake…"
The nurse was starting to look alarmed again, as if debating whether to call for medical help or a security guard. This was New York City…surely Janine's behavior wasn't in the running for strangest thing the nurse had seen, Ray mused. He gave her his most charming smile. "Give us a minute?"
She shrugged.
Ray rubbed Janine's shoulder, hoping to convey some comfort. Maybe he'd been pushing her too hard. She clearly wasn't ready for this. "Um…Janine…we can g-"
Go…The allure of escape was so tempting that Janine nearly felt a physical ache. She knew this would be difficult, but 'difficult' didn't encompass the terror that seized her. Her daughter was only a few floors away, probably closer than she'd been at the graduation ceremony, and Janine's courage had failed her that day as well. She was closer than she'd been since that horrible day when Janine gave her up. Janine had rehearsed a million times what she'd say if they were ever face-to-face, how to explain her decision, how to beg her forgiveness…and still her courage failed her.
Janine squeezed her eyes closed, tuned out the infuriating voice in her mind that warned of doom if she didn't run away right then and there, and croaked out. "Holtzmann…"
"Pardon?" the nurse asked.
Janine sat up, trying to muster what tiny shreds remained of her dignity. "We're here to see Jillian Holtzmann."
Now, the nurse rolled her eyes. Great, more whack-a-doodles trying to see the Ghostbuster. She might have guessed as much. She was getting tired of these freaks. "I see. Are you friends or family?"
Janine didn't appreciate the woman's condescending tone. "Family," she answered.
The woman apparently didn't need to check the computer again. "Ms. Holtzmann has no family members listed," she informed Janine.
Janine pushed herself to her feet and approached the desk. The nurse stared her down, one hand sliding beneath the desk to hover above her panic button in case this strange red-head became violent.
"No, she wouldn't have family listed. I'm her mother," Janine said.
"Are you now?" the nurse played along. "Well, sweetie, you're the third 'mother' who's tried to visit Ms. Holtzmann this week."
"What?!" Janine yelped involuntarily. Ray crossed the lobby in three steps and caught her by the elbow.
"I can vouch for her," Ray told the nurse.
The woman remained indifferent. "Look, maybe you're a groupie or a ghost chaser or you've got a girl crush…whatever. Mine is not to judge. Mine is to inform you that if your name isn't on the list, you aren't getting in to see Ms. Holtzmann." The mayor's office had explicitly ordered the hospital to keep the public away from the Ghostbusters. Had the nurse been inclined to get fired for breaking that rule, the Feds who were guarding Holtzmann's room wouldn't have any qualms about bouncing the tiny red-head and her boyfriend to the sidewalk.
Janine strangled a frustrated sob. Somehow, she was all the more desperate to get in now that access had been forbidden. All this way…she couldn't be shut out this fast. "Can I-" Janine searched for a way to stall, hoping to come up with a new plan. "-send flowers?"
The nurse pointed to the tiny gift store just off the lobby. "Gift shop closes in ten minutes, so you'd best be quick. And if you plan to try to sneak upstairs, don't bother. Security's very good here."
Janine mumbled to Ray: "Get me your proton pack. I'll fix that list of hers…"
Ray urged her to the gift store, hiding a grin. "Now, now, it's not a good day to go to jail. But I love the spirit."
Janine gazed without interest at the assorted flowers, candy, balloons, and trinkets in the tiny shop. She had absolutely no idea which of these things-if any-would appeal to Jillian. The clerk read a magazine, not bothering to so much as glance at the two customers.
"They aren't going to let us in," Janine said to Ray. Somehow, it hadn't occurred to her that Jillian might be under protective custody. How were they going to get around that? "And she wouldn't want any of this junk." At least, not if Jillian's anything like her father, she wouldn't.
"I have friends at City Hall. I could give them a call," Ray offered.
"Can I help you find something, ma'am?" The teenage boy behind the counter asked with thinly disguised impatience. He was staring at the clock, anxious to close the shop.
Janine felt her last thread of sanity starting to snap. "Sure. How about a soldering iron? Have you got one of those? No? First edition 'Tobin's Spirit Guide'? No? Gee…Ray, what do you think would be a good 'Get Well' present?" Frustration made her tone drip with sarcasm that would have done Venkman proud.
Ray pondered this. "Faraday cages are always a nice gift-good for particle accelerators or they make nice fruit bowls."
Janine nodded. "Versatile. I'll take one of those," she told the clerk.
The boy wasn't fazed. "We have teddy bears that smell like lavender."
"Jillian's allergic to lavender." That much Janine knew.
The clerk was saved by a minor commotion coming from the lobby. A dark-haired, bespectacled woman had stormed into the reception area, brandishing something that looked like a flashlight retrofitted with a Taser gun. She was shouting a threat: "Lydia-I am tired of your shit! I swear to God if I see your Taft-colored head back here one more time, I'm going to zap you until you can pick up FM radio in your fillings. Then I'm going to find your pervert son and snap off his other-"
The nurse at the reception desk was shaking her head at the new arrival. She pointed in the direction of the gift shop, Janine, and Ray.
Janine tensed. She recognized the dark-haired live wire as one of the Ghostbusters. "Yates" was her name, if Janine remembered right. The reception nurse must have called upstairs and told them some nutcase was downstairs trying to get in to see Jillian.
Abby Yates had thundered down the stairs, geared up for a confrontation. The Ghostbusters had kicked Lydia (and her circus parade of parasite lawyers and tabloid reporters) to the curb three times in as many days. When the nurse called Holtz's room and said her 'mother' was in the lobby, Abby had assumed it was time for round four.
She was momentarily thrown to spot the tiny red-haired woman and her gentleman friend instead of Holtz's sub-psychotic former "mother".
Abby took a deep breath, letting the adrenaline rush wear off. "Sorry, I was just-" she started to apologize. Whichever foster mother this was, she seemed considerable less menacing than that freak show Englebright.
Then, she studied the woman more closely. Abby had seen pictures of all of Holtz's foster relatives. This woman didn't look like any of them, but she looked familiar…
Then dawned on her: The woman looked familiar because Abby had only just been helping Holtz look up her information on the Internet three days ago…after Patty had blackmailed the mayor into locating Holtzmann's adoption files.
Still, Abby couldn't quite believe it. "Janine?"
She saw the red-head tense, eyes widening.
"Janine Melnitz?" Abby repeated. "Aren't you? The nurse said-I didn't really think-I thought Lydia-" Suddenly mindful that she was holding one of Holtz's homemade Tasers, Abby hid the weapon behind her back with one hand. With the other, she waved off the Homeland Security agent, Rorke, who had followed her to the lobby.
Having met Lydia, Janine completely understood the younger woman's reaction. Clearing her throat, she did her best to ignore the awkwardness. "How do you know my-?" she started to ask.
"We looked you up." Abby decided there was no good way to admit that.
"She looked me up?" Janine assumed the "we" included Jillian, if not the rest of their team. Some small part of her felt a thrill that her daughter knew her name and had bothered to look up information about her.
The joy lasted a millisecond, then the same crushing doubt seized Janine: Jillian knew who she was and still hadn't tried to contact Janine. That pretty much answered the question of whether she wanted to meet her mother.
Janine instinctively turned to glance at Ray, ready to beg, order, or blackmail him into taking her home. He had quietly retreated to his cab and was lounging on the front seat with the newspaper. He'd got her this far. It was up to Janine to do the rest. When she glared at him through the lobby window, he simply gave her a jaunty wave and a thumb's up.
Great, that's helpful, Janine groaned. She really was going to strangle him before the night was over.
Feeling her face flush, Janine tried to think of a way to make a graceful exit before she completely broke down and cried. She heard words pour from her mouth of their own volition. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to intrude. I just saw-I only came because-"
"Because you saw the news and you were worried. I understand. I didn't mean anything. It's just really weird that you're here right now. I'm sorry. I'm Abby, by the way." Abby offered her hand to shake Janine's.
Abby couldn't help studying the older woman, trying not to stare. She couldn't help being curious about her best friend's mysterious birth mother. Her first thought was that Holtz really did look like her father. They'd been able to see the resemblance in the pictures they'd found of Egon Spengler. In person, Abby noted that Holtz had Janine's eyes and was about her height, but there the physical resemblance ended.
At least the younger woman was being kind. Janine was grateful for that. "You don't have to explain. I know she doesn't need a scene. I just wanted to know-is Jillian okay?"
Abby nodded. "She will be. In a few weeks, anyway." Holtz was still recovering from a massive concussion, broken ribs, abdominal surgery, and a slight reaction to the surgical anesthesia, but Abby figured giving Janine a laundry list of her daughter's injuries probably wasn't going to make her mother feel better.
Janine breathed a prayer of thanks.
Shuffling her feet, trying to think how to phrase what she had to say in a respectful way, Abby added: "I can't take you up there and spring you on her, though. Not right now. You understand, right?"
"I do." Janine really did. "It was a bad idea."
"No, no, no. It wasn't. Just…bad timing." Abby almost relented. This wasn't her decision to make, damn it. It was Holtz's. The problem was that Abby didn't know Janine Melnitz. She seemed decent enough, but Abby had no idea what would happen if she let the woman upstairs. Holtz didn't rattle easily, but she'd had enough trauma and drama in the last ten days and this would have been a lot to cope with even if she was fully healthy. "But, I'll tell her you were here. Maybe when she's better…" Abby didn't finish the thought because she didn't want to make a promise that Holtz might not want to keep.
Again, Janine appreciated the woman's kindness, but she couldn't help feeling the twinge of disappointment. To come so close and still be so far away was nearly devastating. She opened her mouth to politely thank Abby…
"You don't have to leave."
Janine may have only heard it on sound bites on the news-and during a twelve-word graduation speech-but she would have known that voice absolutely anywhere.
Her heart felt like it had jumped right out of her chest to lodge in her throat, beating so hard that the sound deafened her. She gripped the shoulder strap of her purse to hide the sudden trembling of her hands. Timidly, she glanced past Abby to the elevator.
Caught up in their conversation, neither Janine nor Abby had heard the ding of the elevator bell as it opened or noticed the petite figure in the wheelchair when she entered the lobby.
Abby whirled, seeing Holtz being wheeled into the lobby by Tolan. "Patty! What are you doing? She's not even supposed to be out of bed!"
Patty held up a finger in warning. "Hey, don't be up in my face, it wasn't my idea! You're the one who went running out of the room with that…" she pointed to the flashlight/taser gun Abby had forgotten she was carrying. "…Holtz wanted to see you zap Lydia. What was I supposed to do? Let her belly-crawl down here? And, by the way, have you seen what she's hiding in this chair?"
Patty reached into the rear pocket of the wheelchair (normally meant to hold oxygen tanks or other equipment) and pulled out a gadget that appeared to be a fusion of dental drill and pipe bomb. "I left the room for one hour…she tore apart the television, the bed pole, and the light fixture and a pair of tweezers and made a damn lightsaber!" When Patty thumbed the "on" button, the device emitted a proton stream that truly did resemble the Star Wars weapon. "We can't use this damn thing. Disney would sue us. I think the head injury made her crazier."
"Disney will buy it from us. And it's a proton saber," Holtzmann corrected her distractedly, her attention still on the woman standing beside Abby.
Patty frowned down at the blonde. "The nurse thought it was a sex toy."
Erin Gilbert stepped off the elevator in time to hear that last remark and add: "Yes, she did. And Holtz told her it was mine. That wasn't awkward at all."
At the moment, Holtz wasn't in the mood to gloat about pranking Erin or about her new invention (Seriously, what did they expect Holtz to do with herself? She'd been trapped in the damned hospital for ten days without her lab or her tools. It was a miracle she hadn't spontaneously combusted by now). Holtz's attention was riveted to the wide-eyed woman who very clearly was not her foster mother Lydia Englebright or her other foster mother, Sophia Trocolli.
The absolute last person Holtzmann had expected to see when she came downstairs was her birth mother.
Hell, until three days ago, Holtz hadn't even known Janine Melnitz's name or seen a picture of her.
Absurdly, Holtz's first thought was that Janine reminded her of that weird hotel manager from the Mercado. She wondered if Janine was a smart-ass like that woman as well. Then she wondered if it was weird to wonder about that.
Janine looked ready to bolt from the hospital, so Holtz said again: "You don't have to leave."
Holtz had often thought about what she would say, what she would do, how it would feel if she crossed paths with her biological mother. In her mind, she had rehearsed speeches, compiled a thousand questions (or, on her darker days, preparing accusations). She supposed that was normal for anyone who had been given up for adoption by their birth parents.
Now, here was Mom-and Holtz, well, she had nothing.
Whether it was shock, whether the anesthesia that couldn't quite seem to clear out of her system was dulling her wits, or whether because emotional situations tended to trigger Holtz's flight-or-fight response (mostly flight), she was drawing blanks.
Janine stared back at her with wide, frightened eyes, doing her best not to let her apprehension show (though it felt as though every last nerve in her body had been stressed to the breaking point and her heart might just stop beating altogether) but forcing herself to stand fast as her daughter wheeled herself closer. Jillian studied her with unabashed curiosity, hesitation etched in her younger features.
Despite her daughter's words—and the implicit invitation-Janine still expected this momentary bubble would pop and Jillian would let loose with a litany of accusations before storming right back out of Janine's life.
So, as Jillian rolled to a stop a few feet away, Janine tried to memorize every detail about her. She cringed at the bandage covering the gash and garish bruise at the side of Jillian's head and the bandages around her torso that were visible through the thin hospital gown. She took note of every detail from her wheat-colored curls to the large blue eyes, to the stockinged feet.
Janine had also composed speeches-most of them apologies and pleas for forgiveness, and she couldn't remember a word of them. Staring down at the younger woman-at her daughter-the only coherent word that escaped Janine's lips was: "Hello."
Holtz felt equally off-balance and at a loss. She had to start somewhere, so she settled for simply starting with: "Hi."
***Not the End***
Okay, so if that felt like it ended abruptly, remember that it started out as chapter one of the sequel. I have included a preview below. So, follow or favorite the story so I'll know if you want the rest.
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PREVIEW:
The pile of flowers, gifts, get well cards, and candles had begun to partially block the stairs leading into the apartment building. The makeshift monument had started accumulating the night that the building's resident Ghostbuster had been injured. Twelve days later, the supervisor was fed up with the mess and finally called the firehouse, demanding that the Ghostbusters do something with the pile.
Kevin had been dispatched with a carload of empty boxes to gather up Holtzmann's presents and bring them back to the firehouse. There wasn't much point in leaving the items in her decimated apartment. Without a front door-or walls-the apartment couldn't be secured, and Holtz's neighbors couldn't keep guarding the place indefinitely. Erin and Patty had already combed through the wreckage checking for any of Holtz's belongings that had survived the ghost fight. They'd brought the items back to HQ before looters and souvenir hunters could ransack the apartment.
Holtzmann had wanted to stay at the firehouse while she convalesced from her injuries (if she ever escaped from the doctors, who seemed intent upon keeping her in the hospital). Abby flatly insisted on setting up the second bedroom in her own small apartment for her while Holtz's place underwent repairs. It was the only way to keep an eye on Holtz to make sure she followed the doctor's orders to rest ("I only need four hours of sleep") and took her medicine ("Pills give me brain fog").
Kevin was concentrating on sorting out dried up flowers (Erin wanted to make 'potpourri'. Women had strange hobbies), deflated 'Get Well' balloons, stuffed animals, and other trinkets. He barely paid attention to the people passing by on the sidewalk or coming and going from the building…until he turned to carry a box to the car and nearly collided with a woman who had crept up behind him while he worked.
He still bumped into her, nearly sending them both toppling and almost making her drop the crystal object in her hands. Kevin's hurried to catch her elbow before the woman fell. "Sorry, ma'am-didn't see you there."
The woman clutched her package to her chest, relieved she'd kept her grip on it. She frowned at the boy.
Getting a good look at the woman, Kevin instinctively withdrew his hand.
She might have been an attractive woman, he mused, if not for the fact that one look at her made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. She was bundled up against the-warm September afternoon?-in a beaten brown overcoat and hood. Black curls spilled from beneath the hood, stark against her pale skin. Her eyes were such pale blue that Kevin wondered if they might actually glow in the dark (not that he'd want to be caught in the dark with this freaky Sheila). The eyes were like ice and sent a piercing bit of cold right into his bones. At least, it made his blood run cold.
Maybe she was a snowman—or snowwoman, he thought. Except there was no snow and she'd melt in that overcoat. Kevin dismissed that notion.
She smelled odd, too. Kind of like the room at the National History Museum where they kept the mummies. He'd found that room once when he'd got lost while taking a tour.
Then the woman smiled, and Kevin hoped she never did it again because it was flatly disturbing.
"Pardon, so," she half-bowed in apology. She spoke slowly and deliberately, as if English was not her native language and she was having to work at finding her words. "Am I too late to leave a gift for the Ghost Buster?" She held out the crystal object to Kevin. "So unfortunate…such a tragedy…such a clever girl to master the secrets of the universe."
Kevin had no idea what the woman was talking about, but he forgot to be creeped out in his eagerness to accept the gift. He loved presents even if they weren't for him. He puzzled over the crystal. It was nearly formless. He would have bought something that had been carved into a recognizable shape like a horse or a bird. Maybe this was new age art?
"Oh…I get it. I've seen these before. It's a salt lamp, right?" he guessed, despite the obvious lack of a power cord or a base for batteries. He just didn't want the scary woman to think he couldn't appreciate art.
Her smile vanished. She cocked her head at him.
"They have a salt lamp at my gym. Supposed to have healing powers. Or something. If you believe that stuff. Which I don't," he babbled in the uncomfortable silence.
"Healing powers…yes," the woman said. "This will heal. You will see the Arch-the Ghost Buster-receives it?"
Kevin shrugged. "Yeah, sure." He chucked the crystal into one of the empty boxes.
The woman made a noise like a hiss, snatching back the figuring and replacing it in the maddening boy's hands. "You will see the Ghost Buster receives it," she repeated.
Kevin sighed. Fanboys could be so pushy. "No worries." He winked at the woman. She recoiled as if he'd tried to bite her.
She stared, watching with quiet exasperation as the boy once again placed the crystal into a box (using exaggerated care this time). She had tried to deliver her gift to the Architect in person, but her hospital door had been guarded by men with guns hidden beneath their coats. They seemed buffoonish, but that made them no less dangerous. Therefore, she was dependent upon this equally-buffoonish blonde boy to deliver the crystal to the Architect. He did not understand the supreme importance of what she was asking him to do, and she could not explain it to him.
How long Voga Ra'El has waited…waited for the Architect. So many had been tested and failed, but as soon as she'd seen the Ghost Buster called 'Holtzmann' and the miraculous machines she created on the news channels, she had known: This was the Architect. Finally.
Voga Ra'El had waited long. He would have to wait a bit longer. There was no choice at the moment.
Resigned, she withdrew, leaving Kevin to his work.
TBC?