It was pandemonium in the parking lot. Girls screaming. Men swearing.

And, then the cops showed up, sirens wailing.

Ivan and Helen wisely kept mixed with the crowd. No use in giving themselves away.

One of the new waitresses – Helen thought her name was a very normal Gina – had a bloody gash on her head, and Helen tended to her the best she could with a wadded-up tablecloth until the medics materialized. Ivan got drug off by Rocco himself, and Helen was dying to know what they discussed.

Not that Ivan would tell her here. He'd tell her much later. Away from prying ears and eyes.

Tammi materialized out of nowhere, every hair in place, make-up immaculate. "Wonder how it's goin' in there?" She offered Helen a cigarette as they leaned against a car in the parking lot, some tricked-out Jaguar that probably belonged to one of Rocco's drug-dealer friends.

The bastards.

Focus, Helen. Focus.

But, looking at Tammi, it didn't make her feel any better.

Helen tried not to be jealous of the other woman, but, hell, un-dead things were just trying to brain them all, and the woman was clearly unruffled!

Although Helen only smoked for this job to make it look authentic, she was glad for this cigarette and lit it with a shaky hand. "Who knows? I don't know if they're just all talk or not . . ."

Tammi looked at her like she was three kinds of crazy. "What? You've never heard of the Ghostbusters?"

Helen took a drag and exhaled, the nicotine calming her nerves. "Well, wasn't there a movie or something?"

"Hell, yeah! And, they've saved the city from destruction, like, seven times! Dangerous stuff, what they do."

Helen thought of everything she'd seen. The prostitution and the drugs and gangs and all of it. "I think the living are more of a threat than the dead."

Tammi gave her a funny look. "Well, I'm going to try to get their autographs. What about you?"

Helen was saved from answering by the main door to the club flying open. One of the self-proclaimed Ghostbusters in a dark brown jumpsuit was holding something up high. "Got 'em!" he practically crowed.

The crowd went nuts. Cheering, stomping and generally craziness.

A little surprised at the crowd's reaction, Helen started to say just that to Tammi.

But, the other woman was gone.

Helen thought she spotted her dyed head bobbing closer to the Ghostbusters as they trailed out of the building. Rocco – the bastard – was close on her heels. Had to be the center of attention.

"Jeez, Louise," Helen said, flicking her cigarette to the ground and grinding it with the toe of her stiletto that made her look a whole lot taller than she really was. "You'd think it was the second coming or something."

Her jealous streak seemed to be rearing its ugly head today.

And now, she was with her butt hanging out of some skimpy-ass outfit Rocco demanded she wear, wishing she could go home – or what passed for Roxie's home – and scrub the day's nastiness from her body and her mind. The lewd looks, the gestures, the groping hands . . .

Shitty day, indeed . . . try shitty month.

The heroes of the evening were making their way through the crowd. Helen watched disinterestedly as they took congratulations and high-fives from everyone within reach. They got closer they got to where she was leaning on the Jag, her arms crossed in annoyance more than anything, trying to shift away from the excited crowd. She spotted Zeddemore, the one who'd given her instructions to high-tail everyone out of the joint, waving sheepishly to the crowd. Another one with the strangest hair she'd ever seen was still studying some weird piece of equipment, his nose practically buried in it.

Of course, anyone who chases ghosts for a living probably wrote the book on weird.

'OhmyGOD!' a voice squealed in delight. "It's really them!"

Cindy – looking much improved from her hiding place under the table - practically threw herself on the one with the trap. He was close enough for Helen to read his uniform. 'Venkman.'

And, he obviously lurrrvveeed the attention Cindy was showering on him, along with the rest of the surging crowd.

Itching to help the cops keep the crowd at bay, but knowing that would be the worst possible thing she could do, Helen stepped to the side to avoid being trampled by one overly-enthusiastic patron – a regular to the club, she noted with distaste. A weasely fellow that went by the name 'Big John,' although he was only about 5 feet and 100 pounds soaking wet.

Even the guys were getting all crazy over these Ghostbusters!

However, all he did was cop a feel on Cindy as she threw her arms around Venkman.

Figures.

Sometimes, Helen hated her job. And her life.

She whirled around in disgust, more at the little rat bastard who took any chance to get a freebie than anything.

And smacked right into someone from the crowd, almost losing her balance in the process.

"Oh, I'm sorry . . ."

He reached out to grab her arm and steady her. "Jeez, that was my . . ."

At first, Helen thought she was imagining things. After all, she was shorter than he was, if she remembered correctly. And that was clearly not the case as she looked him in the eye. And what the hell was he doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be some big shot professor at Columbia or something?

However, lucky for her, Ray Stantz hadn't changed much over the years. She'd have known him anywhere.

They both stared for a moment, more in shock than anything. He squinted a bit, almost as if he were trying to place her, his eyes widening after a moment in shock.

"H-helen?"

Uh oh . . .

She immediately opened her mouth to shush him, glancing around to see who might have heard. That's all she needed to cap off this day –her cover to be blown! But, no one was paying them much attention.

"Hey, Ray! You found Roxie!" Zeddemore pummeled her on the back once. "Good job, girlfriend! You got those folks outta there so fast, I'd have thought you knew what you were doing."

"Roxie?" Ray said, cocking his head in confusion.

Helen knew if she didn't get out of there fast, she was in deep trouble. "Oh, Mr. Zeddemore . . . I just know how to lead a man around," she purred, hating herself for taking that route. But, when in Rome . . . "Gotta go boys! Thanks!"

With a wave and a fake bright smile she dove into the milling crowd, her heart racing at the danger she was in if Ray decided to follow. Safety in numbers.

Lucky for her, he didn't.

Hell, she deserved at least one break tonight, didn't she?

How long had it been? Ten years? Eleven?

Ray struggled to pinpoint exactly when it was he last saw her.

As his mind fought to catch up to what his eyes were seeing, she darted off into the crowd, disappearing almost as if he had imagined her from some long-forgotten memory.

Roxie? Seriously?

By the time he realized he should go after her – if anything to help him make sense of what was going on, she was long gone.

Winston clapped him on the shoulder. Ray had almost forgotten he was there.

"Ray, you OK, man? You look a little pale." Winston asked, concerned.

"Oh . . . uh . . . I'm fine. It was sort of hot in there once the power went out." His eyes still scanned the crowd.

"Strip joints aren't known for their ventilation," Winston said dryly, still watching his friend closely. He followed his gaze, realizing he was searching for something. Or someone.

It hit him, and he grinned. "She was a cute little thing, wasn't she?"

"What? Oh . . . uh no, well . . . yeah, but . . . I think I . . . know her. Knew her." His brow furrowed in thought.

Peter materialized from the crowd, one of the dancers hanging from his arm. Ray could tell she'd been crying, the mascara smudges still evident on her face. He felt sorry for her, even though she clearly was enjoying herself now, hanging on Peter's every word.

"You? Come on, Ray! You actually have to go to one of these places first before you get to know a stripper!" Peter teased good-naturedly. "Who was that, anyway?"

"Roxie. The one that helped us out. She and the guy with the muscles got everyone out of there," Winston commented.

Peter let loose a whistle. "Good thing for her, I like brunettes, too."

Ray saw a flicker of annoyance pass over the girl's face as she still clung to Peter's arm. Honestly, he didn't much like Peter talking that way about Helen, either. If it was really Helen. He cleared his throat nervously. "I knew her . . . I think . . . a long time ago."

"You think? Ray, you don't just forget a woman like that." Peter leaned over a whispered something in the girl's ear, and her mood lifted instantly.

Ray and Winston did not want to know.

Ray opened his mouth to protest – to tell them that her name wasn't Roxie – it was Helen. And, at least from what he remembered, she wasn't anything like what Peter thought.

And, he knew Peter long enough to know exactly what he thought.

But, then again, it had been over 10 years. People change. Not always for the better.

For once, he listened to the voice in his head that said maybe, just maybe, there was something else going on here. And keeping his mouth shut might just be the way to figure this out.

Egon would be proud.

"Let's get out of here, guys. I could use a shower," Winston said, making his way to Ecto-1 and Egon, who was studiously waiting for them inside the car. He always hated crowds.

Ray couldn't argue with him there. Although he knew it would take more than a shower to figure out just what was going on.

Not once did he ever think that perhaps, it was none of his concern. That's not how he was wired.