Disclaimer: I still don't own "Ghostbusters" (wish I did). See chapter 1 for full disclaimer and warnings.
4
I Will Make You Hurt
Holtzmann woke to gray light pouring through the window of the tiny guest room in the unfamiliar, freezing warehouse.
It was Christmas Eve morning, her sluggish brain reminded her.
Not that she gave a flying fart at this point.
Her mind had dwelled on the puzzle of being stranded in the alternate universe until she'd finally succumbed to complete exhaustion and fallen into a dreamless sleep.
She wondered about her friends and family back in her universe. There were two possible scenarios playing out back home at that moment. Scenario one would be that the Cintamani had simply pulled Jillian from one reality into the other, leaving her own timeline intact. When her mother returned from retrieving Kleenex from the bathroom, she would have found an empty firehouse. Holtzmann could imagine the slow-building panic that Janine would go through when she gradually realized that her daughter had vanished right off the face of the earth.
By now, she would have alerted Abby, Patty, and Erin. They would assume Jillian had met with some kind of foul play, cancel their Christmas plans, and be back in New York City searching for her, probably with the help of all available Homeland Security and NYPD personnel. They would search and never find Holtzmann and never know what had become of her.
That notion was almost too horrible to imagine.
Scenario two was nearly as dreadful: The Cintamani had completely erased Jillian Holtzmann from her timeline. Janine had never given birth to her. The Holtzmanns had never adopted her. Abby had never recruited her as a research partner. Potentially, Abby and Erin had never reunited because Holtzmann hadn't been there to encourage Abby to publish their book. If they had reunited, Jillian still hadn't been there to design the Ghostbusters' weapons. Statistically, it was likely that Abby had hired another lab assistant, but he or she might not have been a particle physicist or a nuclear engineer. If so, whether his or her skills were in any way comparable to Holtzmann's was highly doubtful. It could have been some hapless grad student wanting to wash beakers and strip wires to earn a few bucks.
Potentially, the Ghostbusters did not exist at all.
In which case, potentially Rowan North and his "Fourth Cataclysm" were a complete success and Holtzmann's dimension as she'd known it no longer existed.
Idly, Holtzmann wondered if-on any level at all-her family would miss her if she had been erased.
Someone had thrown an extra wool blanket on her at some point during the night, she noticed. Holtzmann rolled onto her back and pulled the itchy cover up to her chin, telling herself that she wasn't ready to be up.
This was bullshit, of course. She didn't want to be up because she knew what-who-was waiting for her on the other side of that guest room door.
Jillian wondered if he, too, was hiding in his bed like a sulking child, avoiding his daughter and rationalizing his behavior by reminding himself that Jillian-by the strictest terms-wasn't his daughter, but some other Egon's off-spring.
All in all, it wasn't the family reunion Holtzmann had pictured as a child, when she'd been kicked out by one foster home after another, or as a teenager, when she'd hacked the Department of Social Services database searching for the identity of her biological parents. No child would have figured on being reunited with a father from a parallel timeline into any fantasy about family reunion, not even Jillian.
In her imaginings, Dad would greet her with some awesome story of how he'd had to give her up to go save the world from enemy nations or invading aliens. Then, he'd wrap her up in his arms and hold her until she forgot about sub-psychotic foster families and freezing nights on the streets of New York City.
In her darker moments, Jillian had imagined Dad cruelly informing her that her birth had been an unplanned consequence of a drunken one-night stand before he effectively told her to screw off and kicked her to the curb. She'd had repeated nightmares of such a scene that made her wake up with tears streaming down her face, in her lonely bed in the children's home, promising herself that whether her own children were planned or not, she would never, ever abandon them. Fortunately, so far, her only one-night stand had been with Arthur Klein (Jillian hadn't been as drunk as she'd like to believe), which hadn't resulted in any children.
Egon's reaction had been perfectly in keeping with her luck with parental figures-all of them deserters, deceased, or utter freak shows, and all of whom disappeared from her life sooner or later. She didn't know why she'd ever wanted a "family reunion" if it meant this much fucking hurt. No, her real family was waiting for her back at the firehouse. She needed to get back to them, not lay in her bed wishing for paternal affection that obviously wasn't in the cards.
Holtzmann sighed and finally pushed off the blankets. If she was lucky, Jagannath and Slimer would be waiting downstairs with the Cintamani medallion and she could go home.
She didn't see the figure curled up on the floor beside her bed until she nearly tripped over sleeping Janine. Holtzmann had to do a quick hop-step and catch herself against the wall to avoid falling. Miraculously, she managed to stay on her feet without waking the older woman.
Janine had left a garishly wrapped box on the table beside Holtzmann's bed. A Christmas gift. She frowned at the box. It had her name on it-correction, it had the name "Jillian" on it. Janine couldn't have gone shopping last night at three a.m. (unless she shopped at a convenience store), so this was obviously something that she'd purchased years ago for her real daughter. The notion of getting a gift intended for her dead counterpart was creepy as hell. Holtzmann was going to have to figure out a way to decline it without hurting her mother's feelings.
As quietly as possible, she slipped into the old Ghostbuster coveralls that Janine had dug out of Ecto-1 last night (if there were clothes that fit her in this warehouse, she didn't want them any more than she wanted the Christmas gift and for the same reason). Jillian spared one more look at Janine-still trying to guard her daughter even in repose. In her own universe, Janine had taken on a demigod and stepped in front of bullets and other projectiles to defend her child (and, more impressively, put the fear of God into Jillian's foster mother, Lydia).
Holtzmann's dark mood lightened for one fleeting moment, but her heart broke for this Janine, who was so devoted to her deceased child that she readily embraced Holtzmann just to have a part of her daughter back.
Kneeling, Holtzmann brushed a kiss against the woman's forehead. Then, she quietly moved from the room, closing the door behind her.
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The freaking car wouldn't start. Didn't that just figure?
The other Ghostbusters were still sleeping. Holtzmann could have jumped into Ecto-1 and been gone before they woke up and began arguing about what to do with her again. And the clunker wouldn't start.
She missed the hearse.
Holtzmann debated calling a cab, but there was the problem that she was a fugitive from the government and Evil Blonde Erin likely had her goons searching for Jillian. Plus, she had no money to pay a cab. For all she knew, they might not use money on this Earth, but that seemed like a longshot. She'd rather not be on foot if she had the feds hunting for her. For that matter, it probably wasn't logical to travel in Ecto-1 if she wanted to move without attracting attention. She'd tried looking for a car she could hotwire, but the only other vehicles within a ten-block radius of the waterfront were burnt shells or missing tires and/or engines.
She trudged back to the warehouse and dove into working on the old clunker's engine. The car's radio didn't work; there were no mp3 players or portable satellite radios anywhere in the warehouse that Holtzmann could find. She finally stumbled upon an old c.d. player that had a Johnny Cash c.d. permanently stuck inside. That was fine; listening to the late singer croon about "empires of dirt" suited her sour mood.
She was concentrating on her work and failed to notice the trio of ghosts approaching until Jagannath suddenly emerged from the center of the engine to startle her. She glared at the spook. "I put ghosts in the chipper back on my Earth you know…and I carry two proton pistols."
Jagannath grinned, displaying his fangs. "Jagannath is friend, Honored One."
"Yeah, but every time you say that, I still feel like you're going to eat me," she told the creature. "Aren't you supposed to be looking for my medallion?"
The ghost somehow interpreted that as permission to hug her. Seeing him coming, Holtzmann tried to duck out of the way, "No, no, no, no, no…"
She ended up slimed again, and the ghost happily bobbed out of her reach. "Okay, I give up: Why am I the 'Honored One'?"
Jagannath zig-zagged overheard. "Die for us."
"That was Jillian Spengler, not me," Holtzmann reminded him. "Have you seen her…you know, on your side?"
"Went someplace else," the ghost answered. "Place of light."
"You got something against Burl Ives or Trans-Siberian Orchestra? It's Christmas morning, you know." Ray's cheerful boom interrupted them. He was padding out to join her, walking barefoot on the fallen snow no less, carrying two steaming mugs.
"Humbug," she countered.
Ray leaned against the fender, offering one of the mugs to her. "That's the attitude of someone in need of a Starbuck's run. Coffee?"
"No, thanks. Coffee makes me weird."
"It's decaf," he tempted her.
"Decaf is pointless," she huffed.
Ray ordered her: "Drink it, brat. Your nose is red. You shouldn't be out in this weather without a coat."
With a groan of exasperation, Holtzmann pulled herself from under the hood, wiping grease onto her already-slimed coveralls, and accepted the mug. "You're barefoot."
"I'm old. I'm allowed to be eccentric." He leaned down to inspect her work on the car. "Where were you running away to?"
She set the mug aside. "Don't talk to me like I'm a teenager running away from home, Uncle Ray."
"No, you're a rational thirty-year-old running away from home." He picked up a wrench and started fiddling with the spark plugs. "Egon got to you, didn't he?"
Holtzmann winced; Ray saw it from the corner of his eye. "Listen, kid, you can't take your old man too much to heart. You know how he gets."
She slammed her hands against the fender, "No. I really don't."
It was his turn to cringe. "Sorry. Slip of the tongue. I forgot."
They worked in silence for a minute, Holtzmann still fuming. Ray tried again. "Not the family reunion you expected?"
"Actually," she admitted, "it's almost exactly what I expected. It's my fault. It was my fucking Christmas wish. The way mom-my mom-talks about him, and you, and Uncle Winston and Uncle Peter. And does anyone expect a mystical space rock to drop them into a parallel universe? Anyone other than a Ghostbuster?"
Ray made a mental note to tell his friend to stop being such an ass to the girl. "It's the shock, Jillian. Egon analyzes the crap out of things. It's how he handles it when things get real."
Yeah, Erin was the same way, Holtzmann thought.
"I can't imagine how I'd have handled it if I lost Ryan…" Ray said. Especially not after losing Carla. That had been devastating enough.
"…and his counterpart showed up?" she finished for him.
He nodded. None of them had been prepared for losing Jillian. Egon and Janine had simply…stopped…for the longest time. They barely talked to anyone, including each other. They had retreated to their home in the suburbs of New York City and not left for over a year. Ray had delivered groceries, helped with errands, and done everything he could for his friends, aching to know there was nothing he could truly do to comfort them. Winston and Kim visited them frequently, whether Egon and Janine wanted it or not.
Peter had done what Peter did best: Lashed back at the S.D.A.. He'd stolen every file relating to what happened to Jillian and dumped them onto the Internet, effectively ending Director Walter Peck's career. He'd used every political connection the Ghostbusters had gained in their thirty years to try to gain appointment into the Director's position himself, trusting only himself to rein in the Agency's extreme tactics.
In the end, Peter lost his bid to Rebecca Gorin, who served until Director Gilbert eventually took control. After that, Peter had dropped off the map, avenging his goddaughter the only way he could-by going underground and becoming the worst pain in the S.D.A.'s ass. The Ghostbusters had lost track of him, but every time an S.D.A. program was stolen, a new weapon prototype sabotaged, information on a radical action leaked to social media, they knew he was behind it.
The spark plugs won the tug-of-war Ray was having trying to loosen them. He gave up and tossed the wrench aside. "This baby was old when I bought it thirty years ago-and we can't exactly go shopping for parts with the S.D.A. looking for us."
Holtzmann grinned at him. "Depends on where you shop."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You up for a little yuletide dumpster diving?" she asked.
"I'll get my shoes. And let's roll this thing back into the garage before one of the S.D.A. drones spots it."
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Christmas Eve morning at the New York MTA could suck the cheer out of Buddy the Elf, Patty mused. One would think that people would attempt to be more cheerful on the holiday, but they seemed to think being in a hurry made it okay to behave like complete douches.
She was trying her best to pay them no mind as she dutifully doled out tickets and answered their surly questions. She was a subway worker in New York City. She'd already heard every kind of insult that a New Yorker could dish out (and that was saying quite a bit). Scrooges weren't going to ruin her holiday. She had her tiny ceramic Christmas tree from QVC glowing brightly at her booth, garland strung around the tiny area (against her supervisor's wishes), and her tiny radio was belting out Christmas tunes.
In a few hours, she'd be at church for Christmas Eve services. After that, she'd be at Uncle Bill's house baking cookies and watching Jo Rita try to manage all thirteen of the small children from their extended family, since she was in charge of the kids' table this year. Patty would spread as much Christmas cheer as she could until then, so she greeted the passengers with a "Merry Christmas", regardless of whether they responded with a "Bah Humbug" or gave her the finger.
"Ah, Patricia, spending your Christmas Eve toiling for the unappreciative."
Patty recognized the strange, curly-haired man who'd spoken. He worked at the Higgins Institute according to the badge that he wore every day when she saw him. This was the first time he'd spoken to her. She gave him a brilliant holiday smile: "Hey! How ya doing, baby? Merry Christmas!"
He smiled, which somehow just made him look feral. She worked hard to hold the smile, though her stomach suddenly knotted.
"You are a pearl in a world of swine," he complimented her. "Take heart—when the Fourth Cataclysm comes, laborers such as yourself will be among the last lead to the butchery. So, make the most of your extra time."
Patty was pretty sure that she wasn't keeping her smile entirely. "And you have a strange way with words. You need a token? Higgins Institute, right?"
"Indeed, I do." He passed a five dollar bill to her, taking the tokens. "Merry Christmas to you, Patricia. You've always been very kind to me."
Before he turned to go, he dropped passed another item through the window in the booth. It was a tiny box. Patty could guess it was jewelry.
"Oh, hey, I'm sorry. I can't accept this-" She put her ear to the box, checking to make sure it wasn't ticking. It rattled like jewelry, but that didn't mean it couldn't be laced with some kind of biological crap like anthrax. She hesitated before risking a look.
It wasn't a bomb or a chemical weapon that she could tell. It was a big, gaudy necklace with some ugly green stone.
"No, no, I can't accept this-" When she looked up, the strange man was gone. "Sir? Weird dude?" Patty shook her head. "That little man is not okay. Nice taste in jewelry, but not okay." She needed to call someone about him. The police. Homeland Security. Bellevue.
She chased after the man in time to see one of the trains whisk him away.
Sighing, she pocketed the necklace, debating whether to call security to take the necklace and check out the strange man or whether to simply wait for him (he always returned on the six o'clock train) and return the necklace. Of course, the latter would make her late to church and to her family dinner. Maybe it could wait until after Christmas...
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Egon had become unaccustomed to waking to the faint thrum of music.
She's really here. He hadn't dreamed it.
He didn't listen to music anymore. The only c.d. player in the warehouse had sat on a shelf in his lab for five years, gathering dust. It hadn't found its way into a dumpster because it had been Jillian's. He couldn't bear to part with it; unfortunately, he could not bear to hear the music either. Peter's old Johnny Cash c.d. was still stuck in the player.
Jillian had teased them that it was "old fart music". Peter had taken offense: "You're off-spring has no appreciation for the classics, Spengs! Look who I'm talking to—he probably doesn't know who Johnny Cash is."
Egon had insisted: "I'm not uninformed, Peter, simply uninterested. Surely you can debate a college student without my assistance?" He had offered his daughter a wink as the two of them worked at repairing one of the broken proton accelerators for the hundredth time.
"You know who does a good version of 'Folsom Prison Blues'? Russell Crowe," Jillian had baited Peter.
Venkman looked as if he might be ill. "Russell-I can't work in these conditions Winston! Are you listening to this? Do we have any Tylenol around here? Or really strong whiskey?"
Egon pushed back the memory. He didn't want it, nor did he want the pulse of music emanating from the lower level of the warehouse. If Janine heard it-
-Janine was not in the bed. Her side hadn't been slept in.
Sighing, Egon climbed out of bed and padded out of the room, knowing where he'd find his wife.
Sure enough, she was curled up asleep beside the bunk that Dr. Holtzmann had borrowed. Egon let her sleep, hoping she'd be more sensible about the situation in the clear light of morning (a ridiculous expression-morning light did not aide in rationality if it was not preceded by a decent resting period).
In the hallway, Egon walked to stand at the railing, looking down upon the lower level lab and garage. A blast of cold air from the open garage doors gave him gooseflesh. He wished he'd thought to throw a bathrobe over his flannel pajamas.
Jillian—Holtzmann-and Ray were at Stantz's workstation, obviously cleaning up scavenged parts for Ecto-1. The blaring music drowned out whatever they were so animatedly discussing. Ray bobbed his head in time to the music as he alternated between working at his table and ducking under the car hood. Holtzmann moved to the peg board, selected a tool, moved back to the bench, and fussed over the engine parts, choreographing her movements as spontaneous, random dance steps as she worked.
It was so much like his Jillian that Egon's breath hitched in his chest. So much like countless mornings shouting for his daughter to turn down her music when he and Janine wanted to sleep late, or finding Jillian in her dorm room swaying to the music while she worked over bits of machinery, or listening to her latest debate with Peter over 'classical' music the morning that the S.D.A. fired up the device that killed her…
Egon lost track of how long he stood there watching before the quiet voice from behind him interrupted: "Kind of like the old days, isn't it?" Janine wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder and following his gaze to the younger woman.
"She's not our daughter, Janine."
Janine made a noise in her throat and pulled away. "Really, Egon? Because you haven't already mentioned that a million times! Maybe she's not our daughter, but she's as close as we're going to get…she's still Jillian. And she's here. Can't you be grateful for a miracle when you get one?"
"It's not a miracle, Janine. It's the paranormal. It's ancient curses and spectral artifacts screwing with our lives just like it has since the day we started chasing ghosts!" Egon snapped. "I don't intend to become attached to a doppelganger. She'll never be my daughter, my little girl! I don't want to experience that pain again. I don't want you to hurt like that again, Janine. Do you remember? Because I do. I remember sitting in her room all night with you laying on the floor crying and nothing I could do to console you. I remember wishing a rocket from one of those S.D.A. drones would find me, or Gozer would come back to finish me, or a damn meteor would fall on me, anything to stop the pain. I cannot survive that again! You can't! And we absolutely will, Janine, because we can't keep her!"
Janine's voice was icy. Venomous. "How fucking dare you ask me if I remember how it felt to lose my child. Do you think I don't still feel it every day?!"
He backed off immediately.
"There's no way to send her back to her universe. Didn't you say that?" she pressed.
"I also said 'apocalyptic consequences' if she's removed from her timeline, but you don't seem bothered by that." Egon took her by the arm and ushered her away from the railing, not wanting the woman in the garage to overhear them. "Janine, she has a family and friends in her world."
"Who won't remember her if she's been pulled from their timeline-"
"Possibly. But, there is another Janine somewhere who just had her daughter removed from her life. I have to believe, on some level, that she's aware of that loss-subconsciously or otherwise. I have to believe that, if we were in her place, we would know something was missing." Egon took a deep breath. He needed to express himself better than this. "Our daughter is gone. How could we ever want anyone else to know how that feels?"
He leaned against the wall. "I laid awake most of the night thinking about this, Janine. I share your wish that Dr. Holtzmann-Jillian-could stay in this dimension and we could somehow pretend we were a family again. No apocalyptic consequences. No people left behind in her world to miss her. I want to be that selfish."
Janine was willing to hear him out. "But?"
He gazed at her sadly. "She's on the S.D.A.'s DX-4 list-'contain at all costs by any means necessary'. Including termination. She's not safe here. They'll never stop chasing her."
She started to argue, but the words died on her lips. He was right.
"There was one inescapable fact: Jillian remembers. She will remember. She'll remember that her mother is out there waiting for her. She will mourn her Janine. She will mourn for her friends because even if they exist here, they are different people. If I had no other reason to do everything in my power to send her back to her timeline, my little girl's happiness would be reason enough."
His wife absorbed all this, looking devastated. "You picked a shitty time to go with emotional arguments instead of logic, Spengler." She closed the distance between them and hugged him, remaining in Egon's embrace as she resigned herself to the fact that he was right. "Do me a favor though?"
"Anything."
She gave him a stern glare. "Your daughter accidentally crossed into our timeline because she wished to spend just one day with her father. Stop being such an asshole to her before she regrets it more than she already does."
Janine left him to ponder that while she headed downstairs to join Jillian and Ray.
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Rowan wasn't scheduled to come to work on Christmas Eve, to Abby's relief. She had no idea what to expect from him-and she was still deeply disturbed by her conversation with Rowan.
The night before, Abby had gone straight from work to the nearest bar. Two beers later, she had reached one unavoidable conclusion: She had to fire Rowan. She never should have hired him in the first place. There had been something odd about the man the day she interviewed him. Her instincts warned her, and she hadn't listened out of desperation for help with her work.
She just had no idea how to do get rid of him without ending up as some murder/suicide victim on the ten o'clock news. Now, there she was, spending her Christmas Eve puttering around her lab, alone, rehearsing ways to dismiss her assistant and still survive to see New Year's Day.
The beep of her cell phone made her nearly jump out of her skin. Abby checked the number, dreading that it was Rowan calling to see when she was coming back to the lab. She was relieved-but perplexed-to see "Columbia University" on the caller i.d. screen. Maybe someone from a respectable institute was finally responding to her book or the papers she'd published online. That would have been a nice Christmas gift.
"Abby Yates."
"Abby?! Was that some kind of joke?! Because I don't appreciate stalkers and psychopaths in my office, especially on Christmas Eve eve-" an irritated, vaguely familiar female voice immediately scolded her.
Abby interrupted: "Who is this?"
"You know perfectly well who this is!"
No, she sincerely did not know.
"What were you planning?" the woman continued to rant. "Get your little friend to lure me to his lab to see ghosts and what…you pop out and scare the shit out of me? Or film me and post it on You Tube? 'Ghost Girl Still Crazy After All These Years' or some bullshit thing like that? I actually care about my tenure-"
Ghost girl? Abby frowned. "Erin?"
Erin raged over the phone: "Do you know how hard I've worked to get my tenure? To put that book and all this ghost business behind me? If you and your creepy little assistant do anything to ruin this for me, I will come down to that so-called 'institute' of yours and pull your eyebrows off with my bare hands-"
"Whoah, whoah, wait!" Abby shouted over Erin's tirade. "Are you talking about Rowan? He came to see you? When?"
"You're going to tell me you had nothing to do with that?" Erin didn't believe her.
"What exactly did Rowan say to you?"
Erin took a deep breath to calm herself. She supposed it was possible that Rowan had visited without Abby's knowledge, in which case her old friend needed to know what kind of freak she had in her lab. "Something about charging ley lines and opening the spectral barrier. He wanted me to come see the machine he built to do it. You can't seriously be considering-"
Abby interrupted. "What machine?"
"I don't know, Abby! When creepy little men want me to go to some basement to see their magic machine, for the sake of my survival I don't usually say 'yes'." Erin was off on a rant: "How do you keep finding these crazy people? Do they come off the street or do you run an ad for psychotic lab assistants on Craigslist?"
"It was 'awesomejobs-dot-com ," Abby corrected.
"Whatever. I just called to say keep your freaky boy toy away from me-and if he knows your home address, I'd sleep with a baseball bat by your bed. Good-bye."
Her finger was poised to disconnect the call when she heard: "Erin, wait—"
"What?" she snapped.
"I'm sorry about Rowan bothering you but-did Rowan say which basement?" Abby wanted to know.
"I didn't ask."
Basement. Rowan couldn't have access to very many basements, Abby thought. In fact, there was only one logical basement for him to use.
Erin heard the phone click in response. "Abby? Hello?"
Her screen read: Call ended.
Erin put her phone away. She hoped Abby got the point that Erin didn't appreciate pranks…
She hoped Abby wasn't going to go looking for that freak's basement machine. Abby sounded like she really didn't know about Rowan's visit, the machine, or the basement. She wouldn't go chasing after that creep? Not alone? Would she? Because that would have been foolish and dangerous…
And she absolutely was going to chase the freak. Damn it. Erin knew she would. Erin paced the office, wondering why she cared. Abby wasn't Erin's problem any more. She was not going to get sucked into Abby's insane little world again. She wasn't. She was going to the mall to stare at the blonde elf.
Let Abby clean up her own mess. Rowan was Abby's problem, not Erin's.
Not. Her. Problem.
"Shit." Erin grabbed her purse and raced out of the office as quickly as possible in her high heels. She hoped there was a sporting goods store somewhere between Columbia University and the Higgins Institute that was open on Christmas Eve.
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"Janine! Merry Christmas Eve! There's coffee if you want some," Ray shouted above the din of the music.
She made a beeline for Jillian and embraced the younger woman. "Morning. What are you wearing?" Janine noticed that Holtzmann had traded her orange-striped coveralls for one of the spare jumpsuits from the uniform closet. It was one of Janine's old suits from her time as a Ghostbuster. She knew Jillian would have picked it because it was the only one that would fit her tiny frame, but Janine still felt a swell of pride seeing her daughter wearing her old uniform. "What happened?"
"Jagannath hug," Ray said.
"Ah." Janine had been on the receiving end of ghost hugs. They always ended in a puddle of slime. She turned to the work bench where Jillian was laboring. "What's all this?" Ray's table was covered with auto parts, scrap metal, wires, pipes, and computer parts.
Holtzmann was proud of their haul. "We went dumpster diving. It's my own Black Friday. Also, it's the only way I can get parts for our gear without begging Homeland Security for funds. I don't want them saying my inventions belong to them." After the incident with Voga Ra'El, the Ghostbusters flat out didn't trust their government partners anymore.
"Show her the visor," Ray prompted Holtzmann.
She raised an eyebrow at Janine. "Yeah?" When the older woman nodded, Holtzmann picked up Ray's old Ecto-goggles. She's been alternating repairing the car and tinkering with the glasses. It looked to Janine like Jillian had completely broken down the goggles and reassembled them with an old cellphone and circuit boards (and possibly pieces of an old Viewmaster toy).
Holtzmann slid the visor over Janine's eyes. "I call it a Multi-Spectrum Visor. Sounds better than a 'Spector Detector'. Go ahead, give it a test spin-try pointing it at Slimer over there." Jillian motioned to the ghost, who was currently attempting to eat every bit of food from the kitchen refrigerator.
Janine fingered the 'on' button. "Okay-"
Slimer appeared as a green blob (not too different from his normal appearance). However, Janine jumped a bit to see a half-dozen more blobs of color gliding around the warehouse. Some were human-shaped, some distinctly inhuman like Slimer and Jagannath. Most glowed reddish-brown on the display. One or two showed purple.
"What am I looking at?" Janine asked nervously.
Holtzmann grinned. "You're looking at ghosts that don't manifest in the visible spectrum. Little something I invented when I was in a coma-"
Janine ripped off the glasses. "What?!"
"Did I say 'coma'? I mean Colorado. I was in Colorado," Holtzmann cleared her throat.
Ray patted her shoulder. "Smooth."
"I would be interested to try the visor."
The trio turned to find Egon standing beside the work bench. He extended a hand, indicating the visor Janine held. "There are proven incidents of ghosts not visible to the naked eye being captured on old fashioned film, of course. I presume that was your starting point for this device? If I may?"
Swallowing down a sudden knot of anxiety, Holtzmann took the goggles from Janine and passed them to Egon. She had no idea why her father's approval—or lack thereof-was making her nervous, why she cared at all what he thought. But, she did.
Egon's expression was completely neutral as he slipped on the visor. "Have you studied the phenomena to determine which types of specters will manifest in which part of the spectrum? Egon wanted to know. He'd considered such modifications to the Ecto-goggles many times, but somehow the occasion to actually rebuild the visor never came around. He and Jillian had tinkered together with upgrades to the proton packs and other gears on the rare weekends that she could slip away from her work at the S.D.A. for a visit.
After Jillian's death, Egon had boxed up all the old gear and stored it away with no desire to see any of it again.
He returned the goggles to her and returned to the work bench. He found the old proton pack that she'd started upgrading with dumpster scraps. What unsettled him was that Dr. Holtzmann seemed to have been duplicating Jillian's ideas for the pack right down to adding the radioactive label with a heart at the center.
"Coma ghosts will manifest blue. Very important to know, since trapping them is fatal to their bodies. We want to avoid that. Anything that manifests red or brown can't be contained in a normal trap because they can phase into parallel dimensions at will. You need to modify the trap to anchor them in our dimension and a modified containment unit to hold them."
Egon was impressed despite himself. "How many versions of the trap and containment unit have you produced?"
She pursed her lips, counting: "Four operational traps and a fifth that I can't use by order of the Governor of Michigan. I kind of caused a little spectral invasion in Lansing. It was awesome. Three separate containment levels within one central unit."
Egon was staring at her now with a weird expression. Holtzmann figured 'weird' was an improvement over angry and suspicious. "Um, sorry about the pack. I was just interested in the design." Holtzmann couldn't tell what Egon was thinking at all, which was making her nervous all over again. She glanced at Janine, who simply rolled her eyes and shook her head at his behavior.
Winston's cheerful baritone drew their attention to the garage door. He had parked at the side of the warehouse and was now lugging several garishly wrapped boxes and bags into the building, singing: "On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me, three gifts for GBs, two pretty ladies…" He winked at Janine and Holtzmann. "…and a sourpuss in a sulk…" He directed the last bit at the scowling Egon as he distributed gifts to the group. "Merry Christmas Eve! You need to close the doors. The S.D.A. has drones flying all over the city."
Ray hurried to do so.
"Winston's right. No more shop talk." She went upstairs and returned with the gift that Holtzmann had left behind. "You didn't open your present."
Holtzmann tried to refuse politely. "I-Janine-I can't. It's-"
Janine understood her hesitation. "Weird? Creepy? Norma Bates time? Relax. It's new. I had Jagannath and Slimer pick it up this morning."
"How'd they shop this morning? All the stores are closed."
Janine blinked innocently. "What's your point?"
Holtzmann grinned. "Nice…but you shouldn't have."
"Yes. I should have."
At Winston and Janine's unwavering insistence, the work on resolving the problem of the missing Cintamani medallion and the S.D.A. was put on hold long enough for breakfast and gifts. Janine's gift for Holtzmann was a plush cat whose angelic face turned demonic when its stomach was squeezed. It reminded Jillian of her Mr. Snickers bear back home. Winston had brought Holtzmann a sweater and pants intended to be his niece, Jo Rita's, gift. Since Jo Rita wouldn't be coming to visit until after the New Year, Winston had time to replace the items. Jillian needed the change of clothing more.
He's give Ray the customary box of cigars, but chastised his friend again to quit smoking. The group had already endured Janine's ovarian cancer scare, they didn't want the same scare with Ray's health. Egon's gift was an utterly ridiculous scarf that the group was going to enjoy forcing him to wear.
Winston made a point to bring gifts that would inject levity into the holiday because the last few Christmases had been hard for the Ghostbusters. The first two years after Jillian's death, Janine and Egon refused to celebrate the holiday no matter how their friends begged. Ray had gone through the same deep spiral after Carla's death, but celebrated Christmas for the sake of his son. He had kept Egon and Janine company on those two bleak Christmases without a word of complaint.
The box from Janine contained a Ghostbusters action figure. Holtzmann tried not to laugh, but the thing was so tacky and its computerized voice squeaked "Who you gonna call?" in a tone that sounded like one of the Chipmunks. "Oh my god, is this da—Egon?" she asked.
Egon, if possible, was more disgruntled over the toy than his ugly scarf. "That is completely unlicensed merchandise. It looks and sound nothing like me. I would prefer to have my likeness on a toy of educational value…"
Winston, Ray, and Janine made no effort to disguise their amusement. "You dad absolutely hates these things," Ray told Holtzmann, as if that were not apparent.
"People love you, Egon," Holtzmann consoled him, gleefully hugging the action figure.
Egon's cell phone beeped for a Skype call. "Thank God," he muttered, happy to have an excuse to remove the scarf and end the discussion of his doll.
There was no location or i.d. for the call and it was coming through Egon's encryption program so that it couldn't be traced. It could only be one of two people. Egon snapped his fingers for the group's attention, which signaled Ray, Winston, and Janine that it was an emergency call.
Patty Tolan's face appeared on the screen. If she were risking an actual conversation instead of a page, it had to be a matter of supreme importance, Egon knew. "Patricia?"
At the name, Holtzmann moved to stand as close to him as she dared, trying to see over his shoulders.
"Unc, I've only got a minute. You've got trouble heading your way. Erin knows about that medallion thing that brought Jillian into this dimension."
Holtzmann felt the first surge of hope since waking up in this reality…immediately followed by dread. "Does she have it?" Jillian had to interrupt.
"I thought you all had it? The ghosts took it."
Egon snapped, "What?!" He looked around, shouting for Slimer and Jagannath, who were suddenly nowhere to be found. "They didn't bring it to us."
"Well, figure out what they did with it, cause Erin's got the high up mucky mucks convinced you can use it to alter our timeline or create a time paradox or something," Patty warned. "They upgraded the DX-4 to include all of you. Every agent in the field is working on tracking you down. If they don't know where you are, they will by the end of the day."
"Patricia, are you safe?" Winston asked her. She was risking her cover to warn them. It had taken a great deal of time and difficulty to conceal that Patty was part of Winston's extended family. If the Director found out she was the Ghostbusters contact in the Agency, the DX-4 order would include Patty as well.
"Don't worry about us." Patty's gaze shifted to the blonde woman who was peering at her from behind Egon. It really was unsettling how identical Holtzmann was to Patty's adopted cousin. Patty had no qualms risking her own life to prevent the S.D.A. from getting their hands on this Jillian, too.
"Patty, get out of there," Holtzmann urged.
"We'll be fine. It's about time to check out Canada or Mexico anyway. Just take care of yourselves," Patty winked at her, then disconnected the call. Holtzmann wasn't sure who "us" was, but logic told her it had to be Patty and Abby, since they'd both helped her escape the agency.
Janine was terrified-and furious. Those bastards at the S.D.A. were not taking her child. Not again.
Ray was puzzled. "I don't understand why Slimer and Jag didn't bring the medallion back to us."
Holtzmann rushed back to the worktable and began assembling a welcoming present for the S.D.A. drones and anyone else that showed up on their doorstep. It was one thing for Evil Blonde Erin to come after her. Coming after her family was another story.
The others were conferencing. "We need to get Jillian someplace safe," Janine said.
"Across the border, like Patricia suggested," Ray added.
"The only safe place for Dr. Holtzmann is back in her own dimension," Egon disagreed.
Janine threw up her hands. "Well, we don't have that magic medallion, so that's not an option, is it?"
It was then that they noticed Holtzmann had abandoned them for her work. "Jillian, what are you doing?" Ray asked, moving to come watch.
"The weapons you have only work on ghosts," she answered. "At least, I'm guessing you don't want to disintegrate a person or burn them alive?"
Winston nodded. "No, we don't want to do that."
"Kinda figured that's where the line would be." Holtzmann held up the device she'd jury-rigged in the five-minute interval. It was the same design as the paperweight she'd given her mother-doorbell shaped with small antenna around its circumference. However, this one was no paperweight.
She swiftly built four more, showing Ray and Egon how to help. When they finished, Holtzmann led the group outside to set the tiny traps around the perimeter of the warehouse. She set the last one on the dirt road that led down to the warehouse. "This won't stop them for long, but it will slow them down."
They'd barely finished before the first black dots-drones-appeared on the horizon, buzzing the distance rooftops of the city skyline. Ray swallowed. "I'd say they figured out where we are. Next thing in that sky is going to be an S.D.A. helicopter. We've got to go."
Janine headed back to the warehouse. "I'll get the car."
Ray went with her to gather up the essential supplies they would need if they were to be on the run. He also wanted to call Ryan and warn him that the agency could show up on his son's doorstep if they were now searching for Ray.
Jagannath and Slimer returned, a half dozen more ghosts of assorted shapes and sizes joining them. The specters glided in frenzied circles in the air, keening warnings to the humans below.
"Slimer, Jag-what did you do with the Cintamani?!" Egon shouted to them.
The specters ignored him. Forming a "V", the ghosts flew to intercept the oncoming drones.
GBGBGBGBGBGBGB
From the non-descript black van, Special Agent Kevin Beckman watched the video feeds from the dozens of drones that combed the city.
As a child growing up in Australia, Kevin had loved American cop shows-Adam-12, Law and Order, 21 Jump Street, he'd seen them all. The Fugitive had been one of his favorite movies. When he'd come to America to pursue his acting career, he'd auditioned for such television shows. He'd even tried for the 21 Jump Street movie, losing out to that Channing Tatum bloke.
He'd needed something to occupy his time between auditions. His roommate had been a computer programmer with an affection for drones. He'd started teaching Kevin. To Beckman's surprise, he'd had a knack for computer technology.
It was his roommate who suggested that Kevin's interests-law enforcement shows and computer technology-might have more practical applications than a Hollywood career.
Years later, here he was-Kevin Beckman, the S.D.A.'s foremost fugitive retrieval specialist. Most of the time, he brought his targets back alive.
Most of the time.
The work was tedious, but he could entertain himself with video games while the machines did their work. Beginning at midnight with New York City, the drones had conducted a meticulous sweep of every street and the surrounding suburbs. Each drone had been fitted with miniature PKE scanners and sensors that could be programmed to scan for any particular form of radiation that he wanted. Director Gilbert had said to look for temporal radiation, so that was what he programmed into the machines.
By dawn, the machines had inspected New York City and Manhattan, eventually discerning a faint trail of said temporal radiation. It led them inexorably to a waterfront warehouse district in northeastern New Jersey.
When the horde of ghosts appeared on the monitors, closing in on the drones, he knew he'd found the Ghostbusters. He set aside the video game controllers to give the mission his full attention.
He counted six ghosts flying interference against the airborne machines. Kevin calculated the odds of six ghosts versus two dozen drones. The specters would be fast, but there was still an 81.6% chance of at least five drones making it to whichever warehouse was hiding his targets. A simple blast from their ultrasonics would render the humans inside unconscious, but alive. Kevin would only need to direct the field agents to pick up the prisoners afterwards.
He preferred such surgical strikes versus messy hand-to-specter combat. However, he was prepared for that possibility should the drones fail.
The ghosts took out the first half-dozen drones in a matter of seconds by tearing into the machines with talons and fangs or by catching them mid-air and dashing them to pieces against the sides of buildings or by grabbing the machines and diving to the pavement full-speed, smashing the drones. A half-dozen more devices were out of commission within three minutes.
Kevin activated the drones' weapons. The drones deployed small cannons that fired streams of neutrinos directly into the flock of specters. Two exploded into showers of slime at once.
"Hmmf," Kevin's mouth twitched. He keyed the cameras of the drone that was now closest to the source of the temporal radiation. Zooming in on that warehouse, he could make out people standing in front of the building, watching the battle. Facial recognition software called up their faces one by one: Egon Spengler, Ghostbuster; Winston Zeddemore, Ghostbuster; Jillian Spenger, S.D.A. Engineer.
Kevin keyed in corrected information to the drone's database: Jillian Holtzmann, Ghostbuster. Primary target.
The machine adjusted its trajectory and set course directly for the blonde woman.
She didn't move. Holtzmann was staring directly at the drones, but she stood her ground. Kevin was impressed, interested to see why she was so confident.
Two hundred yards out, the monitors for the three lead drones whited out: Signal Lost.
Kevin called up the camera feed from the drones not yet dispatched by the specters. He watched as the next wave of drones closed in on the warehouse.
An electrical barrier appeared, generated by small, round devices that had been set on the ground not far from where Holtzmann watched the ghost/drone dogfight. The snapping beams of energy obliterated the drones.
"Ooh, clever," Kevin chuckled. He programmed the remaining six drones to circle around and approach the warehouse from alternate directions. The result was the same. Holtzmann had surrounded the building with her tiny traps. The stray drones that made it past the barrier were dispatched by Holtzmann, Spengler, and Zeddemore with their antiquated, but effective, proton weapons.
Kevin was out of drones, but not out of options. If you want something done right, do it yourself.
He climbed out of the van and circled to the trailer that it towed, pausing only long enough to pull the radio from his belt. "All units, converge on the waterfront. Holtzmann's at a warehouse off Pier 41. I am two minutes out."
Kevin opened the trailer doors. The shiny black motorcycle, modified with the same tracking devices as the drones and a few other surprises, was ready for him.
He smiled at the machine. "Hello, baby."
GBGBGBGBGBGB
Holtzmann frowned, watching the ghosts battle the S.D.A. drones. The machines were using technology based off the Ghostbusters' weapons and her own ghost grenades. They were using weapons Jillian Spengler had built, using them now to come after Jillian's family. The notion pissed off Holtzmann to no end.
Egon grabbed Jillian's arm, urging her towards the garage. "We have to go!"
Where could they go? Holtzmann didn't voice the question. She could see black SUVs approaching from all directions, cutting off their escape routes.
The remaining ghosts-Jagannath, Slimer, Arlo, and two others-moved to intercept the oncoming vehicles now. Slimer rammed one vehicle, dousing the windshield in ectoplasm and then the driver. Sufficiently blinded, he lost control of the car and drove into a power pole. The airbag only added injury to insult, but he and the woman in the passenger seat survived.
Jagannath targeted the engine block of another SUV, letting fly with his claws, shredding hoses and essential parts until smoke billowed and the engine failed. The vehicle swerved into a newsstand, which was fortunately unmanned since it was Christmas morning.
Jagannath and Slimer double-teamed the next vehicle. Slimer coated the windows in goo while Jagannath ripped at the axels with talons and psychokinetic energy, bending it to his will. The vechicle careened into the fourth S.D.A. car, disabling both vehicles.
That was when Holtzmann heard the roar of a motorcycle. It was black like the other S.D.A. machines, but had the mobility to evade the oncoming ghosts. When the trio of specters came at him head on, the driver withdrew something from his jacket and flung it at the ghosts. Slimer and Jagannath saw the danger and veered away quickly.
Arlo vanished in the explosion of what could only have been one of Holtzmann's ghost grenades.
She squinted at the driver, seeing a familiar head of blonde hair.
It was Kevin coming at them like Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator.
"Dr. Holtzmann-we need to go," Egon tugged at her arm, trying to get her to move.
Holtzmann pulled free. Kevin was on a direct course for the trap she had set. If the bike hit that at full speed, it could electrocute him or cause him to lose control. It wouldn't have been as dangerous to a car, but the blast could cause a fatal accident for the man on the motorcycle.
She ran for the trap, but the bike was faster.
Kevin was focused on his prey when he hit Holtzmann's improvised trap. The sudden flash of light blinded him; the pulse of energy ruptured the tires and damaged the motorcycle's engine. He lost control of the machine. The bike zig-zagged, pitching Kevin into a pile of freshly plowed snow seconds before the motorcycle wrapped itself around a street light.
He lay there flat on his back, rubbing at his aching eyes. The circling ghosts—seething about the spectral friends that the S.D.A. had just obliterated-saw their opportunity and descended upon Kevin. Jagannath gave a roar of fury, saber-fangs and claws bared to devour the human.
Holtzmann ran for the fallen figure, screaming at the horde of specters: "No!"
Kicking like a turtle, hampered from righting himself by the proton pack slung on his back, he managed to draw his weapon. Still running, Holtzmann still noted that his proton pack was nearly identical to the accelerators she'd created for her team back home.
Kevin fired blindly. He heard the growls of the approaching ghosts, but when Holtzmann screamed, Kevin reflexively pointed the weapon in the direction of the cry and fired. The shot went wild, only scorching the sleeve of her coveralls when she didn't quite manage to feint far enough to avoid the beam.
Egon's felt his heart leap into his throat. "Jillian!" He tore after her, with Winston and Ray on his heels.
Ray spied the dark dots on the horizon and cursed. S.D.S. helicopters. "We don't have time for this!" he shouted a warning.
Standing at the door to the warehouse, Janine drew the same conclusion. She climbed into Ecto-1 and started the engine.
Blinking his vision clear, Kevin squeezed off another shot, forcing Slimer to veer away to avoid being caught by the blast. He let another blob of slime fly, hitting Kevin in the face, blinding the human a second time just as Jagannath descended upon Kevin. "Protect Honored One!" the ghost snarled, raising his claws.
"No!" Holtzmann threw herself over Kevin, gambling that the ghosts would not risk hurting her. Jagannath pulled his strike, but the tips of his claws still raked the back of her jumpsuit. She felt the sting of her skin being torn and bit her lip to stifle a yelp of pain. Distantly, she heard Egon shout her name, fear in his voice.
Grunting, she rolled to her side and stared down the blue ghost as it circled Kevin. "No! He's my friend!"
"Protect!" The ghost was emphatic, it's yellow eyes still trained on the fallen man.
"Sorry, 'friend'!" Kevin grabbed Holtzmann and flipped her onto her stomach, pinning her arms behind her back. "You're under arrest."
Feeling him straddling her as he presumably fished for handcuffs, Holtzmann did the only thing she could: She wrestled one arm free of his grip and elbowed him in his groin with all her strength. "I'm sorry, too, pal."
He dropped like the proverbial ton of bricks, clutching the injured area while Jillian pushed herself to her feet. "Ah, geez, that's probably going to hurt for a while, Kev. Here-" She picked up a fistful of snow, grabbed his belt, and shoved the freezing pile down the front of his pants. "-put some ice on it."
Ray and Egon skidded to a stop beside her, nearly losing their footing on the icy pavement. Ray cringed in sympathy for the younger man, but beamed at Holtzmann. "That's our girl!"
Winston grabbed the cuffs out of Kevin's hands and secured him to the demolished motorcycle.
"What did you think you were doing?!" Egon spun Jillian, prodding at the bloody scratches across her back until he was satisfied the wounds weren't life-threatening. The rational part of his brain automatically noted that the wounds would need to be cleaned, especially of the trace ectoplasmic residue, to avoid infection, and that they might require sutures (in which case, Egon would have to perform the procedure because they dared not risk a hospital trip with the S.D.A. searching for them.).
Primarily, however, he could only think: Thank God she'd thrown herself down with her back to Jagannath. Had she fallen face up, the swipe would have ripped out her throat.
Egon took a deep breath attempting to calm but fear and adrenaline still swam through him so that he barely managed to sputter out: "You could have been killed!"
She flinched at the harsh tone and automatically began to form a smart-ass retort when Egon pulled her into an embrace, mindful of her injury. Holtzmann was so stunned that her words died on her lips. She felt him trembling and realized he wasn't angry. She'd frightened him.
It dawned on her that this was the first time she'd been hugged by her father in either timeline (at least, the first time that she could remember). Hesitantly, she reached up and wrapped her arms around him in return.
The blast of a car horn ended the moment. She immediately pulled away.
"Company's coming. Let's go!" Janine shouted from the driver's seat of Ecto-1. Ray and Winston were already climbing into the back seat.
Egon took Jillian by the elbow and guided her to the passenger door, calling to the ghosts: "Jag, Slimer, keep an eye on our buddies. Don't let them follow us."