"Dude, I don't think he's said a word about it, since he left the ER," Winston said, pointing a chopstick at Peter and Egon.

"Everyone grieves differently," Egon pointed out, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.

"But, this is Ray! The man doesn't hold anything on the inside!" Peter argued, stealing a glance towards the door. Ray was downstairs underneath the hood of Ecto-1, and the last thing he wanted the man to hear was them discussing him.

"Poor guy," Janine mumbled, picking at her own food.

"If it were me, I'd have to take a few days R&R," Winston said. "Disappear. Gather my thoughts. Pray. Cry. Scream. Go on a bender. Anything but . . . but nothing at all!"

"He's suffering," Janine said, shaking her head.

"The man hasn't slept. I woke up just like night and found him just sitting in front of the television, staring at it. But, the TV wasn't even on!" Peter said. "And when I asked him if he wanted to talk about anything . . ."

Egon cleared his throat nervously. "He said no."

"Just what he's been tellin' me," Winston said.

"And me," Janine chimed in.

They all looked at each other.

None of them knew how to help their friend.

"Maybe after the funeral, things'll get better," Winston offered hopefully.

"He's blaming himself. And probably her," Peter pointed out.

"I just don't understand why she had to go and do that! Go out there without any back-up! That's so . . . so . . . un-coplike!" Winston couldn't help but raise his voice.

"I can't believe she'd do that to him," Janine muttered.

But, it was an old argument already, even though it had only been a few days since Helen's death. And one they'd rehash in the future many more times in the days to come.

Ray stared at the pieces of the carburetor like he hadn't even rebuilt one ever, not to mention his beloved Ecto-1.

He found himself doing that lately. His mind wandering.

No wonder the guys and Janine looked at him like he were nuts.

Maybe I AM nuts.

The upcoming funeral tomorrow didn't help. They were burying her back in their hometown. Next to her sister.

Ray couldn't imagine what her parents were going through.

If it were as bad as he was going through, then he didn't wish it on anybody.

Everyone else was upstairs. And that was fine with him.

He knew they were probably discussing him right now. They meant well. He knew they did.

But, how could he tell them he felt nothing at all. Just . . .numb. Like a robot automatically going about its business with no emotions whatsoever. Or like a person who has an arm or leg removed. They still feel it there, but it's not there at all.

He'd turn around and expect to see her standing right there, smiling at him.

Or a song on the radio would remind him of her. Or a smell, something that reminded him of her shampoo. Or anything. Hell, even the sight of an NYPD patrol car was like a kick to the gut!

Funny. She was haunting him without actually being there to haunt him.

But, ever since the tears he shed that night at the ER by her broken body, he hadn't shed a one. He felt too drained. Like a shell of who he had been. He couldn't even muster enough feeling to console Slimer, who had apparently tried his damnedest to help her.

One day, maybe he'd feel like himself again.

Maybe.

Going home was bad enough. Childhood memories seemed to come alive with each mile they drew closer to Morrisville. They weren't all bad. But some, he could live without.

However, following every NYPD police cruiser available escorting the body of the woman he loved was something he could have lived without.

And seeing her lying in that casket. In the dress she wore the night she fell in the fountain, no less.

Ray couldn't help but realize as he stared at her that he would rather her be buried in it then in her police uniform.

At least it was part of happier times for her.

And, he couldn't help but think about that night. The way the stars shined above them, her laughter echoing in the balmy night air.

The stars.

Did she become one of them like she wanted? Like she believed?

Who the hell knows?

The funeral itself was a blur. The preacher droning on about a life taken too early, but at the service of her city.

Ha. More like the service of her own inner demons.

Ray shoved that angry thought away. The anger was closer the surface now. Waiting. Wanting to escape.

The heavy smell of flowers laid throughout the packed church. The citizens of Morrisville never failed to attend one of these things, and apparently, they hadn't changed. Some of them he recognized. Some of them, he didn't.

But, the NYPD outnumbered them all.

"I bet the criminals in New York are having a field day," Peter whispered. Janine shushed him, but Ray couldn't help but think he was right.

But, there were no tears from them today. Today, they had to put up a good front, escorting one of their own to her final resting place. Every button shined brightly. Every shoe gleamed in the dim lights from the church.

And, eight of them, faces a mask of stark absolute nothing, carried her casket out the door and to the waiting hearse. There were so many in attendance, many of them were outside the door, watching solemnly.

Ray couldn't help but admire them.

But, he couldn't help but pity her parents. Her mother, especially. The woman had buried both of her children under horrible circumstances, and her sobs echoed throughout the church and even in the cemetery just outside of town. It was all she could do to walk behind the casket, her husband and remaining family helping her the best they could.

She didn't even think about what this would do to them, either.

Or you.

Ray's hand automatically clenched, and he took a deep breath. Winston gave him a look of concern, but he ignored it.

But, that didn't mean he was any less grateful for their support today.

More words from the preacher at the cemetery as the summer sun shone brightly on them, a stark contrast to the pain and misery surrounding the beautiful casket balanced carefully over the hole in the ground.

. . . I'd hate to think that once we're gone, we're gone . . .

The casket with its bright spray of flowers blurred momentarily as he recalled her words.

But, that's all she was. Gone. All her hopes, fears and dreams vanished. No more.

Some of his, too, come to think of it.

Janine sniffled loudly next to him, her hand clutching his with all her might. He reached over and absently patted it with his free hand.

They hurt for him. And, that did help. A little. At least he wasn't alone.

He hated to be alone.

As the funeral drew to a close and the crowd slowly dispersed, Ray knew he had to speak to her family. It was the right thing to do.

He was surprised her mother even remembered him. She hugged his neck tightly amid the throng waiting to speak their condolences.

"You . . . you made her happy, Raymond," she managed to whisper in his ear before she let him go, a tissue crumpled in either hand.

Ray was speechless. He knew she wasn't terribly close to her parents, and the fact that she even mentioned him to her mother surprised him.

As they all turned to go, Egon spoke up. "I believe they're having lunch at the church. Did you want to go?"

Ray thought of everyone who would be there. Many of the same people who fed him when he buried his parents, the representative of the state waiting outside to take him to a foster home. He'd have to endure the platitudes all over again.

He shook his head wanly. "Let's go home."

"So, when was the last time anyone saw him?" Egon asked sensibly.

"He left from here about 8 last night. Said he needed some air and was going to walk around the block," Janine said, trying her best not to wring her hands. "I guess I left before he came back."

"Yeah, he wasn't here when I went to bed, but I didn't think anything of it," Winston said.

"Do you think we need to file a missing person's report?" Peter asked. It wasn't like Ray to disappear.

But, then again, the guy had been through a lot lately.

Egon seemed to think about it. "He has to be gone for 24 hours for them to even take down your number."

"Hell, it's only been a few days since the funeral. Maybe he just finally had enough of all of us tip-toeing around him," Peter pointed out. "Quite frankly, I was getting sick of it myself."

Winston reached for his jacket. "I'll go out and see if I can find him. I know a few places he likes to hang out."

"I don't think joke shops are his type of thing right now," Peter said dryly.

Janine reached for her purse. "I'll go with you . . ."

She stopped and looked up. All of them looked towards the door.

". . . keep your eyes on the roooaaddd, son! Better, sloOOWWW this vehicle dowwnnn . . ."

"Someone had a good time last night," Peter said, eyebrow raised.

The rest of them didn't quite look so sure as the slurred lyrics came closer.

The front door slammed open, and they all squinted against the morning sun streaming in.

Silhouetted in the doorway was Ray.

And judging by his rumpled appearance and the stench of smoke and booze, a very, very drunk Ray.

"Hi, guys!" he said a little too brightly, stumbling a little and catching himself on the door knob. "Oopsie!"

They all looked at each other for a moment.

Janine spoke up first, going to his aid. "Ray, you had us worried sick!"

He brushed her off with more force than he normally would have. But, his tone was still congenial. "Just went out for a few beers. No biggie." He took a few steps towards the stairs, but stopped, swaying on his feet and hiccupped once.

"I think you had more than a few," Peter said, wrinkling his nose. "And, I think you spilled a few more than you drank."

Ray grinned drunkenly, reaching out and patting Peter on the face with a little more force than he really intended. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

"Ookkkaayyy," Peter took Ray by the arm. "Let's get you upstairs and cleaned up. Then, time for a little nappie . . ."

Ray snatched his arm out of Peter's grip so fast, he almost fell over backwards. Winston stopped him just in time. Ray didn't like that either and stumbled away from him, too.

"I'm fine. I'm OK. Just ducky. Peachy-keen," he kept saying as he tried to regain his balance.

"I'll have to argue with you there, Raymond," Egon said, sharing a concerned glance with Janine. They all drank on occasion, but Egon couldn't ever recall seeing his longtime friend so smashed.

Ray pointed his finger at Egon. Or, at least, tried to. It moved in drunken circles in the air. "You don't know as much as you think you do, Dr. Spengler." Ray's tone was harsh.

Egon raised an eyebrow, but kept silent.

Ray whirled around. "In fact, none of you know as much as you think you do!" His quick motion made him woozy for a moment, but he held his ground, propping himself heavily on the banister, giggling a little in his drunken stupor.

Winston knew he'd rather not have this conversation with Ray while he was three sheets to the wind, it looked like they were about to have it. "If this is about Helen . . ."

All traces of humor – drunken or otherwise – disappeared from Ray's face. "She'd dead, goddammit! And, she didn't even care enough to think about her parents! Not at all! They buried both their children, and she didn't even care!"

Since Ray rarely – if ever – got angry, let alone raised his voice, it was another shock to their systems.

"You don't know that," Winston's voice was quiet. "She had her reasons . . ."

Ray stared at his friend incredulously. "Had her reasons? Is that the best you can do? She was selfish! And because she was selfish, she died. Alone!" He almost choked on the last word.

But, even Ray couldn't stay angry for long. Even though he was drunk.

He slowly sank to the bottom step, putting his head in his hands.

"I told you this would happen sooner or later," Peter said to none of them in particular. With a groan, he sat next to his friend. "I know you're not just worried about her parents . . ."

Ray wiped his eyes with his sleeve roughly. "She promised me," he mumbled more to himself than to Peter. "She promised she wouldn't do something . . . something like she did!" His voice rose with his anger. But, he was exhausted of the roller coaster toll this was taking, and it didn't stick around. "She didn't even think about . . . about me, either. Just . . . just went out there like . . . like getting herself killed didn't matter . . ."

Peter looked at the others, and put his arm around Ray's shoulders. "Ray, I think the guys will agree with me here. There's no way to know. You may never know exactly what went on in that brain of hers before she got her fool-self killed." A glare from Janine that he ignored. "However, I can tell you right here – in front of all these witnesses – that that woman loved you." A pause. "But, unfortunately, love can't heal all wounds, despite what Hallmark says. And, she did what she had to do. That doesn't make it right, but that's how it goes sometimes."

Peter wasn't sure how much of this was getting through Ray's drunken haze. But, no one contradicted him, so he figured he must've got it right.

Anything to ease his friend's suffering, even just a little bit.

Although he was fairly certain Ray would have to grieve on his own time.

They'd all just be here for him. As long as it took.