A/N: This is a rework of Nancy Venkman Part One! I am going to have a proper title and everything! It's fun for me to revisit some of my old writings and essentially remaster them. With Afterlife coming out this month there will more than likely be some relationship changes for Nancy. Just fair warning!
Enjoy, and thank you so much for all the love on the originals! I will, of course, keep them up for old times' sake!
Chapter One
I was the youngest of two, our mother exiting the picture when my brother and I were quite young, tossing away any opportunities for me to be a middle child. I have been told I resemble her quite strongly and looking at the old pictures that hung in the hallway of my childhood home it wasn't a lie. My brother favored our father, but the thing that linked my brother and I together as siblings were our eyes, our smiles and sometimes our attitudes.
It was hard growing up without a mother figure, aside from our grandmother that my brother and I saw on occasion. We would ask our father about our mother from time to time, whether she just left and never came back or what the case with her was. Of course, we never got a clear answer. We never got one from her side of the family either, which we saw quite rarely. Most of the times it was phone calls and the annual birthday cards with the twenty dollars inside of it for us to "get something nice".
The only thing I could ever really think about it being the case was the strong possibility of our mother having terrible postpartum depression. It started with Peter, and then just got worse over time after I came around. So bad that it was to the point to where she just would lock herself away and then eventually abandoned her family. Of course, I don't think that this explained as to why her side of the family never really contacted us, save for the fact that they were all the way in Virginia and long distance cost quite a bit. That was what I chocked it up to, anyway, though letters were always a thing someone could send. However, the birthday cards were nice and the short Christmas calls were pleasant, and those would end on a happy note. Peter and I would share the phone as we spoke to our grandparents and a few minutes later we would hang up and that would be that until the following year.
I remember Christmas being a lonely time, however. It was a happy time—at least for me—but for Peter, it was his least favorite time of year. Moving on from one parental failure to another, our father wasn't the best. He was on the carnie circuit, which Peter and I worked a lot on as well during the summers when we were kids and well into Peter's college summers—I quit as soon as I graduated high school.
Regarding our father, though. He was never home, especially during Christmas time, and he was the con man to beat all con mans—which is where Peter got his whole fraud attitude from, and I know that this was a lot of his reasoning as to why he went into parapsychology as it was still fresh and new to a lot of people, and it was something one could easily make up results for. After all, how was one supposed to know? On top of that, he got a grant for it. So, what was the harm?
Going back to the elder Venkman here, our father—as I stated before—was never home on Christmas. Peter and I essentially were to fend for ourselves and find some cheap Chinese joint that hopefully was open on that day for our Christmas dinner after a gift exchange. Which, of course, was a couple of gifts to one another and then maybe one or two left behind by our father before he left. Our father usually gave us stuff like socks and shirts—socks and underwear for Peter, I got socks and t-shirts—and Peter and I would give each other things we actually wanted. One year, he got me an easel set and some paints and paintbrushes, which kickstarted my love for painting and art that I continue today. I remember, the last Christmas Peter had in high school which was around '67, I got him a record player—I think it was a Silvertone, but to be honest I'm not too sure. All I know is as a brand Silvertone was retired about…twelve years ago? It's been a while, anyway, since I saw them grace their presence in a Sears and Roebuck catalogue.
Peter loved that thing. He used it all the time when we were home, playing his Beatles records, his Rolling Stones, The Who, The Doors and who knows who else I've forgotten. All I know is that Hello, I Love You was almost on every single day at least once. A couple of times our father would get frustrated with Peter playing his records, and it would end in a fight between the two of them but at the end of things all Peter would do is shut the door to his room and turn the record player up as loud as he could. Whenever this happened, I would hear my father bitch and moan about how that record player was the worst present I could have ever given my brother, but seeing the joy that this player brought Peter, I didn't really give a damn.
I am in no way saying we weren't loved by our father, even if it was in a strange way, but our relationship was always strained. When Peter wanted to go to college, I remember Dad just asking him "Why?" and I think Peter's real answer was so that he didn't have to be in the carnie circuit all of his life. He hated it. He hated the whole thing, but he also really hated the junk food that was there. I thrived on it, including the cotton candy, but strived to keep my figure the small and petite one hundred pounds soaking wet and ended up giving all of that up for good after a couple of years.
I think, really in the scheme of things, while Peter may do a lot of things similar that our father does he wanted to be successful in life in some way, shape, or form. And the start of that was going off to Columbia University in the fall of 1968.
I would graduate from school in 1970, and I immediately took to the streets. I begged Peter to let me stay at his dorm room, even though I wasn't a student at Columbia I could at least try. Peter, on the other hand, told me that what I wanted was absolutely impossible as they would know that I was not a student.
He was right, of course, but I was stubborn enough to argue with him for about thirty minutes about it anyway.
I needed a job, however. I wanted to take at least a year or two off of school just to get out from under the stress of having homework, tests and other things. I ran a bunch of things through my head for a while before settling on becoming Esmeralda the Seer and become what one would consider a fraudulent psychic. I called Peter to run this idea by him, and of course with the way we were we both found this idea to be a good one. For about two or three months the two of us would go out on weekends as Esmeralda and her assistant Jacque to con people into telling them their "futures". That is, of course, until some people began to catch on and we had to stop before the law got involved.
Seemed as if the act of conning people—successfully, at least—belonged to our father and father only.
I then took a job as a waitress in a very busy diner not too far from Columbia, as the wave of college students kept us quite busy—and the tips were quite nice as well. I was warned about not being tipped as well as I would at any other diner as these were college kids and were expected just to not tip because they were young. However, I seemed to have the magic touch and would go home from my shifts anywhere from fifty to a hundred dollars richer that day. My best day was a hundred and twenty five, but that was only because a ten top came in during lunch time and I was able to charm everyone there enough to have the entire table give me tips. On top of this, I painted when I got off and would selling my art on the street on the days I had off. This all had a nice steady flow for my income. I had a nice studio apartment not too far from the college, a black cat that I named Sage that I adopted—and with the aid of my brother, snuck into the apartment so I wouldn't have to pay the pet fees—and things were nice for me since graduating high school.
Eventually though, in 1972, I grew tired of this mundane life. While I made great money as a waitress slash street artist, I craved something more out of my life. Something like some kind of greatness—whether it be some kind of doctor or even just a high school teacher or even a college professor, it did not matter to me what I did. I was tired of the occasional bitches and pricks that would trinkle into the diner from time to time, I was tired of being on my feet all day long with not a lot to show for it except for the money I made. Which, no, that wasn't a bad thing by any means, but I just wanted something more out of life.
Regardless, after I applied at Columbia University, I continued to work at the diner and sell my paintings, though my schedule soon became jampacked after I was accepted and school went into session, and I ended up stopping my artwork all together.
I entered college after Peter finished his undergraduate and entered the realm known simply as parapsychology. Peter told me that he did it because there were grants that he could easily acquire, and the money could come to him easily because making things up in this area of science could easily be done. At least, that was my brother's thinking. I thought—at the time at least—that he was quite foolish. However, Peter had a couple of friends that would join him on this parapsychology "nonsense" that made me think otherwise. These two really seemed to believe it and believe that the paranormal was something that was not so strange to want to look into.
I met these friends one day when I was working in the diner in the fall of 1972. Peter busted into the diner, being his normal self and flirting with some of the waitresses that came his way—a couple smiled back at him while others would roll their eyes, and some even ignored him at this point. It wasn't strange to me that some of the waitresses did not care for my brother, as he did come off as quite the womanizer. I think Peter was just flirtatious and wanted to find the right person to settle down with but was too scared to admit it to himself, and therefore never let himself get too attached to any particular girl. So, he came off as a womanizer.
The first friend of my brother's that I was introduced to was a guy named Ray Stantz. He was a bit shorter than my brother and the other friend, but his personality made up for that. He had a way of making you feel as if you were chatting it up with an old friend, even if you just met him. Ray had a way of drawing you in and keeping you in the conversation, even if it was stuff I didn't understand. He had a way of breaking things down simplistically when he was explaining it that didn't make me feel stupid like other people would have done. It was this sweet nature that Ray had that drew me to him in the first place, though his eyes were something I caught myself sometimes looking into when he was talking to me. Ray had something called heterochromia, where his eyes were two different colors. One eye being green, the other being brown, I thought that it was one of the most amazing things I had ever seen—after all, he was the first person ever that I met that had this condition, and to me it made him all the more attractive. At the time I would never admit it to myself, but that was where the attraction grew. Then you coupled that with his brown hair and that dazzling smile of his, and it was game over for me.
The second friend, the one that was my brother's height—though the mound of hair on his head made him seem to be the tallest of the three—was Egon Spengler. Quiet, bespeckled, awkward and quite intelligent, Egon was someone who could do the same in dragging you into conversations, though the words he used were absolutely huge half the time and I couldn't count on my hands and feet how many times I had to ask him to elaborate on what he had just said.
Though covered by the round glasses he wore, Egon had a nice shade of brown eyes. I always liked brown eyes—Peter and I had blue eyes, so seeing any other eye color from blue always had me saying how beautiful someone's eyes were. Granted I also thought blue eyes were beautiful, but it's different when it's your eye color.
Egon's hair was brown to the point to where it matched his eyes, though it seemed to be slightly unruly, no matter what he did to it at the time. Eventually he just got to where he would cut it short, though it would end up being high up on his head anyway, but it was nice and maintained. It took him a couple of years to get the hang of it, though, and I had a suspicion that his family didn't exactly help him where the hair area was concerned. I always thought that the Spengler family was all about academic achievement, and later on Egon would confide in me and confirm this. Heartbreaking, really.
During the fall semester of 1972, Peter, Ray, Egon and myself would meet up at the diner every day—unless a big test was coming up then in which case Egon and Ray would be studying—during our breaks. They had a free period, and I was given a break for lunch, so everything worked out just fine. Unless, of course, it happened to be on a day when I was off from work, then we actually went somewhere to get some food that wasn't just cheap diner stuff. It was more like cheap McDonald's stuff, but it was different than what we typically would eat. When it came to the finals and the term papers, however, Ray and Egon were almost non-existent, and it would just be Peter and myself at the diner. Somehow, Peter—even though he never studied anything in college, because I never remembered him even picking up a book—would always make A's in anything he did. My brother wasn't stupid by any means, and I knew this, but he was a procrastinator at the best of times and lazy at the worst of times. After graduation, it was revealed that Egon was the reason why he got all those A's.
Made a lot more sense to me after that revelation.
During the Christmas break of 1972, when school was out, the four of us spent a lot of time at my studio apartment just hanging out and being young college kids. At least, as much fun as young—and almost completely broke—parapsychology nerds and an art student could have. All we did was sit around my apartment, hang out, and do some vodka shots—this, of course, was instigated by Peter who was just really wanting to find an excuse to drink—and actually get drunk—for the first time since the semester had started. Egon, no surprise, was one of the first ones to actually get drunk off of a few shots, and we learned soon that he was more of an emotional drunk than anything else. Peter had to take him into the bathroom simply because he lamented over a slinky he straightened back when he was a kid and how he regretted it because later on he couldn't push it down the steps like his next door neighbor did.
Peter, of course, was not quite affected by the drinking as we were. He was more of the "drinker" of the two of us at the time and was still somewhat sober—he was buzzed—over the course of the night.
Ray was a happy, bubbly drunk and this did not at all surprise me. It suited his personality perfectly and while Peter was consoling Egon over his slinky that he regretted straightening, Ray and I polished off the vodka bottle and from what my memory serves we had a helluva time.
I'm not sure what happened. We both passed out in my bed, and Egon and Peter were on the couch in front of the TV the next morning when I awoke. However, I did notice one thing when I woke up that morning.
Aside from the fact that I was late to work and the simple fact that my phone was blaring off of the hook, I was without clothing. I remembered answering the phone, telling my manager that was so, so sorry but that I was not feeling too hot and meant to call but slept through all my alarms and that I would not be in today. Of course, my manager was pissed but told me to feel better.
I was the first to hurriedly get dressed—as I was the only one awake at the time—and quickly go into my bathroom to get a shower, with the boys still passed out in their respective places. I had to step around Sage who only meowed at me in what I could assume was annoyance before taking his spot to sleep right on Peter's chest. I remembered seeing Egon's glasses on the counter, and it made me chuckle just a bit. The poor guy. I felt so bad for him.
Once I was finished with my shower, I tip toed out of the bathroom to my dresser and I saw Ray sit up and look around slowly. We made eye contact, and I could see the question he was about to ask.
"Did we—?"
"I think we did."
I remembered Ray laying back as I grabbed my clothes from the dresser and hurried back into the bathroom.
After this incident, Ray and I didn't speak about it for a while. We carried on as normal, however there was definitely something there at that point. At least for me. I wasn't sure if Ray felt it, but there was something there that the two of us needed to speak about. However, we never did. Eventually, it just was something the two of us accepted that happened and we put into the past. I was certain Peter and Egon knew nothing of it, but they had to suspect something—at least Peter did. From what I remembered; I was already in bed when the two left the bathroom.
Regardless of this incident, my crush on Ray Stantz just blossomed over the years. We never made a move towards one another, though. I had to grin and bear it when he had dates here and there with girls from his classes, and while I went on dates with other guys it never materialized into anything more than just a friendship.
Peter, Ray and Egon graduated with their doctorates in parapsychology a few years later, in the late spring of 1980. I had graduated with my art degree a few years prior, in 1976, and was working in the art museum not too far from where they worked at Columbia. They, however, then meant Peter and Egon. Ray graduated along with me and went to work in the private sector. He hated it, however, and went back to work at Columbia University a few years after the fact. Our lunch dates to the diner continued, even after Ray and I finished our schooling and Peter and Egon were still working on their parapsychology doctorates. Though when they finished and also began working at Columbia they still went on. It was routine, really.
At my graduation, Peter, Egon, and Ray were there but there was not a sign from my father. I remembered I got a card in the mail later on, and while it was nice that it was acknowledged, I remembered wishing that Dad could have at least been there. I remembered crying to Ray about it, who I had grown closer to over the years, and it was the first time he had ever seen me cry. You would have thought by that point that I would have been used to it, seeing as how Dad was never around for any major holidays. But it was something hard to get used to.
There was a day, however, in 1981 that would have been simply marked as a tragedy for Ray. We were all hanging out at his apartment after dinner when the phone rang. Peter, of course, hopped up and answered it first with Ray standing there with a slightly annoyed look on his face and snatched the phone from my brother's hand. Peter snickered a bit, making his way back over to the couch and slouching on it as he did. When Ray took the phone, I heard him begin to speak to his older brother, Carl, who Peter hated with a passion—of course, for Carl Stantz, the feeling was mutual—and I watched the smile fall from his face. The three of us watched Ray's expression with heightened concern and watched the color drain from his face. Not too long after, Ray said his goodbyes and hung up the phone.
"Ray?" I made my way over to him as Peter sat up and Egon furrowed his brow in concern. "What happened? What's going on? What's wrong?"
"That was Carl." Ray began. "He said that Mom and Dad's boat disappeared."
"It's a boat. How does a boat just disappear?" I remembered Peter asking.
"Because it did, Venkman. Carl said the boat just disappeared and there's no trace of anything. No passengers, no crew. It's just gone."
I remembered the heartbreak in Ray's voice, and the look on his face. It was like someone had kicked the world's saddest puppy dog. The three of us were standing around him now, listening to him speak. Egon, trying his best, cleared his throat.
"If it is any consolation, Ray, might I suggest that your parents' boat simply got pulled into the Bermuda Triangle? We still don't quite have an understanding on what's going on there, and there is a possibility that—"
If Egon wanted to finish his thought, there was no way that he could. Without warning, Ray drew his fist back and punched him in the face. Peter caught the stumbling Egon, who was just as shocked as the rest of us.
"Whoa, there, slugger." Peter looked over at Ray as Egon checked himself to see if his nose was bleeding. "There's no need for violence now."
"Dead is dead! My parents are dead! They're gone! There isn't any hope to find them because you can't! Bermuda Triangle or no Bermuda Triangle. Dead is dead!" The heartbreak in Ray's voice was something I would never forget. The way his voice cracked with emotion about killed me, and I stepped in front of him and placed my hands on his shoulders.
"Let's go into the bathroom, go for a walk, get some air, something. Okay?" I told him softly. "Or at least come with me to the balcony. Come on. You need some air."
We spent three hours on his balcony, with Ray crying with the startling realization that he would never see his parents again. I held him for a while, rubbed his back while he cried. This went on for the first hour and a half or so. Afterwards, he told me childhood stories about his parents that would bring more tears but would also bring a smile. It was bittersweet, but the love that Ray had for his parents was so real and so genuine. He then told me that they left him a house, the house he was born in. Because out of all his siblings, he was apparently the one that made the most sense for them to give the house to. I told him one day that I would go with him to the house, and I remembered his soft smile that he gave me in return. How he nodded his head and told me that he would like that.
We never could find time to go, though. For some reason something would always come up, whether it was my whole being in between jobs thing because even though I was an art teacher, it was hard to find any of those jobs near me. Every junior high and high school were filled and any of the colleges didn't seem interested in someone who just graduated. Even Columbia University wasn't interested in my credentials—that they gave me. So, for the next few years, up until 1984 when I decided to take a whole different career path, I jumped from place to place to keep up my cash flow that I made from the diner.
The New York Public Library was my best bet. They paid the best, and I was able to keep the studio apartment roof over mine and my cat's head. I was hired on there in the spring of 1982, and it was quite interesting, the things they had there that the general public wasn't able to see. The temptation I had to go into the storage rooms to see what everything they had that was deemed "forbidden knowledge" was quite strong, but I did my best to ignore it for a couple of years.
In the summer of 1983, I began dating this guy named Frank DuBois. He wasn't a bad guy, necessarily—he wasn't that great in bed, but I never could tell him that to his face. Besides, his personality made up for all of that.
I met him at the library when he was looking for a book over some old occult stuff. Hanging around the boys, naturally I knew some things after picking up listening to them talk, so Frank and I hit it off. He was a history professor—coincidentally at Columbia University—and one night after a couple of dates I decided to introduce him to Peter, Egon and Ray.
Big mistake.
Peter teased him about being a history brainiac, Egon was… well, Egon and he was fascinated with the thought of Frank admitting that he had an albino twin sister and wanted to run tests to see if Frank had any history of incest that ran through his family line, and Ray… well, Ray was standoffish somewhat. He was polite, engaged in some conversation with Frank, but he wasn't himself. He didn't laugh at any jokes, he didn't start conversation with Frank, he just… seemed different.
When they left, instead of the usual goodbye I got from Ray—which usually consisted of a hug as we said our goodbyes—all I got was a head nod and a shoulder pat before they left. Peter gave me his usual—somewhat annoying but somehow always welcome—big brother hug. Egon gave me his usual "Goodbye, Nancy," and curt head nod.
It was Ray's goodbye—and even his whole demeanor during that dinner—that confused the hell out of me. I made it to lunch with the guys the next day while Frank was teaching, and Ray seemed to be himself again, but also not himself. When Peter and Egon went up to pay for their food, I nudged Ray gently under the table with my foot.
"What's with you?"
"What're you talking about?"
"Ray don't play dumb with me. You haven't been yourself lately. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Nance. Honestly."
After all of us paid, we went our separate ways. The next few meetings that my brother and his friends had with Frank, Ray seemed to get better and better, becoming himself and opening up to Frank like he did with any new potential friend. That Christmas, everything was back to normal. We had a small Christmas party at Frank's apartment, and I was staying the night there like I had grown accustomed to do. It was the Friday before Christmas, the 22nd, and we were all off of work. However, Peter was going to go back to his apartment, as were Egon and Ray. Ray, however, had the fun of being designated driver as Egon had a couple glasses of wine with us and wasn't exactly confident on his ability to drive—while his tolerance to alcohol got better, it still was low compared to the rest of us. And, of course, Peter was trashed as he was just having a grand old time.
As the boys were leaving, I gave Peter his goodbye hug and Egon a goodbye wave. Ray turned and hugged me, and it felt…nice. There hadn't been much hugging between the two of us since I had gotten with Frank, and it was nice to feel his arms around me again.
"I'm really happy for you, Nancy. Honestly." Ray told me, and I could tell he meant it. When we pulled away from the hug, however, he looked… somewhat sad? Definitely not "kicked puppy sad" but there was a bit of sorrow on his face. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he left my side as he and Egon helped my brother—who was obnoxiously singing Jingle Bells—to the elevator. Peter still didn't like Christmas, that was for certain, but he did like a good party.
On Christmas Day, Frank and I had a small first Christmas together. We exchanged gifts, and he seemed to like all of the history stuff I gave him, and I loved all of the things he gave me—a necklace, some t-shirts I saw at the mall that I liked and whatnot. Things were going well until he asked me a question.
That question.
I hadn't realized that Frank had fallen for me that quickly. While I liked him—I liked him a lot—I didn't love him, and that was when it hit me that I didn't love him. But instead of simply telling him no, like a normal person, I simply stared at him and made some dumb noises with my mouth before walking out of the apartment. I called a taxi, in my pajamas and in the freezing New York winter and made my way to Peter's apartment.
I spent a couple of days there, with Egon and Ray coming by a couple of days after Christmas to visit. When they saw me, and no Frank, of course their first course of action was to ask me where he was. Peter, however, was shaking his head and telling them to not ask. The phone rang soon after, and Peter picked it up. I stared at him, watching him intently as he answered.
"Yo," he answered the phone simply, and I watched as he looked at me and thinned his lips somewhat. "Hey, Frank," I heard Peter's tone shift to more of a parental tone of voice, like a child would hear when they were in trouble after the teacher called to inform the parent of something the kid had done. I shook my head back and forth rapidly, and Peter opened his mouth to argue but I continued to shake my head. I heard him sigh softly. "I'm sorry, Frank. Nancy isn't here at the moment. If she comes by I'll have her give you a call later. Okay. Bye." Peter set the phone back down on the receiver and leaned on the wall, his arms crossed loosely across his chest.
"What was all that about?" Ray asked him.
"Nothing." I shook my head in response. My brother and I made eye contact before he looked over at Ray.
"Frank asked Nancy to marry him on Christmas Day."
"That's great!"
"Congratulations, Nancy." Egon's tone was somewhat cautious whereas Ray's was excited. "But I don't think that that's everything to this story. Otherwise, Nancy would be with Frank or at home and not with Peter."
"Right you are, Egon. Remind me to give you a treat later." Peter teased.
"What happened?" Ray was confused.
"She ran away." Peter said simply.
"I didn't run away. I was in shock. I was scared. I didn't know what to feel but… but I do know I don't love him." I remembered looking at everyone as I said this, but when I said 'love' I made eye contact with Ray, and neither one of us broke said eye contact.
"Whatever the case may be, Nancy, Frank does have the right to know." Egon advised.
"Yeah." Peter agreed.
"You need to talk to him about this." Ray nodded his head in agreement.
Right before New Year's Eve, I did exactly that. I went home, made sure I changed my clothes and looked somewhat presentable—I spent a few days at Peter's wearing nothing but his t-shirts and sweatpants that he never wore anyway, and I wanted my own clothing. As I made the call, I remember Sage brushing up against my ankles and meowing contently, his purring loud enough for me to hear standing up. I made a date to see Frank and explain everything to him.
The next day, I did just that. I explained to him that I didn't love him like how he loved me, however that he was a great guy and one day he'll make a fantastic husband to someone who loves him as much as he deserved to be loved. He was heartbroken, I knew he was because I could see it on his face.
We parted amicably. From time to time, we would bump into one another at the library, and it seemed to be that Frank was doing somewhat okay regarding the breakup. He would tease me for running off the way I had, and I would simply just laugh about it. Sometimes he would join Peter, Ray, Egon and myself on our lunches at the diner, but it was never nothing more than friends.
Come the fall of 1984, in September, Frank began dating another girl named Patty, and the two seemed really happy together. She was a beautiful blonde bombshell, and it was plain to see she made Frank quite happy.
"I'm happy for you, Frank." I said to him as we walked to the check-out desk. "Really and truly. You deserve it."
"Thanks, Nancy." Frank smiled softly. "Means a lot, coming from you."
I shrugged. "I suppose so." I joked with him. "So, hey, the boys and I are going to get lunch soon. Care to join—?"
Before I could even finish the invitation, a scream was heard throughout the entirety of the library.