Ray paced nervously, the click of his low boots on the tiles soon falling into cadence with the irregular rhythm of the typewriter. He'd arrived at nine thirty-five, explaining that he was scheduled to meet Dr. Spengler here for their ten o'clock appointment. McKenna's secretary had waved him to a seat, where he'd fidgeted badly until finally rising to wander the room. The secretary, a squat matron bearing the unlikely appellation of Dolly Madison, according to her name plate, had kept her head down at first, her furrowed brow ample evidence of the difficulty she was having concentrating on the financial projection she was typing. But as ten o'clock came and went and there was still no sign of Spengler, Ray's steps grew more erratic, the typing slowing proportionately.

"Where could he be?" Ray muttered to himself, glancing at the wall clock. "Dr. Spengler is never late."

"Well, he's late now," the secretary snapped, giving up on the report to glare over her spectacles in the young man's direction. "And Professor McKenna has another meeting this morning. He's doing you a favor by seeing you on a Saturday at all."

Ray ducked his head to contemplate a cigarette stain on the baseboard. "I ... I know, ma'am," he said quietly. "We appreciate that."

Mrs. Madison's glare softened fractionally at the humble response. She removed her glasses, allowing them to dangle from the cord around her neck. "Perhaps Dr. Spengler simply forgot about the appointment," she suggested with a hint of benevolence. "We're quite used to absent minded scientists around here."

Ray shook his head. "No, ma'am, not Dr. Spengler. He doesn't really forget anything, but sometimes he just ... well, gets distracted, that's all."

"We're used to distracted scientists around here, too," Madison returned dryly. She twisted in her seat when the door to McKenna's inner chambers opened and the Professor peered out.

"Mrs. Madison?"

"Yes, Professor McKenna?"

"Didn't I have a ten o'clock appointment?" His gaze settled on Ray, who had gone utterly still in the corner. "You're not Dr. Spengler," he pointed out by way of accusation.

Ray gulped, his eyes widening in consternation. "I ... no, sir. Dr. Spengler isn't ... I mean, I don't know where...."

"This is Ray Stantz," Mrs. Madison spoke up when the discomfited young man trailed off. "He's Egon's lab assistant."

The old man nodded expectantly at the introduction. "And where is Dr. Spengler?"

Ray shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the toe of one shoe against the back of his leg. "I don't know, sir. He was supposed to meet me here, but...." He waved at the conspicuously empty room, mute testimony to the physicist's absence.

McKenna checked his watch. "It's ten-twenty now. Mrs. Madison, when is my next meeting?"

"Ten-thirty," the woman answered promptly. "And if you're late, Dean Yeager will be very annoyed." Her tone amply conveyed the disaster that would be.

McKenna sighed. "Very well. Uh ... Ray is it? Ray, why don't you go find out what happened to Dr. Spengler. I may be able to squeeze you in at noon, provided the meeting with Yeager doesn't go overtime."

Stantz nodded eagerly and backed away, eyes never leaving McKenna's. "Yes, sir. I'll get him. Thank you, sir!" Reaching the door, he snagged his long coat from a hook and fled, leaving McKenna and Madison to stare after him with amusement.

"We haven't scared a student in quite awhile," McKenna chuckled, patting the woman on the arm. "The boy must be the nervous type. And what the devil did happen to Egon?"

That was precisely the same question Stantz was asking himself. He left the administration building as though shot from a cannon, stopping outside to glance frantically in every direction. "Where is he?" he queried aloud, earning a sharp stare from a buxom co-ed in a jogging suit. "What could have happened to him?" The unseasonably warm spring sun beat down uncaringly, and he slung his coat over his shoulder rather than putting it on. He chose a direction at random and started off at a dead run, ever vigilant for the unusual blond wave that marked the scientist.

He had searched for some time before skidding to a stop, a look of purest dread crossing his youthful features. "There might have been an accident! He could be hurt! Or...." He gasped, jaw dropping. "What if...?"

He shook his head, visibly striving for control. "The lab," he told himself, breathing heavily from his run. "I'd better try the lab first. Maybe he did just forget."

But the lab was dark and silent and showed no signs that it had been disturbed since the previous eve. Ray let himself in and looked around, scissoring his lip between his teeth. After a moment's thought he picked up the phone, dialing Spengler's apartment. The distant ringing went on and on before it was finally picked up.

"Who is this?" a sleepy feminine voice demanded.

Ray took a deep breath. "I-I'm Ray Stantz. I'm looking for ... for Dr. Spengler? Is he there?"

The woman paused for a long minute, then the sound of an irritated growl came loud over the wires. "No, Dr. Spengler is not here," she snapped at last. "And neither will I be in another couple of hours. If you find the son of a bitch you can tell him I said so, got it?"

"Uh ... yes." But a loud click proclaimed that Ray was now talking to himself. He recradled the instrument thoughtfully and rubbed his smooth jaw. "Where?" he asked again, amber eyes haunted. "Where did he say...? Wait a minute! The party!" He snapped his fingers in recollection, though his hopeful expression disappeared almost at once. "But he would have taken his girlfriend to that party. If she was home, why isn't he?"

He wrapped his arms around his chest, fingers digging into the wool of his sweater. Head bent, he again resumed his pacing, occasionally stopping to stare out the window. "But maybe they didn't leave together," he said, brightening in sudden revelation. "Sometimes Peter doesn't leave with the girl he went with. Maybe Egon is still at the party? Or ... or maybe someone there knows where he went!"

Another phone call told him which building Susan Newman lived in, and Ray headed there at a fast clip, his breath escaping in little puffs from the unaccustomed exertion. He climbed the dorm steps three at a time, hesitating before the heavy wooden door leading inside. "Hope they're not still asleep," he panted, raising his hand to knock.

He rapped once, taking a hurried step backward when the unlocked door swung slowly open, revealing a dimly lit hall and den. Trepidatiously, he stuck his head inside and looked around. "Hello?" he called. "Is there anybody here?"

"Yo." The answer came, surprisingly, from below. Ray looked down, having to squint to make out the prone body lolling across the entranceway. "You wanna keep it down? People are suffering in here."

Ray squatted on his heels until he was able to make out the person's face. In the available light, all that was visible was a pale blur topped by dark hair - definitely not the man Ray sought. "Excuse me," he began in a soft voice. "But I'm looking for Egon Spengler. Do you know if he's here?"

The stranger made a noise in his throat and rolled over. "No idea, man, but feel free to look around. Quietly."

"Right." Ray rose, brushing absently at his jeans, and began a careful check of the den, pausing to study each blond head, asking anyone conscious the whereabouts of the tall physicist. He recognized Peter's friend, Chuck Weaver, who was sitting muzzily in one corner staring at a flashing stereo light. The man grumbled something obscene in answer to Ray's inquiry and Ray moved off, circling to the next victim. In this way he gradually worked his way into the kitchen, which was more brightly lit by sunlight streaming in the screendoor. It was here, sprawled nearly full-length across the linoleum, that he encountered the first friendly figure of the morning.

"Peter?" Ray shoved aside an empty beer can and lowered himself to one knee, shifting his forgotten coat higher on his shoulder. "Peter, please wake up," he called, shaking one silk-clad arm firmly. "I have to talk to you."

Venkman stirred, lifting his head from his breast with obvious reluctance. "Huh? Whazzah?" he croaked. He clapped his hands to his temples then looked like he wished he hadn't. "Ray, is that you?"

"Yes, Peter," Stantz answered, having to buttress the psychologist on one side as he sagged. "Peter, I can't find Egon anywhere. I think he's in trouble."

Groaning loudly, Venkman deigned crack open one eye, fixing it on Ray's anxious features. "Who's in trouble?" he asked blankly. "What happened?"

"Egon." Moderating his tone again at Peter's wince, Ray continued barely above a murmur. "Egon missed a meeting with Professor McKenna this morning. You know Egon, he never misses meetings!"

"Probably home sleeping last night off," Peter growled, some memory bringing a sparkle of life to his expression. "He ... uh ... indulged a bit."

Ray shook his head unequivocally. "I already checked there. His girlfriend said he hasn't been home, and I don't see him here, either! Do- do you think something ... happened to him?"

Venkman opened both eyes at that. He leaned his head back against the cabinet, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. "Last thing I remember, he was sitting here next to me droning on about his parents. But...." He scowled, rolling his eyes in an effort at recollection. "I do remember him watching some chick wandering the garden. Maybe he made his move. Did you check outside? Or one of the bedrooms upstairs?"

The suggestion brought a blush to Ray's cheeks. He looked away, suddenly finding the empty beer can a fascinating study. "I-I can't go up there," he said in a scandalized voice. "I mean ... he might be.... I can't."

Peter blinked, amusement erasing a fraction of the discomfort from his features. "Try the garden then," he suggested considerately. "If he's not there, I'll check upstairs for you." He shut his eyes again, sighing loudly. "Even a stacked blonde wouldn't have had a snowball's chance of getting me up this morning. Count yourself honored, kid."

"Thanks, Peter," Ray responded dutifully but with real gratitude. He stepped across Peter's outstretched legs and pushed open the screen door, poking his head outside and scanning the tiny enclosed garden warily, as though expecting to surprise Spengler and the unnamed female en flagrante delicto. On the first scan, however, the garden appeared untenanted. It wasn't until Ray had stepped out onto the wooden porch that a harsh rumbling became audible. Frowning his puzzlement, he followed the sound to the far fence, to where a mound of new earth lay. He stepped across it and halted, astonishment dropping his jaw upon discovering the very man he'd searched the campus for.

Long hair trailed on either side of the angular cheeks, slightly matted but otherwise unsullied by the soil which covered Egon Spengler to the neck. Someone had taken quite a lot of care in burying him, for the soil was tamped down neatly to within a single inch of the peaceful face, and a small bolster pillow supported the blond head comfortably. The full lips were parted, allowing another loud snore to emerge, followed by a snort, a grunt and a groan in that order as consciousness returned.

"Grmlph," was the less-than-decipherable first word as puffy lids rose. "Mzzzlpuf?"

"Egon?" Shocked, Ray could only stare down into the bleary blue gaze of his teacher, mentor and role model, his own eyes wide as saucers. Uncomprehending, Spengler stared back, apparently unaware of his unique positioning. "Egon, they.... You're...."

Spengler blinked twice, and the earth quivered slightly from below. Endeavor at motion stalled, the physicist lifted his head, directing his blank gaze the length of his body - or where his body should have been. "Holy ... jumping...." he gasped, eyes now wide open. "They cut off my head! YEEEAAAAGH!"

The last was emitted as a panicked wail, and the blond head tossed with the man's efforts at freeing himself. The internment had been handled competently, however, and his efforts were to no avail. Ray dropped his coat carelessly to the ground and fell to his knees, digging furiously in the packed dirt. "I'll get you out, Egon," he gasped, soil flying in all directions. "Don't worry."

"Yes, Egon, don't worry!"

As the last was offered in neither Spengler's resonant bass nor Ray's soft tenor, both men ceased their struggles to exchange a look, then unitedly glanced up, gaping at the heretofore unnoticed crowd that had gathered on the far side of the mound. Peter Venkman was foremost in the throng, leaning heavily against Charlie Weaver's shoulder, a huge grin decorating his smudged countenance. The grin was echoed by everyone there, later estimated to be a crowd of an even dozen, all rumpled, hung over and highly amused.

Peter tilted his head, examining the physicist with a critical air. "You know, Egon," he offered seriously, "I think potting soil suits you somehow. You look so ... herbal."

Egon glared at the lounging psychologist, and the look in the blue eyes should have vaporized the man on the spot. "This was your doing, Venkman!" he charged, renewing his escape effort with a vengeance. "I'll pulverize you for this!"

Peter tsk'd loudly, raising one hand in an I-don't-know-what-you're-talking- about gesture. "Whoa, booby, don't blame me for this one. I passed out before you did last night, remember?"

"I don't care!" Fury turning the blue eyes to winter ice, Spengler managed to release one arm, grimacing at the stains on his white linen sleeve. He shoved Ray rudely aside to finish the digging himself. "I know you're behind this somehow."

"Wahl, gee, Doctor Spengler," Weaver drawled lazily. "Y'all shouldn't go on blamin' Pete! There's lots o' folks who just love a good joshing. Am I right, gang?"

There was immediate acknowledgement, along with several low snickers and a guffaw. Egon ignored them all, finally succeeding in freeing his other arm, then allowing Ray to pull him to his feet. "I don't care," Egon went on angrily. "I...." He froze, standing stock still in Ray's grasp. "Ray?" he asked through barely parted lips.

Ray's gaze dropped, the second blush of the day coloring his cheeks. "Oh, Egon," he breathed, horrified. "You're not wearing any pants!"

Spengler looked down at last, flagging visibly in the morning light, and a roar of laughter erupted from the onlookers, liberally interspersed with catcalls and hearty applause. That the scarlet staining his pale cheeks extended itself over every square inch of his body was evident.

"We wondered what Frieda saw in you," Susan Newman commented, peeking around Weaver's bulk. "Now we know."

"No, we don't," Peter jeered, his scrutiny never rising above waist-level. "And I've seen better drumsticks at the supermarket."

Egon appealed skyward, a single muscle twitching in his square jaw. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again there was more resignation than outrage written in their sapphire depths. "Raymond," he said calmly, having to physically shake the boy out of his stunned paralysis. "Hand me your coat, please. We're leaving."

Ray scrambled to comply, looking as though he expected any one of the crowd to snatch the garment away before he could touch it. Egon slipped it on over his filthy shirt, buttoning it all the way to his knees. The sight of him standing there in the several inches too-short apparel, long arms and bony legs sticking out, was so absurd that a whole new spate of laughter exploded among the group, which had by now swelled to twenty with the addition of members of the sorority from next door.

"Come, Raymond," he ordered, sweeping regally through the crowd, head high. "I have an appointment with Professor McKenna."

"Nice seeing you, Egon!" Peter called in farewell, adding, "You know, I wonder why Frieda does go out with him?"

***

"Hey! Ray! Wait up!"

Ray Stantz stopped his headlong rush across the campus grounds, taking a moment to glance nervously at his watch. The hands stood at three minutes to ten, and if he didn't hurry he'd be late for Professor Broadwell's history class. Ray winced at the thought of walking into the irascible man's lecture once it had begun - the Professor hated to be interrupted during one of his lectures by tardy arrivers, and went out of his way to make miserable the life of any offenders. Ray had hoped that he might be able to sneak in while the teacher was setting up, and slumped as the second hand rapidly disabused him of that particular aspiration. The soft hail was repeated, however, and politely bred, he halted to awaiting the petite, youthful looking brunette who ran up, books swinging from both hands. "Hi, Ray! Gee, I've called you three times already."

"Hi, Janice," Ray greeted her shyly, hugging his own books to his chest like a shield. "I didn't hear you back there."

Janice Smithers smiled widely and tossed her head, flicking a short brown curl out of her eyes. "Oh, that's okay! I haven't seen you since I dropped out of the Engineering program. How have you been?"

Ray lifted one shoulder in a little shrug, wondering at the girl's sudden interest. They'd shared three classes in the fall and had exchanged no more than a respectful apology when he'd accidentally bumped into her in the hall. It was then he realized that that last had been a question. "I'm- I'm fine, Janice. Um ... how about you?"

"Oh, terrific!" The girl brandished one of her notebooks proudly. "I switched majors when I decided I didn't want to be an Engineer after all. All that math...." She wrinkled her pert little nose in a way Ray found utterly entrancing. "I switched to Special Ed, and got accepted in the music department for my minor! Look here." She opened the notebook and pulled out a collection of sheetmusic from an inner pocket. "I've been doing a little composing in my spare time and I think I even have a real talent for it! Isn't that great?!"

"Gosh, that's ... uh ... great," Ray returned, frantically trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound inane. "I'm glad you're doing so ... great." He dutifully followed along as she produced sheet after sheet, clutching his books until his knuckles turned white. Janice talked on and Ray listened, darting an occasional look into her face when he thought she wasn't looking. Janice was so pretty ... why was she standing here talking to him? What could she need? Or maybe she didn't need anything, maybe she was talking to him because ... she ... wanted to?

The big church clock chose that moment to strike the hour and Ray made a little sound of alarm. There would definitely be no sneaking into Professor Broadwell's class now. His dismay must have shown on his face, for Janice broke off her light chatter to glance at the dainty pendent watch she wore around her neck.

"Ooops! Ten o'clock. You're late for class, aren't you?" she guessed. "You should have said something instead of letting me chatter on like that."

Ray smiled at her teasing tone. "No, it's all right. I ... I can still make it." I'm really in for it now, he added, strangely not caring anymore.

Janice restowed her music, then tucked the binder under her arm. "No problem. I'll walk with you. I'm headed that way anyway."

Delighted by the unexpected thoughtfulness, Ray smiled and started off, for once not thinking of the consequences of walking into Broadwell's class late. He talked about the engineering class they'd shared, Ray chatting anxiously to prevent any uncomfortable silences from falling. She listened closely, Ray thought, pleased that he hadn't said one stupid thing yet. Yet, he emphasized disparagingly. But no, Janice honestly seemed interested in what he was saying. This he believed for several minutes, until he began to tell her about the metallurgical experiment he was conducting.

"Gee, Ray, that's...." She broke off suddenly, covering her mouth against a yawn. "Excuse me."

Ray gulped. "Gosh, I guess I get a little ... a little boring when I'm t- talking," he apologized, feeling a lead weight drop in his stomach. "I'm sorry."

Smithers brushed that aside with a negligent hand. "It's not you, Ray, you were fascinating. I just haven't been sleeping very well lately."

Fascinating! Ray repeated to himself, his cheeks turning pink. Wow! Pleased by the description, it was still with friendly concern that he said, "Gosh, I'm sorry you're not sleeping well. Have you been ill?"

Janice came to a stop, dark brown eyes hooded. "Nope! And I'm not having any personal problems, either." She frowned prettily, rose painted lips tight. "You know, I just can't figure it. First I have trouble getting to sleep, then when I finally do drop off I get all these really weird dreams. How do you figure it?"

Ray pulled at his ear lobe thoughtfully. "That's not really my field, Janice. Maybe you should talk to Peter Venkman over at Weaver Hall. He's involved in Professor McKenna's sleep research. Maybe he can help."

Janice knuckled her eyes wearily. "I wish someone could. Things are starting to wear on me, know what I mean? And those dreams...." She broke off with a shiver. "Really weird, and so intense! As if I'm watching them really happen instead of just dreaming it!"

Ray patted her shoulder awkwardly, more than a little astounded at his own boldness. "I'll ask Peter to talk to you. He'll do it. He's real ... nice lately."

Janice regarded him doubtfully, then nodded. "It never occurred to me to get professional help but.... Okay, Ray, you know best. Set it up for me and I'll be there, okay?"

Stantz nodded eagerly. "Sure Janice! That'd be great!" The big clock down the street clanged the quarter hour and Ray stiffened, panic replacing the pleased smile he'd been wearing. "Oh, my gosh! Professor Broadwell! I have to go!"

In a surprising move, Janice rose up on her toes, planting a quick kiss on Ray's cheek. "Thanks, Ray! See you!" Then she trotted off, offering him a last smile over her shoulder as she went.

Ray stared after her for a long time, stunned and delighted by the action, then flew the rest of the way, light as the proverbial bird. Even the chewing out Broadwell gave him for being late didn't ruin his 'great' mood.

***

It had been a quiet morning and was threatening to be an even quieter afternoon. Peter was sunk deep into a morass of ungraded tests he had studiously ignored for weeks, pen flying across one coffee- or Coke-stained sheet after another. He'd originally requisitioned Ray's help for the grading, an experiment abandoned after he'd gotten a look at the young man's first attempt.

"Ray," Peter explained patiently, squinting at the large, barely-legible scrawl covering fully one-quarter of the sheet, "the answer to question eight is not 'latent cross-nexus contact.' These kids are in my class to learn the components of their own cognizance; they're not there to psycho- dissect Count Dracula."

"Sorry, Peter," Ray apologized sheepishly. He unbuttoned his cuffs, then began rolling the sleeves of his checkered shirt up over his forearms. "I guess I got carried away. Cross-nexus contact was what Professor Broadwell was talking about in class yesterday; he said he'd gotten the information from Egon the month before." Sleeves arranged to his satisfaction, he leaned forward, tapping the tall blond lightly on the elbow. "He said your conclusions were brilliant, Egon, and if there were more parapsychologists around like you and him, the field would have advanced a lot faster than it has."

Spengler contrived to look modest, a transparent attempt considering the way his jaw jutted forward. "Henry is a brilliant man in his own right," he remarked, snapping his suspenders loudly. "I don't know him well on a social level, but we corresponded regularly before I came to Columbia. I'm even considering taking his parapsychology course myself next semester, once I finish Celtic Rites and Rituals."

"Parapsychology," Peter snorted, removing the rest of the tests to his own desk. "A little legitimate analysis would clear up your parapsychology in no time flat."

Egon's eyes narrowed at that but he allowed the comment to pass unchallenged. He took Ray over then, pulling his own chair up to the little cardtable and beginning a long-winded explanation of the developing telemetry netting they were working on, and how it would fit into the larger analyzer in the corner.

It wasn't long, however, before Ray's attention began to wander. He took to staring for long periods out the nearby window, chewing his lower lip meditatively. The mass of wires Egon had shoved at him by way of visual aid, lay forgotten in his hand, he obviously finding the slowly drifting cloudbank without fascinating. He sighed and let them drop to the table, then rested his chin in his free palm, his eyes very far away indeed.

"Isn't it almost time?" he mumbled aloud, interrupting midsentence Egon's brand new lecture on occlusive fundamentalism. The blond broke off to stare at his assistant curiously.

"Almost time for what?" he asked, glancing at his own watch. "You don't have a class this afternoon, do you?"

Ray started, his eyes focusing on the other man with a snap. He squirmed and picked up a nearby printed circuit, lowering his head to study it closely. "Uh, almost time for ... um ... lunch. I just thought ... maybe I could use a little ... something to eat, is all."

"We just got back from lunch," Egon pointed out gently, loosening his tie. "What's the matter with you, Raymond? You've been distracted all morning."

"Nothing." Ray heaved another sigh, deeper and more heartfelt than the first. As this was his fourth in as many minutes, it won an amused look from Peter Venkman, who lounged comfortably on his spine, feet up.

"Relax, kid, she'll be here," Peter advised, smiling at the guilty look that crossed the younger man's face. "Man, this chick's got you bad, doesn't she? Must be some kind of looker, eh?"

Ray blushed hotly and shook his head. "It's nothing like that," he protested, though his eyes gleamed like new topaz. "She's just ... you know."

Peter's grin widened though there was no mockery in his voice. "Yeah, kid, I know. You ask her out yet?"

Ray ducked his head, blushing even deeper. "No," he whispered, barely audible. "I've ... only talked to her twice."

Peter chuckled. "Only twice and such an impression? Yep. Must be some looker, all right. Think she might be my type?"

Ray's budding smile flickered but his expression was guileless and his eyes, when they met Peter's, carried more than a touch of admiration for the psychologist and no jealousy at all. "She'll like you a lot," he said quietly. "And I know you'll like her, too."

Such open regard, so strong as to border on worship, put Peter off his stride for a single moment. He stared hard into the unshielded amber, finding nothing there but innocent respect. Slowly, his own eyes thawed, changing from hard emerald into a mossy jade. "She'll probably like you better," he said, acknowledging the humble compliment with a warm, very genuine smile. "Nice girl, eh?"

Ray nodded happily, then Egon leaned across the table, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You said you'd only spoken to her twice before," he began seriously. "Don't pin your hopes too heavily on a short conversation. You might not be interpreting her friendliness properly."

Ray's face fell and Peter stared, surprised at the warning note in the deep bass. "I've 'interpreted' a lot less than that, Spengs," he pointed out crossly. "For that matter, so have you. Why shouldn't the kid take his shot?" He peered more closely at the big blond, brows drawn low. "And who put the poker up your bottom all of a sudden? Is there something about this chick we should...?"

A knock sounded then, breaking in on whatever it was Peter had been about to say. He opened his mouth but it was Ray who called, "Come in!" before leaping to his feet.

The door opened to admit Janice Smithers, tiny frame squeezed into an even tinier skirt and blouse combination. She swept her curls from her pert face, smiling at Ray as he approached to stand only feet away. "Hi, stranger!" she teased, brushing his hand with her fingers. "I was wondering if you were going to be here."

"H-hi, Janice," Ray stammered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I-I'm glad you could come."

"Yeah. Me too." Janice waited, looking expectantly into his face. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

Ray blinked himself out of his trance and stepped aside, giving the woman her first clear view of the room. "Over there's Egon Spengler," he said, gesturing at the blond, who nodded politely. "And this is Peter Venkman. Peter...."

"Oh!" The startled gasp came from Janice. She pressed both hands to her mouth, staring at Peter as though he'd just come from the moon. "You're Peter Venkman? You are?"

Peter slithered around until he was more nearly vertical than horizontal, and dropped his feet to the floor. "Yeeeees," he purred, one dark brow disappearing into his hairline. "Have we met?"

"Yes! I mean, no. I mean, it's not just you, it's...." Janice waved a helpless hand at the entire room, then clasped them both at waist level, finishing with, "Sort of."

"Uh-huh." Peter nodded sagely, then gestured to the empty chair by his desk. "Why don't you sit down, Miss Smithers, and tell me how we sort of know each other."

Janice smiled shakily at Ray and seated herself, primly tugging her short skirt another inch down her thighs. Peter smiled appreciatively; Ray swallowed and ducked his head.

"I'm sorry I'm behaving so foolishly," Janice went on, collecting herself with an obvious effort, "it's just that I really do know you even though we've never met, and I know this room - intimately - even though I've never been here."

She leaned forward and took a deep breath, a maneuver that did nothing to wipe the little smile from Peter's lips; Egon used the pause to return to his own desk, turning his chair around until he and the woman could see each other. "Mr. Venkman, last night I dreamed about being here in absolute detail. I know and this room even though I've never been here before." She licked her lips, meeting his gaze frankly. "I even saw you here and you were wearing a blue shirt and black slacks, just like you are now."

Ray and Egon exchanged a look over her curly head; Peter straightened in his chair, green eyes beginning to glitter. "Ray, did you...?" he began, glancing at the young man at his side. Ray stared innocently back and after a moment Peter shook his head. "Nawww, you wouldn't." He turned back to Janice, adopting the professionally neutral tone he assumed whenever he dealt with a subject he had his doubts about. "That's very interesting, Janice. Why don't you tell me about it?"

Smithers crossed her legs at the knee, smiling when three pairs of male eyes followed the motion automatically. "No, really! It's the truth. And I can prove it." She closed her eyes, then covered them with her hands. "I'm going to describe what's behind that partition thingie in the corner. Ready?"

Ray hopped across the room, taking up an eager stance on the far side of the glass. "Ready!" he called, overriding Peter's protest.

Janice paused. "I saw two hardbacked, brown chairs about ... so far apart ..." She measured a width of two feet with her hands without opening her eyes. "... and one shelf up on the wall with some books on it. One of them is called...." Her brow furrowed in concentration for a long moment, then cleared. "It's called Alchemy's Fall and it's by ... Freiderick von Holmann. The next two are in ... is that Greek? And the last one is called The Necromancer. I can't see the author."

"It's also by von Holmann," Egon supplied when the woman could again see. "Very impressive, Miss Smithers."

"Wow!" Ray yipped, returning to Peter's side. "She was right, Peter! Every time!"

Janice beamed though there was a touch of worry in her expression. "That's never happened to me before! It's so ... cool! But kind of scary, too, know what I mean?"

"I suppose it could be, Janice," Peter replied soothingly. "Can you tell me something else? Like what's in my top desk drawer?"

A hush fell across the room during which the only sound was Ray's sharp breathing. Janice looked from him to Peter to Egon, whose fingers moved unconcernedly together in patterns, markedly not meeting her gaze. After a moment, Janice closed her eyes, tilting her head back as though in a listening attitude. "You did open your top drawer in my dream," she murmured softly. "In it you have ... your class schedule ... a cheese sandwich and...." She opened her eyes to regard Peter with open puzzlement. "Ladies' underwear?"

Peter had the good grace to blush. "They were a present," he returned virtuously.

Ray reached across Peter and yanked open the drawer. "She's right again!" he cheered, pulling out the underwear and holding them aloft like a prize. "Wow!"

"Go get your own Frederick's," Peter snapped, retrieving his 'present' and re-stowing them. Peter chose at random several other hidden objects, all of which Smithers described in unerring detail. When he was through, he regarded the woman for a full minute, his expression thoughtful. "I'd like to put you through a couple of tests, Miss Smithers," he said, rising. "They're standard esper calibrations."

"Well...." Janice began doubtfully.

Egon too rose, and touched Venkman on the arm. "I'd very much appreciate the opportunity to sit in on this," he requested. "It should prove interesting for us both."

Peter regarded him narrowly for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, Spengs, but one comment...."

"Who? Me?" Egon responded in his most innocent voice. "I wouldn't think of disparaging your research, Peter."

"You mean you wouldn't dare," Peter muttered, beginning to plan his approach.