Janine had dutifully waited by her phone all night, even canceling a date
with her sister's hairdresser's cousin to do so. Annoyance had turned to
worry as the clock struck midnight, however, then worry to panic when dawn
broke and there was still no sign of her prodigal employers. Calling the
firehouse at 5am produced nothing but her own voice on the answering
machine telling her that the boys were beddie-bye, she was powdering her
nose, and if a person couldn't call during normal hours, they could darn
well leave a message.
Irritated, Janine slammed down the receiver. "Gonna change that tape first thing in the morning," she told Slimer, who had taken to staying at her apartment the last several days. She retrieved the phone almost instantly, dialing the police. The detective she talked to was polite but firm -- there was nothing official they could do until a victim had been missing at least 24 hours, but he would ask the Langston City Long Island police to drive by the address she'd supplied to check it out as a courtesy.
Janine thanked him and hung up, then sweated out the next 45 minutes during which she mentally pictured a variety of massacre victims, all of them blond and wearing Ghostbusters uniforms. When the phone finally rang, she nearly had a heart attack on the spot.
She took a deep breath, brushing their pet nether-entity back with one hand. "Ghostbusters.... I mean, Janine Melnitz here!"
"Miss Melnitz, this is Detective Stone again."
"Did you find them?" Janine asked, gathering her red fur robe closer around her..
Stone hesitated. "We found their car, Miss Melnitz," he said slowly. "It was parked directly in front of 421 W. Stuyvescent. We found no sign of the Ghostbusters at all."
"None?" Janine scrubbed at her eyes under her green glasses, wishing she'd had at least a nap last night. "How about holes in the wall, burn marks, or any signs that they'd fired off their proton packs?"
"Nothing." The detective's voice was heavy with regret. "If you'd like to come in this afternoon and file a missing persons report...."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll let you know. Thanks." Janine hung up, desperately worried. "Peter was afraid there was something to this job," she told a hovering Slimer. "It looks like he was right. C'mon, we're going to the office. I need to find Winston and fast."
The black Ghostbuster, however, was no where to be found. Calls to his girlfriend went unanswered, and his parents could offer nothing but polite sympathy. They hadn't seen their son for over a week, and he hadn't then mentioned anything about his plans.
"Oh, Winston, where are you?" At her own desk, Janine hunched over her fourth cup of coffee that morning, scared and depressed. "Where...?"
"Yo, beautiful! What's happening?"
That cheery baritone brought Janine to her feet in a bound. "Winston!" In a flash, she was around the desk and had thrown herself bodily into Zeddemore's arms, clutching his neck desperately. "Oh, Winston, I'm so glad to see you!"
"I'm glad to see you, too, baby," Winston managed, astonished by the enthusiasm of her welcome. "I came to make peace with the guys. Are they around?"
Janine released her choke hold and stepped back, dropping heavily into her chair. "They're in trouble, Winston, and the police can't find them and Peter left you this note and I know I'm never going to see Egon again!" With that, she burst into loud tears.
Now confused as well as astonished, Winston accepted the folded missive and read its contents with a frown. "If Peter thought there was something fishy about this assignment, why'd he accept it?"
"Why have the four of you been acting like jackasses all week?" Janine retorted, snatching a kleenex and dabbing at her eyes. "None of you have behaved like adults for days."
invisible beneath his coloring, Winston had the grace to blush. "Yeah, I know. I don't understand it, Janine. It was as if all of us decided to get hateful all at once. I was going to ask Peter about it, but...." He broke off. "Have you notified the police yet?"
"Well of course I have," Janine said, drawing herself up; she slumped again, sniffing into her tissue. "They found Ecto-1 in front of the house but no sign of the boys."
"It's all I've got to start with, though." Winston sighed. "I have to borrow your car, Janine. I'm going to need a charged pack, traps, that extra PKE meter...."
The secretary made some notes, feeling better already. If there was anything anyone could do, Winston would do it. She only hoped that it was going to be enough.
***
Meanwhile, Peter Venkman was being dragged unceremoniously up three stone steps, then down a rough-hewn tunnel no more than a score of feet long. He struggled furiously, but against superior strength and numbers he had no chance. All he received for his efforts was a sound thump from Ali and a reminder to "Mind your manners, sweetcheeks."
Fuming, Peter subsided, biding his time and watching for his chance.
The tunnel ended in a chamber roughly the dimensions of a good-sized den. Bare electric bulbs provided illumination by which to see, revealing more of the familiar stone walls, which were covered floor to ceiling with symbols Peter recognized from an old Bela Lugosi movie. A rough circle was carved into the center of the floor in which was positioned a great stone alter covered with what looked like dried blood at first glance but which smelled suspiciously of Tabasco. Peter regarded it all with apprehension, nonetheless.
"So we meet again, Mr. Venkman."
Peter stared around the seemingly empty chamber. Those silky tones were eminently familiar. "Walter Peck?"
"In the flesh." The tall man stepped out of the shelter of several piled crates, delicately lifting his long scarlet robe to keep it out of the dust. Smiling cordially, he crossed to where an astonished Peter stood, still held fast in the grip of the two spectral guards. "How very good to see you again, Mr. Venkman. Especially considering the circumstances."
Peter's voice was strong and steady, not a tremor betraying the dismay which filled him at the sight of a man who'd sworn revenge on them nearly four years past. He shook himself free of his unwelcome escorts and adopted a deliberately insouciant stance, looking the other up and down the way one might examine a giant pork chop. "I should have known it would take someone like you to set this up," he sneered, gesturing around the room. "Tacky, cheap, theatrical -- got you written all over it."
"I'm glad you like it." Blue eyes twinkled, lending Peck a mischievous look. "I went to considerable time and expenditure to make it the 'homey' place it is today."
"Environmental Protection Agency must be paying a lot better than it used to," the Ghostbuster commented, staring at the pseudo-altar with a frown. "Who's your decorator -- Vincent Price?"
Walter Peck stroked his blond beard contentedly. "Actually, I did it myself. With a little help from my friends, of course."
Peter cast a disapproving glance first at Ali, then at the nonhuman guards, finally ending back with their master. "Guess no one can get good help these days," he commiserated, folding his arms. "Now you want to, like, tell me what's going on here? Or do we have to wait for Fido to spill a few more crumbs?"
Ali growled and raised a ham-sized fist. He stopped at Peck's negative gesture. "Later for you, whitebread," the big black man snarled, stepping back again.
"Bow-wow." Peter deliberately turned his back on the fuming giant and stood eying the blond, dropping his hands to hips. "You were saying?"
Thin lips cracked in an amused smile. "You're here, Dr. Venkman, because you have something I want."
"A good tailor?" Peter guessed, tipping his head. "Great taste? A social life?" He turned, casually examining the room more thoroughly. "Where are we, anyway? Disneyland, this ain't."
The blond followed his gaze. "We're exactly five meters from where you were captured. This grotto of mine is built directly under that charmingly mundane cottage you were admiring earlier."
"I'll bet is's a real good selling point, too," the psychologist approved. "Second question -- why?"
"No, no, Mr. Venkman." Peck shook back one flowing sleeve and studied his watch. "Your next question should be, what do I want."
Peter shrugged. "What?"
"Samhaine."
Lean jaw dropping nearly to his breast, Venkman stared in horror from the grinning blond to his bald, dark-skinned servant. "Are you nuts?!" he blurted, recovering. "No, let me rephrase that. Do you have any idea what you're asking? Samhaine killed people first time he showed up. He almost killed me."
"Oh, come now," Peck chided mildly. "Surely you're exaggerating just a bit?"
"Uh-uh." The Ghostbuster shook his head, then lifted the skirt of one of the spectral escorts. A putrid black mist wafted toward him, and he dropped it hurriedly, gagging. "Uh ... no, I'm not exaggerating," he went on, regarding the larger men with no trace of levity. "Samhaine caused two train derailments, several buildings to collapse and mass panic. Four children were crushed to death in one hysterical stampede alone. There were more."
"But what's he done lately?" jeered Ali from behind.
Peter spun, so angry, the black man actually retreated a step. "Cooled his heels in my containment unit -- where he stays." He turned back to the impassive-faced Peck, who had not moved. "What do you want with him anyway? He's not exactly Greenpeace material, after all. And what's with the outfits? Halloween's not until October. This some new government thing?"
"Not at all." The handsome Peck's face hardened, losing the smug smile he'd maintained since Peter's appearance. "The ancient techniques of dimensional breaching have been handed down through my family for a thousand years, Mr. Venkman -- even before they emigrated to Arkham. Why just recently, I was involved in an experiment which would have altered the laws of space-time all over the universe!"
"Making goopers more substantial!" Peter exclaimed, suddenly understanding the problems they'd had at the museum the week before.
Peck cast him a startled glance. "Uh, yes, exactly." He clenched one fist, asking suddenly, "Why do you think I tried to shut you down four years ago?"
Peter blinked at the seeming non sequitur. "Lousy childhood?"
"Wrong." The tall blond settled himself onto a nearby packing crate, arranging his robes comfortably. "Four years ago you Ghostbusters interfered in one of the most monumental projects I've ever been involved with -- bringing the Traveler through to earth."
Peter goggled. "What do you mean you brought him through? I thought the whole thing was Gozer's idea?"
His captor smiled. "Even the Ancient Ones require the proper invitation -- the summons -- and Gozer was no different. Did you know that his worshippers migrated to the British Isles five millennia ago? That's how my ancestor's came in contact with him."
"Learn something new every day," Peter muttered.
"Quite. Had I succeeded in summoning Gozer, I would have accessed a source of trans-dimensional power this world has never known." Peck fairly glowed at the possibility, then heavy lids came down to hood his pale eyes. "Until you banished Gozer from this plane forever."
"Naughty thing to do, eh?" the psychologist asked, rising up onto his toes to peek down the guard's hood.
"Hmmm." Peck fished about in his robes, emerging with a half empty pack of Salem's. He chose one for himself, then politely offered the pack. "Smoke?"
"No, thanks," Peter answered just a politely, but there was a hardness to his voice that cut through the false urbanity like a knife. "So you switched from Summarian gods to Celtic?"
"No, not switched." Peck lighted his cigarette and pulled on it with a sigh. "These things are going to kill me someday," he said with a cough.
"Someday soon, I hope," Peter offered sweetly.
Smoke drifted upward on a tiny draft. "Not soon enough to do you any good, I fear. But to get back to my subject, Gozer was a long shot at best. My main power source was, as you might have guessed, Samhaine."
"Who is also doing you no good right about now." Losing interest in his eerie escort, Peter strolled aimlessly around the room, poking boxes and kicking crates with half-hearted curiosity.
"Precisely." Peck rose, indicating the two attending phantoms with a wide sweep of his arms. "Look at my two servants, Mr. Venkman."
Straightening his black shirt across his shoulders, Peter obliged. "Well, they're never gonna get green cards dressed like that, but otherwise...."
"Two!" The blond dropped his cigarette, grinding it out with an angry stamp of his foot. "Two servants. No more than one year ago I could have summoned an army!" Pale cheeks purple with rage, and teeth clamping together, it was several minutes before he could continue. Through it all, Ali watched impassively.
"It grows harder to open a dimensional portal by myself, and cut off from the other worlds upon which I draw, my own abilities are growing more limited even as we speak. I need my patron, Mr. Venkman." Peck settled himself on the upended crate again, in full control of himself once more. "I need Samhaine." He paused. "You are a business man; I could make this worth your while...." He broke off at Peter's incredulous glare. "No, perhaps not. Very well, we'll do this the hard way."
Peter gulped. "The hard way?"
Ali leaned over Peter's shoulder, his breath hot and stale. "My way."
"Oh." Peter gave vent to a heartfelt sigh. "I just knew it was going to be one of those days."
***
Irritated, Janine slammed down the receiver. "Gonna change that tape first thing in the morning," she told Slimer, who had taken to staying at her apartment the last several days. She retrieved the phone almost instantly, dialing the police. The detective she talked to was polite but firm -- there was nothing official they could do until a victim had been missing at least 24 hours, but he would ask the Langston City Long Island police to drive by the address she'd supplied to check it out as a courtesy.
Janine thanked him and hung up, then sweated out the next 45 minutes during which she mentally pictured a variety of massacre victims, all of them blond and wearing Ghostbusters uniforms. When the phone finally rang, she nearly had a heart attack on the spot.
She took a deep breath, brushing their pet nether-entity back with one hand. "Ghostbusters.... I mean, Janine Melnitz here!"
"Miss Melnitz, this is Detective Stone again."
"Did you find them?" Janine asked, gathering her red fur robe closer around her..
Stone hesitated. "We found their car, Miss Melnitz," he said slowly. "It was parked directly in front of 421 W. Stuyvescent. We found no sign of the Ghostbusters at all."
"None?" Janine scrubbed at her eyes under her green glasses, wishing she'd had at least a nap last night. "How about holes in the wall, burn marks, or any signs that they'd fired off their proton packs?"
"Nothing." The detective's voice was heavy with regret. "If you'd like to come in this afternoon and file a missing persons report...."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll let you know. Thanks." Janine hung up, desperately worried. "Peter was afraid there was something to this job," she told a hovering Slimer. "It looks like he was right. C'mon, we're going to the office. I need to find Winston and fast."
The black Ghostbuster, however, was no where to be found. Calls to his girlfriend went unanswered, and his parents could offer nothing but polite sympathy. They hadn't seen their son for over a week, and he hadn't then mentioned anything about his plans.
"Oh, Winston, where are you?" At her own desk, Janine hunched over her fourth cup of coffee that morning, scared and depressed. "Where...?"
"Yo, beautiful! What's happening?"
That cheery baritone brought Janine to her feet in a bound. "Winston!" In a flash, she was around the desk and had thrown herself bodily into Zeddemore's arms, clutching his neck desperately. "Oh, Winston, I'm so glad to see you!"
"I'm glad to see you, too, baby," Winston managed, astonished by the enthusiasm of her welcome. "I came to make peace with the guys. Are they around?"
Janine released her choke hold and stepped back, dropping heavily into her chair. "They're in trouble, Winston, and the police can't find them and Peter left you this note and I know I'm never going to see Egon again!" With that, she burst into loud tears.
Now confused as well as astonished, Winston accepted the folded missive and read its contents with a frown. "If Peter thought there was something fishy about this assignment, why'd he accept it?"
"Why have the four of you been acting like jackasses all week?" Janine retorted, snatching a kleenex and dabbing at her eyes. "None of you have behaved like adults for days."
invisible beneath his coloring, Winston had the grace to blush. "Yeah, I know. I don't understand it, Janine. It was as if all of us decided to get hateful all at once. I was going to ask Peter about it, but...." He broke off. "Have you notified the police yet?"
"Well of course I have," Janine said, drawing herself up; she slumped again, sniffing into her tissue. "They found Ecto-1 in front of the house but no sign of the boys."
"It's all I've got to start with, though." Winston sighed. "I have to borrow your car, Janine. I'm going to need a charged pack, traps, that extra PKE meter...."
The secretary made some notes, feeling better already. If there was anything anyone could do, Winston would do it. She only hoped that it was going to be enough.
***
Meanwhile, Peter Venkman was being dragged unceremoniously up three stone steps, then down a rough-hewn tunnel no more than a score of feet long. He struggled furiously, but against superior strength and numbers he had no chance. All he received for his efforts was a sound thump from Ali and a reminder to "Mind your manners, sweetcheeks."
Fuming, Peter subsided, biding his time and watching for his chance.
The tunnel ended in a chamber roughly the dimensions of a good-sized den. Bare electric bulbs provided illumination by which to see, revealing more of the familiar stone walls, which were covered floor to ceiling with symbols Peter recognized from an old Bela Lugosi movie. A rough circle was carved into the center of the floor in which was positioned a great stone alter covered with what looked like dried blood at first glance but which smelled suspiciously of Tabasco. Peter regarded it all with apprehension, nonetheless.
"So we meet again, Mr. Venkman."
Peter stared around the seemingly empty chamber. Those silky tones were eminently familiar. "Walter Peck?"
"In the flesh." The tall man stepped out of the shelter of several piled crates, delicately lifting his long scarlet robe to keep it out of the dust. Smiling cordially, he crossed to where an astonished Peter stood, still held fast in the grip of the two spectral guards. "How very good to see you again, Mr. Venkman. Especially considering the circumstances."
Peter's voice was strong and steady, not a tremor betraying the dismay which filled him at the sight of a man who'd sworn revenge on them nearly four years past. He shook himself free of his unwelcome escorts and adopted a deliberately insouciant stance, looking the other up and down the way one might examine a giant pork chop. "I should have known it would take someone like you to set this up," he sneered, gesturing around the room. "Tacky, cheap, theatrical -- got you written all over it."
"I'm glad you like it." Blue eyes twinkled, lending Peck a mischievous look. "I went to considerable time and expenditure to make it the 'homey' place it is today."
"Environmental Protection Agency must be paying a lot better than it used to," the Ghostbuster commented, staring at the pseudo-altar with a frown. "Who's your decorator -- Vincent Price?"
Walter Peck stroked his blond beard contentedly. "Actually, I did it myself. With a little help from my friends, of course."
Peter cast a disapproving glance first at Ali, then at the nonhuman guards, finally ending back with their master. "Guess no one can get good help these days," he commiserated, folding his arms. "Now you want to, like, tell me what's going on here? Or do we have to wait for Fido to spill a few more crumbs?"
Ali growled and raised a ham-sized fist. He stopped at Peck's negative gesture. "Later for you, whitebread," the big black man snarled, stepping back again.
"Bow-wow." Peter deliberately turned his back on the fuming giant and stood eying the blond, dropping his hands to hips. "You were saying?"
Thin lips cracked in an amused smile. "You're here, Dr. Venkman, because you have something I want."
"A good tailor?" Peter guessed, tipping his head. "Great taste? A social life?" He turned, casually examining the room more thoroughly. "Where are we, anyway? Disneyland, this ain't."
The blond followed his gaze. "We're exactly five meters from where you were captured. This grotto of mine is built directly under that charmingly mundane cottage you were admiring earlier."
"I'll bet is's a real good selling point, too," the psychologist approved. "Second question -- why?"
"No, no, Mr. Venkman." Peck shook back one flowing sleeve and studied his watch. "Your next question should be, what do I want."
Peter shrugged. "What?"
"Samhaine."
Lean jaw dropping nearly to his breast, Venkman stared in horror from the grinning blond to his bald, dark-skinned servant. "Are you nuts?!" he blurted, recovering. "No, let me rephrase that. Do you have any idea what you're asking? Samhaine killed people first time he showed up. He almost killed me."
"Oh, come now," Peck chided mildly. "Surely you're exaggerating just a bit?"
"Uh-uh." The Ghostbuster shook his head, then lifted the skirt of one of the spectral escorts. A putrid black mist wafted toward him, and he dropped it hurriedly, gagging. "Uh ... no, I'm not exaggerating," he went on, regarding the larger men with no trace of levity. "Samhaine caused two train derailments, several buildings to collapse and mass panic. Four children were crushed to death in one hysterical stampede alone. There were more."
"But what's he done lately?" jeered Ali from behind.
Peter spun, so angry, the black man actually retreated a step. "Cooled his heels in my containment unit -- where he stays." He turned back to the impassive-faced Peck, who had not moved. "What do you want with him anyway? He's not exactly Greenpeace material, after all. And what's with the outfits? Halloween's not until October. This some new government thing?"
"Not at all." The handsome Peck's face hardened, losing the smug smile he'd maintained since Peter's appearance. "The ancient techniques of dimensional breaching have been handed down through my family for a thousand years, Mr. Venkman -- even before they emigrated to Arkham. Why just recently, I was involved in an experiment which would have altered the laws of space-time all over the universe!"
"Making goopers more substantial!" Peter exclaimed, suddenly understanding the problems they'd had at the museum the week before.
Peck cast him a startled glance. "Uh, yes, exactly." He clenched one fist, asking suddenly, "Why do you think I tried to shut you down four years ago?"
Peter blinked at the seeming non sequitur. "Lousy childhood?"
"Wrong." The tall blond settled himself onto a nearby packing crate, arranging his robes comfortably. "Four years ago you Ghostbusters interfered in one of the most monumental projects I've ever been involved with -- bringing the Traveler through to earth."
Peter goggled. "What do you mean you brought him through? I thought the whole thing was Gozer's idea?"
His captor smiled. "Even the Ancient Ones require the proper invitation -- the summons -- and Gozer was no different. Did you know that his worshippers migrated to the British Isles five millennia ago? That's how my ancestor's came in contact with him."
"Learn something new every day," Peter muttered.
"Quite. Had I succeeded in summoning Gozer, I would have accessed a source of trans-dimensional power this world has never known." Peck fairly glowed at the possibility, then heavy lids came down to hood his pale eyes. "Until you banished Gozer from this plane forever."
"Naughty thing to do, eh?" the psychologist asked, rising up onto his toes to peek down the guard's hood.
"Hmmm." Peck fished about in his robes, emerging with a half empty pack of Salem's. He chose one for himself, then politely offered the pack. "Smoke?"
"No, thanks," Peter answered just a politely, but there was a hardness to his voice that cut through the false urbanity like a knife. "So you switched from Summarian gods to Celtic?"
"No, not switched." Peck lighted his cigarette and pulled on it with a sigh. "These things are going to kill me someday," he said with a cough.
"Someday soon, I hope," Peter offered sweetly.
Smoke drifted upward on a tiny draft. "Not soon enough to do you any good, I fear. But to get back to my subject, Gozer was a long shot at best. My main power source was, as you might have guessed, Samhaine."
"Who is also doing you no good right about now." Losing interest in his eerie escort, Peter strolled aimlessly around the room, poking boxes and kicking crates with half-hearted curiosity.
"Precisely." Peck rose, indicating the two attending phantoms with a wide sweep of his arms. "Look at my two servants, Mr. Venkman."
Straightening his black shirt across his shoulders, Peter obliged. "Well, they're never gonna get green cards dressed like that, but otherwise...."
"Two!" The blond dropped his cigarette, grinding it out with an angry stamp of his foot. "Two servants. No more than one year ago I could have summoned an army!" Pale cheeks purple with rage, and teeth clamping together, it was several minutes before he could continue. Through it all, Ali watched impassively.
"It grows harder to open a dimensional portal by myself, and cut off from the other worlds upon which I draw, my own abilities are growing more limited even as we speak. I need my patron, Mr. Venkman." Peck settled himself on the upended crate again, in full control of himself once more. "I need Samhaine." He paused. "You are a business man; I could make this worth your while...." He broke off at Peter's incredulous glare. "No, perhaps not. Very well, we'll do this the hard way."
Peter gulped. "The hard way?"
Ali leaned over Peter's shoulder, his breath hot and stale. "My way."
"Oh." Peter gave vent to a heartfelt sigh. "I just knew it was going to be one of those days."
***