"At a rough estimate," Peck observed drolly, "I'd say he's got about
fifteen minutes before he bleeds to death. Of course, I'm no expert."
Peter let out a surprised yelp, only now becoming aware of the warm, sticky fluid dribbling down his back where Ray was clutching him. He pulled back out of Stantz' grip, not entirely relinquishing his own hold around the other man's shoulders. "The lady in red is right," he quipped with as much spirit as he could muster under the circumstances. "We've got to stop that bleeding." Ray said nothing, merely tangled his fingers into the thin cotton of Peter's t-shirt and held on, ignoring the blood which was even now forming a pool around his knees. Venkman patted him absently then began to scan the room, alert for anything which would serve as a bandage. He was just reaching for his own shirt when Peck proffered a small towel from the stand.
"Use this," the blond suggested, pinching his nostrils between thumb and forefinger. "It's cleaner."
Peter scowled but accepted the length of cloth without comment. He wrapped it once around Ray's mangled wrist, tying it as tightly as he could. It soaked through quickly, dying the white terry crimson. "I'm going to have to tie a tourniquet around your arm," Peter said, watching the spreading stain with dismay. "You sure did a number on yourself, pal." He tugged up his t-shirt intending to pull it off; Ray's grip tightened, giving him pause. "Ray." the psychologist spoke gently, as though to a child; he pried at the other's fingers, attempting to dislodge their grip. "You've got to let go."
Still Stantz said nothing, but he permitted Venkman to pull the shirt free. Ray's eyes were wide and panicked and never once left the psychologist's taut face.
Peter pulled off his shirt, swaying when the action caused the room to spin suddenly. Blood rushed in his ears; shock, he realized in surprise, and only a sudden hand on his arm provided focus until the room settled into its normal, immobile configurations. "Moved too fast," he apologized with a wan smile.
Peter busied himself tying the second cloth higher than the first, pulling it tight and then knotting it with a flourish. "I'm afraid this is going to have to do for now," he said, checking the bandage again. "You're going to need a couple of stitches on that sucker." At least, he added silently, sickened by the memory of the bare bone and torn flesh. Task done, the psychologist wavered again, slumping suddenly as his own strength evaporated in a rush. That drew a response from Stantz.
"Peter? Please.... Are you all right?"
Venkman drew a deep breath, expelling it slowly and with great care as several nasty bruises on his ribcage protested. "I think you should ask old Walt that question," he said sourly. "What about it, Walt? Am I all right?"
Peck smiled and straightened from his casual slump. He'd watched every movement the two Ghostbusters had made with great interest, missing none of the subtle by-play of their easy friendship. "Yes, Ali," he murmured, "a very good choice." To Peter, he said, "To answer your question, you'll be fine provided you agree to do exactly as I ask."
"Release Samhaine," Ray breathed, staring at the fair man again. "I... do know you, don't I?"
"Oh, you know me." Peck rose and stood surveying the pale, dirty, exhausted pair huddled together at his feet. "You know me quite well, Raymond. I've been more than patient..."
"Far more," Ali interjected with a sniff.
"...but my patience is now gone. You will agree to my terms now or one of you dies. Dr. Spengler may be far more tractable when he sees the dead body of one of his best friends." He considered the two thoughtfully, looking from Ray to Peter and back again, stroking his short beard all the while. "I think it will be you who dies first, Mr. Venkman," he decided, light eyes glittering. "After all, it was you who provided me the most humiliation four years ago when I was with the EPA."
"You!" Ray gaped, thunderstruck. "It was you when Gozer .... You're ... uh...."
"It may be easier to remember what your character in the movie called me," the blond supplied bitingly. Ray flushed and Peck went on, "Now there's an interesting concept, Ali. Something for us to remember later."
"Yeah," Ali grinned. "But not too much later."
Peter raised his chin. His face was very pale but his green eyes flashed defiance. "You might as well get this over with, Pecker," he taunted, supporting himself against Ray's shoulder. "There's no way we're going to release Samhaine on a bunch of innocent people. He's going to stay in containment until he rots." He paused. "Or until you do."
Peck's smile faded entirely. "I wonder how long it's going to take you to rot, Mr. Venkman, after I've granted you permanent residence in hell." He pulled out the small vial, unstopping it with grim finality. "If your friend is a very good boy," he purred, good humor restored, "I might let him kill you later."
Peter shuddered involuntarily but made to rise, unprepared to die on his knees. A skeletal hand gripped him from behind, forcing a gasp as the bony fingers bit deep. "We'll meet again someday," Peter gritted between clenched teeth, "and when we do...."
"I'll do it."
That soft, toneless phrase was barely audible, but it was enough to bring everyone in the room to a sudden halt.
"What did you say?" Peck asked, thrown momentarily off stride.
Ray swallowed twice before he could repeat the words which had cost him so dearly. "I-I said I'll do it," he stammered, little louder than before. He refused to look at either Venkman or Peck; rather he favored the stone floor with a far away gaze. "I'll do anything you ask," he went on, weary and defeated. "Please don't hurt Peter."
"No, Ray," Venkman began. His guard's fingers squeezed again, this time around his throat, choking him off.
Peck rested his elbows on his knees, bending at the waist to peer into the younger man's face. "Do you know what you're saying, Raymond?" he asked, his use of Stantz' name almost a caress. "Are you agreeing to release Samhaine from your containment unit for me?"
Ray nodded dispiritedly. "For Peter." He glanced timidly in Venkman's direction. "You're hurting, Peter," he pointed out without hope.
"Oh, dear, we can't have that, can we?" Peck snapped his fingers, and the guard let the dark haired man drop; he lay where he fell, massaging his throat and gasping for breath for several minutes.
Ray made to crawl to Peter's side, but Ali snagged him by the scruff of the neck, dragging him back. "You're talking business, ain't you, kid?" the big negro asked, depositing him at Peck's feet. "Business before pleasure, you know."
"How I love originality," Peter croaked, still panting to supplement his depleted oxygen supply.
"Yes, business." Peck leaned back comfortably again. "What I need from you, Raymond, is your word promising to release Samhaine from containment. Do I have it?"
Ray bowed his head and nodded, the very picture of defeat.
"I can't hear you," Ali crooned smoothly.
"Yes." Ray nodded again, never raising his eyes to either Peck or Venkman, who had rolled onto one elbow and was regarding him with a mixture of affection, pity, and horror.
"Ray," Peter called softly. "You can't...."
"Quiet." Ali gave the psychologist a kick, sending him flat again. "We're talking business here."
Peck thoughtfully stroked his beard with one finger. "Not that I don't trust you, Dr. Stantz, but I'd feel so much more comfortable if we could seal the contract, so to speak. How about -- say -- a handshake?" Stantz nodded again and proffered his left hand, trembling badly all the while. His captor chuckled. "Left hand? My dear boy, a deal isn't legal unless one shakes on it with the right hand."
"You scum," Peter growled, and if looks could kill Peck would have died instantly on emerald daggers.
The blond ignored him. "I could kill him now," he murmured softly.
"No!" Ray raised his eyes, focusing on his tormentor's scarlet robed chest. He shuddered, but raised his damaged right hand without hesitation.
"Very good, Raymond," Peck approved, swallowing the hand with his own. Stantz screamed, a choked, breathless cry that imperfectly cloaked the sharp sizzling sound originating from their joined hands. "A little trick I learned from my grandmother," the blond commented as an aside.
Had he expected an articulate reply, he was doomed to be disappointed. Stantz uttered a soft moan and fell, unconscious before he hit the ground. Peck released the limp hand, dropping it carelessly. "The contract is sealed," he intoned formally. "I must say that was far easier than I'd anticipated."
"Not over yet," the big negro suggested hopefully.
"No, of course not." Walter Peck rose easily, stepping over Ray with a swirl of his robes. He moved aside to allow Peter, too weak to stand, to crawl past. "With the bargain firm, we no longer need either Venkman or Spengler. And once Stantz unlocks the containment system...." He opened his arms wide. "A clean sweep, Ali."
Quite oblivious to his captor's discussion of his own death, Peter continued his long crawl to Ray's side. No more than a dozen feet, the journey lasted an eternity, but make it he did at last. Propping himself up shakily, he turned the man over, having to blink several times to see past the tears which overspilled his lids. "Not for me, you young fool," he whispered, lifting the auburn head into his lap. "You shouldn't have done it for me. Not for me." Bowing his head over his friend's chest, Peter Venkman gave way to the emotions he could no longer control and wept.
***
Winston stood on tip-toe, carefully examining each block making up the cement wall for signs of looseness or cracks. The entrance to the underground chamber was here, of that he was certain, and Slimer had confirmed the fact by reporting on an intricate assembly of pulleys just beyond. He finished checking the last block -- nothing. No sign of the mechanism by which the room's creators entered and left, nor had there been any word from Slimer in the past ten minutes.
"Looks like I lose the advantage of surprise," he decided with regret. He unslung his particle thrower and powered it up, choosing the rod's highest setting. The comforting hum of raw power rang out, bolstering his confidence immeasurably. "If I get out of this alive, I am definitely going to start carrying a piece again. Still, a man can fry as easily as he can bleed...." Face grim and mind hardened into old familiar patterns of combat, Winston took aim at the five-foot section of wall and touched the button.
"Winnn-stonnn!" The low, reedy call stopped him not a second from firing. With a soft splat of dripping pseudo-substance, Slimer oozed through the wall at the exact point the Ghostbuster would have blasted into nonexistence. "Button!" the little entity chortled, flitting about the room. "Switch!"
A deep breath only fueled a metabolism geared into high in preparation for whatever threat he must face on the other side of that stone barrier. "Go for it, m'man," he ordered, and the little creature vanished. Winston waited and was mildly surprised when a sliver of light appeared two feet to the left of his intended target area. "Would have given myself away for nothing," he breathed, relieved at the close call. He felt along the revealing light until he could work his fingers into the thin crack which bisected two sections of wall. He pulled until the crack became a door wide enough for him to slip through.
"Recently oiled," he noted, acknowledging the door's silent operation. "And I doubt those light bulbs have been burning for long." He poked his head cautiously through the new aperture, carefully examining the area beyond for signs of life. To his left, a short corridor stretched, rising up three steps before disappearing around a bend. From that direction could be heard the low murmur of voices, muffled and indistinct. To his right, not a dozen feet away, stood a barred door through which poked a long, bony arm that Zeddemore recognized immediately. "Egon?" He reached the door in two bounds, badly startling the lightly clothed man within.
"Who...?" The other Ghostbuster gave a violent start, losing his balance and landing with a thud square on his butt. His arm still dangled forlornly through the bars. "Win--!"
"Sssh!" Zeddemore hurriedly shushed him. "I hear voices from down that way." He paused, examining the tall blond while a slow, wide grin spread itself across his features. "I can't leave you boys alone for a minute, can I? You know you look like you've been dragged down a New York alley?"
Egon returned the grin, hope melting the arctic ice in his eyes. "I've had kind of a bad day," he returned drolly. "Thank heavens you're here, Winston."
"Now there's an expression I don't hear from you very often, Dr. Agnostic." Winston examined the simple if eminently adequate locking mechanism with a jaundiced eye. "You have any idea where the key is? If I have to blast this sucker open, we'll have the bad guys on us in a minute."
Egon considered. "Ali took the keys with him. I was trying to pick the lock...."
"Were you?" Winston asked interestedly. "With what?"
The old bent nail was sheepishly displayed. "I'm afraid I don't have much talent as a lockpick."
"No problem, homebrew." Casting a nervous glance over his shoulder, Winston accepted the nail and set to work, ignoring Spengler's skeptical look. Sixty seconds later, there was a loud click and the cell door swung open. "Wages of a misspent youth," he said with a wink. "Peter and Ray?"
"That way." Spengler stepped out of the cell and removed one of the ghost traps from Winston's pack, hefting it dangerously in expert hands.
"Disposition of the enemy?"
"At least four." Satisfied with its operational status, the physicist positioned the trap in his right hand, the activator in his left, ready for a quick toss. "There was a large black man named Ali and two ... creatures."
Winston cocked an eyebrow. "Creatures?"
"I'm not sure precisely what they were," the blond admitted with a frown. "I think they were from Goizim's dimension. Suffice it to say they're not from our world and are very strong."
"Check." The black man started off down the corridor, particle thrower humming in his hands. "And the fourth?"
Egon followed a pace behind, knowing better than to get in the way of that deadly fire. "Unknown. Ali referred to him as the Master."
"He'll be the master of something," Winston promised coldly.
As silent as the ghosts they stalked, the two made their way down the abbreviated tunnel, stopping just inside the entrance to the main chamber. Horror froze their steps there at the drama which awaited them within.
Most immediately noticeable was the tall, fair man which dominated the center of the room. The rich scarlet robes draped gracefully from his shoulders and the aura he projected was that of extreme confidence. At his side and no less striking, stood a black garbed giant flanked by two specimens of the Ghostbusters' stock in trade, their own robes gently lifting and falling on some unspeakable tide. On the ground and slightly to the fore were the two missing members of the team. Peter sat sprawled, holding Ray's limp form in his arms; his face was streaked with dirt and the tears which still flowed.
Even from across the room, Winston and Egon could recognized the signs of shock on their youngest partner; Ray's face was ashen and his head lolled brokenly against Peter's bare chest. At first glance he might be taken as one more fatality victim; it was only after a second -- or even a third -- look that the shallow breathing could be seen.
The four robed beings turned in unison at the soft gasp Egon was unable to contain at the sight. Soundlessly and without command, the two denizens of the nether-realms began to move forward, quite oblivious to Slimer's sticky attack.
"Now, Winston!"" Egon shouted, heaving the ghost trap directly into the path of one phantom and pressing the activator. Uneducated as to the danger inherent in that small metal box, the creature took that one fatal last step, disappearing into the trap's maw with a whoosh.
The second entity fared no better against Winston. Bony fingers curled into talons, it made no more than two steps before the black Ghostbuster opened fire. A twisting beam of ionized particles struck the inhuman being dead center, disrupting its molecular cohesion. The phantom vanished, reduced to a drifting cloud of charged particles already beginning to disperse.
There was no time to celebrate this victory, however, for neither Peck nor Ali were prepared to surrender. Ali moved first, turning and swooping up the serrated commando knife in a single, flowing motion. There was experience in the man's fleshy hands and confidence in his face. "Not gonna shoot me, are you, college boy?" he taunted, seeking to unnerve the other before the first blow was struck. "Wouldn't be fair would it?" He slashed the knife back and forth in a practiced pattern.
Winston hesitated only briefly, long enough to glance from Egon to Peter to Ray, and his face was grim and set. Ali lunged and Winston opened up, catching the larger man in a blinding coruscation of light. Ali danced, impaled on merciless fire; then collapsed with a single gurgling moan when Winston cut the stream and the sickening stench of charred flesh filled the vicinity. "I didn't go to college," Zeddemore solemnly informed the still smoking corpse. "I went to Viet Nam."
For his part, Peck had been no less efficient than his colleague. With the speed of an old fashioned gunfighter, he reached into his robes and withdrew that same vial he'd used on Peter and Ray earlier. He stepped forward, setting up a throw which would have spattered Egon with its deadly contents. Unfortunately -- for him -- he failed to consider the crouched form of Peter Venkman at his feet, or the fact that Peter was still conscious.
Upon becoming slowly aware of his friends' sudden appearance, Peter had prepared himself to act. He ever so carefully lay the unconscious Stantz down, giving the auburn head a gentle pat. The he pulled his legs under him, lithe muscles tensed and ready for any opportunity to act; by the time Peck had Egon targeted, Peter was already in motion, wrapping one arm around his enemy's ankles to bring the man crashing to the ground. The small vial flew free, shattering against the far wall and littering the floor with glass and reddish dust. Neither Venkman nor Peck took heed of the vial's fate; both now found themselves in a fight for survival, each one intent on claiming the other's very life.
The two grappled several seconds, rolling over and over in the dirt. Bigger and in understandably better physical condition, Peck soon claimed the upper hand, wrestling the exhausted Peter beneath him. He drew back his fist; the punch, had it landed, would surely have broken the psychologist's jaw. Fate, however, decreed otherwise.
Struggling furiously to avoid that telling blow, Peter bucked his hips, throwing his opponent momentarily off balance and allowing the psychologist to wiggle free of the restraint. Following up on his advantage, Peter lashed out, delivering that same, devastating right that had floored Winston only days before. Uttering a loud grunt, Walter Peck went down and stayed down.
For Peter, blinded by hatred, the fight was far from over. He straddled the bleary man, one knee pinning each arm, leaving him free to wrap his fingers around Peck's neck. "You're going to die," he gritted, lips pulled back in a feral snarl. "Now." The bearded man beat uselessly at Peter's face and body, striking out with blows which grew progressively weaker as the small reserve of oxygen to his brain diminished with each passing second. Invincible in his rage, Peter held on until Peck's tongue protruded grotesquely between his bluing lips and still the psychologist continued to squeeze, his only goal being death.
The entire skirmish had occupied the space of less than a minute, long enough for Egon to press two fingers against Ray's white throat and heave one long sigh of relief. "Alive," he muttered softly. "Barely." He next turned his attention to the two figures locked together on the floor, and it was with some alarm that he recognized Peck's rattling gurgle as a death knell. Egon flung his arms around the psychologist, hauling at him with all his might. "Let him go, Peter!"
Venkman, however, was a man possessed, powered by his own particular spirit of revenge. With a strength which could not be denied, he brushed the older man aside as one might a gnat, returning instantly to the subject of homicide with single minded intensity. "Winston, help me!" Spengler shouted, throwing himself back into the fray. He grabbed Peter's fingers one by one, attempting to pry them from the folds of flesh into which they'd sunk.
Off to the side, Winston stood, regarding the situation with an indecisive frown. "Man needs to die," he grumbled, eyes involuntarily turning to the blood that had pooled around Ray's crude bandage. He flicked his eyes again, dismissing Peck and looking instead at Peter Venkman. Twisted by a soul searing fury, the younger man was practically unrecognizable, and there was murder in the slitted green eyes. "Oh, blast." With another muttered curse, Zeddemore racked his thrower and approached the battling trio just as the psychologist threw Egon off for the third time. Winston stooped, fitting an arm around Peter's chest and lifting him bodily up and away from the now unconscious Peck. "Enough, Pete!"
Though held securely above the ground and unable to gain leverage, Venkman continued to struggle, fury nearly giving him the strength to free himself from Winston's far more powerful grip. "I WANT HIM DEAD!" he screamed, kicking out.
Egon picked himself off the floor and boldly took up a stance not six inches from the furious psychologist. He reached out, taking Peter's shoulders in both hands and giving them a shake. "Snap out of it, Peter," he ordered in a deep, firm voice. "It's over!"
That penetrated the first layers of Peter's madness, but the first layers only. "He needs to die!" he shouted, recognizing Egon for the first time. "I want him dead!"
"Yeah, but it ain't gonna be you that does him," Winston growled from behind.
"Peter." Venkman faltered ever so briefly. Seeing this, Egon hurried on, "Peter, it's over."
"Never over," Venkman sobbed, slumping in Winston's grip. "Never." After a moment, the black man set him on his feet though not removing his arm. By now it was far more useful as support than restraint. "Did you see what he did to Ray? Look at him!" Peter turned toward his fallen colleague, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. "Or ... what he did to me?"
Egon gentled his hold on Peter's shoulders. "We have to get Ray to a hospital," he pointed out more calmly now that he had the other's attention. "Come on, help us."
Venkman swiped his arm across his eyes, his nod a short jerk of the head. "But Peck and Ali...."
"Already handled," Winston assured him. Peter started to step away but the black Ghostbuster took his upper arms in a tight grip, turning him forcibly so that the younger man was made to face him. "Peter, there's one other thing: from now until we're clear a'here, I want you to keep your eyes on Egon, Ray or me only. Hear me?"
Peter shook his head, puzzled. "Why?"
Eyes the color of midnight caught and held the green, compelling obedience. "I had to kill one of them."
"Ali?" Peter's eyes left his friend's face, automatically seeking proof of that fact, but Winston's fingers tightened painfully on his arms, and the shake the black man gave him was not gentle.
"Don't look, Peter," Zeddemore asked in a voice that was half command, half plea. "For both our sakes, don't look."
Taut shoulders slumped as Venkman abandoned his attempt to seek Ali's dead body even though the desire for vengeance still shone in his eyes. "I promise," he vowed formally and, after another searching look, Winston released him. Peter sighed deeply and made his way to Ray's side, sparing Peck not even a glance. Adrenalin has a way of wearing off without warning and so it was with Peter; his energy evaporated in a rush and he slumped to his knees beside his friend's still form. He barely acknowledged Egon's supporting arm slide around his own shoulders. "Is he dead?" he asked dully, taking Ray's still, white hand in his own.
Winston knelt facing him across Stantz' body and pressed two fingers along the carotid. He next lay a calloused palm on Ray's forehead and gently brushed back some of the auburn hair spilled across his brow. "I've got a pulse," he announced. "Skin's cold, though; shock. Bad."
"An ambulance can...." Egon began. Peter cut him off with a curse.
"He's not staying here," Venkman stated in a hard voice. "If he's going to die, it won't be with ... them." He jerked his head, managing to indicate their downed foes and keep his promise to Winston all at once. Face carved in stone, he fitted his arm under Ray's head, prepared to physically carry out his decision.
"You crazy?" Winston stopped him with a light slap. "You can't even carry yourself, you idiot." He studied Peter's implacable expression, the set lines of his face softening into a smile. "I'll take him out, little brother. We'll get to a hospital a lot faster in old Ecto anyway."
Peter gave way, satisfied, and allowed Spengler to help him up. He swayed and only Egon's grip kept him on his feet at all. "Easy does it," Egon admonished, pulling Peter's arm over his shoulders while slipping his own around his friend's waist. "If you pass out, Winston's going to have his hands full carrying you both."
For his part, Winston rose into a half crouch, slipping one arm under Ray's shoulders, the other under his knees. Powerful muscles accepted the strain easily as he rose, bearing Ray with him as though a child. He paused to allow Peter to reposition the broken hand more securely across Ray's chest, then to settle the auburn head into the hollow of Winston's neck. Stantz lay quiet and unresponsive through it all. Treading carefully, Winston took the lead, guiding his friends from the dim cave, through the cellar, and finally emerging into the bright, clear air of freedom.
When the police arrived twenty minutes later, the cave and all it contained had vanished without a trace.
***
Peter let out a surprised yelp, only now becoming aware of the warm, sticky fluid dribbling down his back where Ray was clutching him. He pulled back out of Stantz' grip, not entirely relinquishing his own hold around the other man's shoulders. "The lady in red is right," he quipped with as much spirit as he could muster under the circumstances. "We've got to stop that bleeding." Ray said nothing, merely tangled his fingers into the thin cotton of Peter's t-shirt and held on, ignoring the blood which was even now forming a pool around his knees. Venkman patted him absently then began to scan the room, alert for anything which would serve as a bandage. He was just reaching for his own shirt when Peck proffered a small towel from the stand.
"Use this," the blond suggested, pinching his nostrils between thumb and forefinger. "It's cleaner."
Peter scowled but accepted the length of cloth without comment. He wrapped it once around Ray's mangled wrist, tying it as tightly as he could. It soaked through quickly, dying the white terry crimson. "I'm going to have to tie a tourniquet around your arm," Peter said, watching the spreading stain with dismay. "You sure did a number on yourself, pal." He tugged up his t-shirt intending to pull it off; Ray's grip tightened, giving him pause. "Ray." the psychologist spoke gently, as though to a child; he pried at the other's fingers, attempting to dislodge their grip. "You've got to let go."
Still Stantz said nothing, but he permitted Venkman to pull the shirt free. Ray's eyes were wide and panicked and never once left the psychologist's taut face.
Peter pulled off his shirt, swaying when the action caused the room to spin suddenly. Blood rushed in his ears; shock, he realized in surprise, and only a sudden hand on his arm provided focus until the room settled into its normal, immobile configurations. "Moved too fast," he apologized with a wan smile.
Peter busied himself tying the second cloth higher than the first, pulling it tight and then knotting it with a flourish. "I'm afraid this is going to have to do for now," he said, checking the bandage again. "You're going to need a couple of stitches on that sucker." At least, he added silently, sickened by the memory of the bare bone and torn flesh. Task done, the psychologist wavered again, slumping suddenly as his own strength evaporated in a rush. That drew a response from Stantz.
"Peter? Please.... Are you all right?"
Venkman drew a deep breath, expelling it slowly and with great care as several nasty bruises on his ribcage protested. "I think you should ask old Walt that question," he said sourly. "What about it, Walt? Am I all right?"
Peck smiled and straightened from his casual slump. He'd watched every movement the two Ghostbusters had made with great interest, missing none of the subtle by-play of their easy friendship. "Yes, Ali," he murmured, "a very good choice." To Peter, he said, "To answer your question, you'll be fine provided you agree to do exactly as I ask."
"Release Samhaine," Ray breathed, staring at the fair man again. "I... do know you, don't I?"
"Oh, you know me." Peck rose and stood surveying the pale, dirty, exhausted pair huddled together at his feet. "You know me quite well, Raymond. I've been more than patient..."
"Far more," Ali interjected with a sniff.
"...but my patience is now gone. You will agree to my terms now or one of you dies. Dr. Spengler may be far more tractable when he sees the dead body of one of his best friends." He considered the two thoughtfully, looking from Ray to Peter and back again, stroking his short beard all the while. "I think it will be you who dies first, Mr. Venkman," he decided, light eyes glittering. "After all, it was you who provided me the most humiliation four years ago when I was with the EPA."
"You!" Ray gaped, thunderstruck. "It was you when Gozer .... You're ... uh...."
"It may be easier to remember what your character in the movie called me," the blond supplied bitingly. Ray flushed and Peck went on, "Now there's an interesting concept, Ali. Something for us to remember later."
"Yeah," Ali grinned. "But not too much later."
Peter raised his chin. His face was very pale but his green eyes flashed defiance. "You might as well get this over with, Pecker," he taunted, supporting himself against Ray's shoulder. "There's no way we're going to release Samhaine on a bunch of innocent people. He's going to stay in containment until he rots." He paused. "Or until you do."
Peck's smile faded entirely. "I wonder how long it's going to take you to rot, Mr. Venkman, after I've granted you permanent residence in hell." He pulled out the small vial, unstopping it with grim finality. "If your friend is a very good boy," he purred, good humor restored, "I might let him kill you later."
Peter shuddered involuntarily but made to rise, unprepared to die on his knees. A skeletal hand gripped him from behind, forcing a gasp as the bony fingers bit deep. "We'll meet again someday," Peter gritted between clenched teeth, "and when we do...."
"I'll do it."
That soft, toneless phrase was barely audible, but it was enough to bring everyone in the room to a sudden halt.
"What did you say?" Peck asked, thrown momentarily off stride.
Ray swallowed twice before he could repeat the words which had cost him so dearly. "I-I said I'll do it," he stammered, little louder than before. He refused to look at either Venkman or Peck; rather he favored the stone floor with a far away gaze. "I'll do anything you ask," he went on, weary and defeated. "Please don't hurt Peter."
"No, Ray," Venkman began. His guard's fingers squeezed again, this time around his throat, choking him off.
Peck rested his elbows on his knees, bending at the waist to peer into the younger man's face. "Do you know what you're saying, Raymond?" he asked, his use of Stantz' name almost a caress. "Are you agreeing to release Samhaine from your containment unit for me?"
Ray nodded dispiritedly. "For Peter." He glanced timidly in Venkman's direction. "You're hurting, Peter," he pointed out without hope.
"Oh, dear, we can't have that, can we?" Peck snapped his fingers, and the guard let the dark haired man drop; he lay where he fell, massaging his throat and gasping for breath for several minutes.
Ray made to crawl to Peter's side, but Ali snagged him by the scruff of the neck, dragging him back. "You're talking business, ain't you, kid?" the big negro asked, depositing him at Peck's feet. "Business before pleasure, you know."
"How I love originality," Peter croaked, still panting to supplement his depleted oxygen supply.
"Yes, business." Peck leaned back comfortably again. "What I need from you, Raymond, is your word promising to release Samhaine from containment. Do I have it?"
Ray bowed his head and nodded, the very picture of defeat.
"I can't hear you," Ali crooned smoothly.
"Yes." Ray nodded again, never raising his eyes to either Peck or Venkman, who had rolled onto one elbow and was regarding him with a mixture of affection, pity, and horror.
"Ray," Peter called softly. "You can't...."
"Quiet." Ali gave the psychologist a kick, sending him flat again. "We're talking business here."
Peck thoughtfully stroked his beard with one finger. "Not that I don't trust you, Dr. Stantz, but I'd feel so much more comfortable if we could seal the contract, so to speak. How about -- say -- a handshake?" Stantz nodded again and proffered his left hand, trembling badly all the while. His captor chuckled. "Left hand? My dear boy, a deal isn't legal unless one shakes on it with the right hand."
"You scum," Peter growled, and if looks could kill Peck would have died instantly on emerald daggers.
The blond ignored him. "I could kill him now," he murmured softly.
"No!" Ray raised his eyes, focusing on his tormentor's scarlet robed chest. He shuddered, but raised his damaged right hand without hesitation.
"Very good, Raymond," Peck approved, swallowing the hand with his own. Stantz screamed, a choked, breathless cry that imperfectly cloaked the sharp sizzling sound originating from their joined hands. "A little trick I learned from my grandmother," the blond commented as an aside.
Had he expected an articulate reply, he was doomed to be disappointed. Stantz uttered a soft moan and fell, unconscious before he hit the ground. Peck released the limp hand, dropping it carelessly. "The contract is sealed," he intoned formally. "I must say that was far easier than I'd anticipated."
"Not over yet," the big negro suggested hopefully.
"No, of course not." Walter Peck rose easily, stepping over Ray with a swirl of his robes. He moved aside to allow Peter, too weak to stand, to crawl past. "With the bargain firm, we no longer need either Venkman or Spengler. And once Stantz unlocks the containment system...." He opened his arms wide. "A clean sweep, Ali."
Quite oblivious to his captor's discussion of his own death, Peter continued his long crawl to Ray's side. No more than a dozen feet, the journey lasted an eternity, but make it he did at last. Propping himself up shakily, he turned the man over, having to blink several times to see past the tears which overspilled his lids. "Not for me, you young fool," he whispered, lifting the auburn head into his lap. "You shouldn't have done it for me. Not for me." Bowing his head over his friend's chest, Peter Venkman gave way to the emotions he could no longer control and wept.
***
Winston stood on tip-toe, carefully examining each block making up the cement wall for signs of looseness or cracks. The entrance to the underground chamber was here, of that he was certain, and Slimer had confirmed the fact by reporting on an intricate assembly of pulleys just beyond. He finished checking the last block -- nothing. No sign of the mechanism by which the room's creators entered and left, nor had there been any word from Slimer in the past ten minutes.
"Looks like I lose the advantage of surprise," he decided with regret. He unslung his particle thrower and powered it up, choosing the rod's highest setting. The comforting hum of raw power rang out, bolstering his confidence immeasurably. "If I get out of this alive, I am definitely going to start carrying a piece again. Still, a man can fry as easily as he can bleed...." Face grim and mind hardened into old familiar patterns of combat, Winston took aim at the five-foot section of wall and touched the button.
"Winnn-stonnn!" The low, reedy call stopped him not a second from firing. With a soft splat of dripping pseudo-substance, Slimer oozed through the wall at the exact point the Ghostbuster would have blasted into nonexistence. "Button!" the little entity chortled, flitting about the room. "Switch!"
A deep breath only fueled a metabolism geared into high in preparation for whatever threat he must face on the other side of that stone barrier. "Go for it, m'man," he ordered, and the little creature vanished. Winston waited and was mildly surprised when a sliver of light appeared two feet to the left of his intended target area. "Would have given myself away for nothing," he breathed, relieved at the close call. He felt along the revealing light until he could work his fingers into the thin crack which bisected two sections of wall. He pulled until the crack became a door wide enough for him to slip through.
"Recently oiled," he noted, acknowledging the door's silent operation. "And I doubt those light bulbs have been burning for long." He poked his head cautiously through the new aperture, carefully examining the area beyond for signs of life. To his left, a short corridor stretched, rising up three steps before disappearing around a bend. From that direction could be heard the low murmur of voices, muffled and indistinct. To his right, not a dozen feet away, stood a barred door through which poked a long, bony arm that Zeddemore recognized immediately. "Egon?" He reached the door in two bounds, badly startling the lightly clothed man within.
"Who...?" The other Ghostbuster gave a violent start, losing his balance and landing with a thud square on his butt. His arm still dangled forlornly through the bars. "Win--!"
"Sssh!" Zeddemore hurriedly shushed him. "I hear voices from down that way." He paused, examining the tall blond while a slow, wide grin spread itself across his features. "I can't leave you boys alone for a minute, can I? You know you look like you've been dragged down a New York alley?"
Egon returned the grin, hope melting the arctic ice in his eyes. "I've had kind of a bad day," he returned drolly. "Thank heavens you're here, Winston."
"Now there's an expression I don't hear from you very often, Dr. Agnostic." Winston examined the simple if eminently adequate locking mechanism with a jaundiced eye. "You have any idea where the key is? If I have to blast this sucker open, we'll have the bad guys on us in a minute."
Egon considered. "Ali took the keys with him. I was trying to pick the lock...."
"Were you?" Winston asked interestedly. "With what?"
The old bent nail was sheepishly displayed. "I'm afraid I don't have much talent as a lockpick."
"No problem, homebrew." Casting a nervous glance over his shoulder, Winston accepted the nail and set to work, ignoring Spengler's skeptical look. Sixty seconds later, there was a loud click and the cell door swung open. "Wages of a misspent youth," he said with a wink. "Peter and Ray?"
"That way." Spengler stepped out of the cell and removed one of the ghost traps from Winston's pack, hefting it dangerously in expert hands.
"Disposition of the enemy?"
"At least four." Satisfied with its operational status, the physicist positioned the trap in his right hand, the activator in his left, ready for a quick toss. "There was a large black man named Ali and two ... creatures."
Winston cocked an eyebrow. "Creatures?"
"I'm not sure precisely what they were," the blond admitted with a frown. "I think they were from Goizim's dimension. Suffice it to say they're not from our world and are very strong."
"Check." The black man started off down the corridor, particle thrower humming in his hands. "And the fourth?"
Egon followed a pace behind, knowing better than to get in the way of that deadly fire. "Unknown. Ali referred to him as the Master."
"He'll be the master of something," Winston promised coldly.
As silent as the ghosts they stalked, the two made their way down the abbreviated tunnel, stopping just inside the entrance to the main chamber. Horror froze their steps there at the drama which awaited them within.
Most immediately noticeable was the tall, fair man which dominated the center of the room. The rich scarlet robes draped gracefully from his shoulders and the aura he projected was that of extreme confidence. At his side and no less striking, stood a black garbed giant flanked by two specimens of the Ghostbusters' stock in trade, their own robes gently lifting and falling on some unspeakable tide. On the ground and slightly to the fore were the two missing members of the team. Peter sat sprawled, holding Ray's limp form in his arms; his face was streaked with dirt and the tears which still flowed.
Even from across the room, Winston and Egon could recognized the signs of shock on their youngest partner; Ray's face was ashen and his head lolled brokenly against Peter's bare chest. At first glance he might be taken as one more fatality victim; it was only after a second -- or even a third -- look that the shallow breathing could be seen.
The four robed beings turned in unison at the soft gasp Egon was unable to contain at the sight. Soundlessly and without command, the two denizens of the nether-realms began to move forward, quite oblivious to Slimer's sticky attack.
"Now, Winston!"" Egon shouted, heaving the ghost trap directly into the path of one phantom and pressing the activator. Uneducated as to the danger inherent in that small metal box, the creature took that one fatal last step, disappearing into the trap's maw with a whoosh.
The second entity fared no better against Winston. Bony fingers curled into talons, it made no more than two steps before the black Ghostbuster opened fire. A twisting beam of ionized particles struck the inhuman being dead center, disrupting its molecular cohesion. The phantom vanished, reduced to a drifting cloud of charged particles already beginning to disperse.
There was no time to celebrate this victory, however, for neither Peck nor Ali were prepared to surrender. Ali moved first, turning and swooping up the serrated commando knife in a single, flowing motion. There was experience in the man's fleshy hands and confidence in his face. "Not gonna shoot me, are you, college boy?" he taunted, seeking to unnerve the other before the first blow was struck. "Wouldn't be fair would it?" He slashed the knife back and forth in a practiced pattern.
Winston hesitated only briefly, long enough to glance from Egon to Peter to Ray, and his face was grim and set. Ali lunged and Winston opened up, catching the larger man in a blinding coruscation of light. Ali danced, impaled on merciless fire; then collapsed with a single gurgling moan when Winston cut the stream and the sickening stench of charred flesh filled the vicinity. "I didn't go to college," Zeddemore solemnly informed the still smoking corpse. "I went to Viet Nam."
For his part, Peck had been no less efficient than his colleague. With the speed of an old fashioned gunfighter, he reached into his robes and withdrew that same vial he'd used on Peter and Ray earlier. He stepped forward, setting up a throw which would have spattered Egon with its deadly contents. Unfortunately -- for him -- he failed to consider the crouched form of Peter Venkman at his feet, or the fact that Peter was still conscious.
Upon becoming slowly aware of his friends' sudden appearance, Peter had prepared himself to act. He ever so carefully lay the unconscious Stantz down, giving the auburn head a gentle pat. The he pulled his legs under him, lithe muscles tensed and ready for any opportunity to act; by the time Peck had Egon targeted, Peter was already in motion, wrapping one arm around his enemy's ankles to bring the man crashing to the ground. The small vial flew free, shattering against the far wall and littering the floor with glass and reddish dust. Neither Venkman nor Peck took heed of the vial's fate; both now found themselves in a fight for survival, each one intent on claiming the other's very life.
The two grappled several seconds, rolling over and over in the dirt. Bigger and in understandably better physical condition, Peck soon claimed the upper hand, wrestling the exhausted Peter beneath him. He drew back his fist; the punch, had it landed, would surely have broken the psychologist's jaw. Fate, however, decreed otherwise.
Struggling furiously to avoid that telling blow, Peter bucked his hips, throwing his opponent momentarily off balance and allowing the psychologist to wiggle free of the restraint. Following up on his advantage, Peter lashed out, delivering that same, devastating right that had floored Winston only days before. Uttering a loud grunt, Walter Peck went down and stayed down.
For Peter, blinded by hatred, the fight was far from over. He straddled the bleary man, one knee pinning each arm, leaving him free to wrap his fingers around Peck's neck. "You're going to die," he gritted, lips pulled back in a feral snarl. "Now." The bearded man beat uselessly at Peter's face and body, striking out with blows which grew progressively weaker as the small reserve of oxygen to his brain diminished with each passing second. Invincible in his rage, Peter held on until Peck's tongue protruded grotesquely between his bluing lips and still the psychologist continued to squeeze, his only goal being death.
The entire skirmish had occupied the space of less than a minute, long enough for Egon to press two fingers against Ray's white throat and heave one long sigh of relief. "Alive," he muttered softly. "Barely." He next turned his attention to the two figures locked together on the floor, and it was with some alarm that he recognized Peck's rattling gurgle as a death knell. Egon flung his arms around the psychologist, hauling at him with all his might. "Let him go, Peter!"
Venkman, however, was a man possessed, powered by his own particular spirit of revenge. With a strength which could not be denied, he brushed the older man aside as one might a gnat, returning instantly to the subject of homicide with single minded intensity. "Winston, help me!" Spengler shouted, throwing himself back into the fray. He grabbed Peter's fingers one by one, attempting to pry them from the folds of flesh into which they'd sunk.
Off to the side, Winston stood, regarding the situation with an indecisive frown. "Man needs to die," he grumbled, eyes involuntarily turning to the blood that had pooled around Ray's crude bandage. He flicked his eyes again, dismissing Peck and looking instead at Peter Venkman. Twisted by a soul searing fury, the younger man was practically unrecognizable, and there was murder in the slitted green eyes. "Oh, blast." With another muttered curse, Zeddemore racked his thrower and approached the battling trio just as the psychologist threw Egon off for the third time. Winston stooped, fitting an arm around Peter's chest and lifting him bodily up and away from the now unconscious Peck. "Enough, Pete!"
Though held securely above the ground and unable to gain leverage, Venkman continued to struggle, fury nearly giving him the strength to free himself from Winston's far more powerful grip. "I WANT HIM DEAD!" he screamed, kicking out.
Egon picked himself off the floor and boldly took up a stance not six inches from the furious psychologist. He reached out, taking Peter's shoulders in both hands and giving them a shake. "Snap out of it, Peter," he ordered in a deep, firm voice. "It's over!"
That penetrated the first layers of Peter's madness, but the first layers only. "He needs to die!" he shouted, recognizing Egon for the first time. "I want him dead!"
"Yeah, but it ain't gonna be you that does him," Winston growled from behind.
"Peter." Venkman faltered ever so briefly. Seeing this, Egon hurried on, "Peter, it's over."
"Never over," Venkman sobbed, slumping in Winston's grip. "Never." After a moment, the black man set him on his feet though not removing his arm. By now it was far more useful as support than restraint. "Did you see what he did to Ray? Look at him!" Peter turned toward his fallen colleague, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. "Or ... what he did to me?"
Egon gentled his hold on Peter's shoulders. "We have to get Ray to a hospital," he pointed out more calmly now that he had the other's attention. "Come on, help us."
Venkman swiped his arm across his eyes, his nod a short jerk of the head. "But Peck and Ali...."
"Already handled," Winston assured him. Peter started to step away but the black Ghostbuster took his upper arms in a tight grip, turning him forcibly so that the younger man was made to face him. "Peter, there's one other thing: from now until we're clear a'here, I want you to keep your eyes on Egon, Ray or me only. Hear me?"
Peter shook his head, puzzled. "Why?"
Eyes the color of midnight caught and held the green, compelling obedience. "I had to kill one of them."
"Ali?" Peter's eyes left his friend's face, automatically seeking proof of that fact, but Winston's fingers tightened painfully on his arms, and the shake the black man gave him was not gentle.
"Don't look, Peter," Zeddemore asked in a voice that was half command, half plea. "For both our sakes, don't look."
Taut shoulders slumped as Venkman abandoned his attempt to seek Ali's dead body even though the desire for vengeance still shone in his eyes. "I promise," he vowed formally and, after another searching look, Winston released him. Peter sighed deeply and made his way to Ray's side, sparing Peck not even a glance. Adrenalin has a way of wearing off without warning and so it was with Peter; his energy evaporated in a rush and he slumped to his knees beside his friend's still form. He barely acknowledged Egon's supporting arm slide around his own shoulders. "Is he dead?" he asked dully, taking Ray's still, white hand in his own.
Winston knelt facing him across Stantz' body and pressed two fingers along the carotid. He next lay a calloused palm on Ray's forehead and gently brushed back some of the auburn hair spilled across his brow. "I've got a pulse," he announced. "Skin's cold, though; shock. Bad."
"An ambulance can...." Egon began. Peter cut him off with a curse.
"He's not staying here," Venkman stated in a hard voice. "If he's going to die, it won't be with ... them." He jerked his head, managing to indicate their downed foes and keep his promise to Winston all at once. Face carved in stone, he fitted his arm under Ray's head, prepared to physically carry out his decision.
"You crazy?" Winston stopped him with a light slap. "You can't even carry yourself, you idiot." He studied Peter's implacable expression, the set lines of his face softening into a smile. "I'll take him out, little brother. We'll get to a hospital a lot faster in old Ecto anyway."
Peter gave way, satisfied, and allowed Spengler to help him up. He swayed and only Egon's grip kept him on his feet at all. "Easy does it," Egon admonished, pulling Peter's arm over his shoulders while slipping his own around his friend's waist. "If you pass out, Winston's going to have his hands full carrying you both."
For his part, Winston rose into a half crouch, slipping one arm under Ray's shoulders, the other under his knees. Powerful muscles accepted the strain easily as he rose, bearing Ray with him as though a child. He paused to allow Peter to reposition the broken hand more securely across Ray's chest, then to settle the auburn head into the hollow of Winston's neck. Stantz lay quiet and unresponsive through it all. Treading carefully, Winston took the lead, guiding his friends from the dim cave, through the cellar, and finally emerging into the bright, clear air of freedom.
When the police arrived twenty minutes later, the cave and all it contained had vanished without a trace.
***