He was dreaming. He didn't know how he knew, but that's the funny way dreams work. Sometimes the knowledge is just there, and it all makes perfect sense, at least while the dream lasts. Peter looked around at the parallel line of doors stretching into the distance. All night, he wandered through endless hallways, each turning showing still more corridors reaching out into infinity. And the doors, countless doors, in all shapes and sizes. Behind them were treasures, pleasures and secrets in endless variety. The only thing the doors had in common were their locks...they were all broken. Peter was completely free to go wherever he wanted, to take whatever he wished.


And, for some reason, it scared the crap out of him.


***


Winston looked up from breakfast preparations and peeked out the kitchen door as Ray came clattering from the third level and continued down the staircase to the first. No two ways about it. Ray was amazing if only for his energy levels which were matched only by young children and maybe the Energizer bunny. Winston and Janine had joined forces to wrangle the Ghostbusters' dynamic duo to bed a little after 1 a.m. Now it was 7 o'clock, and Ray was already tearing around the firehouse, determined to find some lead, any lead.


If only we could hook the packs up to him for recharging, he thought wryly as he deftly flipped pancakes on the skillet. Save us a fortune on power. Pete would be overjoyed.


He looked up again as footsteps at a much more sedate pace sounded on the spiral staircase to the third level. A moment later, a rather frowsy looking Janine entered and collapsed into a chair by the table. Winston smiled sympathetically and poured the secretary a cup of coffee.


"So the Wonder Twins are back at it already," he observed as he turned back to the stove and started transferring pancakes to a plate. He patiently waited for a response while Janine took her first few sips of coffee.


"I tell you, Winston. We've gotta invest in one of those tranq guns like Bethany was talking about last night," she said as her caffeine levels rose out of the red zone.


"It's tempting," he agreed, grinning. "Maybe too tempting. You'd probably have Pete stuck all over like a porcupine before the day was out."


Janine pasted an innocent look on her face and managed to hold it a full five seconds before she let a smirk through. "As if I'd want to give him any reason for extra naptime. Anyway, Egon's back in the lab working on that imager of his, and I'm sure you heard Ray charging around."


"Has Egon said anything else?"


"Nope," Janine said, said shaking her head. "The computer's crunching away, but no luck narrowing down the frequency of the bastard's dimension yet. And he still won't say what he wants all those journals for."


The dark-skinned man nodded grimly and handed Janine a plate piled with pancakes. "Well, eat up, girlfriend. We've gotta be at our best to ride herd on these lunatics."


"And I don't really recall that being in my job description."


"Sure it was. The fine print just after the `Act of Slime' clause."


Janine glared up at him. "You've been hanging around Dr. V too much, Winston. He's contaminating you." She paused to take a bite of breakfast. "But you can cook, so I'll forgive you."


Winston grinned and sat down to his own stack of hot cakes. As he ate, his ever-active mind, sharpened by countless mystery novels, ran through the evidence. Last night, Ray had given them the news that the attack on Peter had probably increased his psi-sensitivity. Then Egon came down from the lab and raided the psychologist's journals for everything he had on human psychic phenomena. When Winston had asked him what was up, the physicist had been evasive. Later, when Winston and Janine went to the lab with the intention of dragging the man to bed by physical force if necessary, they'd found him working feverishly on the broken visual image tracker with the journals strewn open across the workbench. Again, he'd refused to say exactly what he thought was going on; only that he had a theory and wanted to wait until Peter woke to discuss it.


And when Egon gets cagey, I get nervous, Winston concluded as he finished his breakfast.


"I've got it!"


Winston and Janine jumped at the sound. Ray came pounding up the stairs and dashed into the kitchen, his broad face lit up like a Christmas tree. He carried one of his old, dusty grimoires with him. "I think I've got it, Janine," he crowed quietly in triumph as he set the book on the kitchen table and opened it to an illustration. "Is this what you saw in the portal?"


Janine hurried around the table and peered down at the book. The old woodcut showed three figures, all reptilian. One was blocky with heavy limbs and a small, bony ridge rising from its head like a squat crown. The second was serpentine with small arms and no lower limbs at all. The third...


"That's it!" Janine said as she pointed to the willowy figure with the mane-like crest of hair. "That's what had Peter. Now what the hell is it?"


"It's a Gaurnim," Ray said, his voice lowering as he skimmed the entry. "They're corporeal entities of considerable power. It says here that..." his eyes widened as he read. "Oh, wow!"


Winston and Janine exchanged an exasperated glance. "What is it, Ray?" Winston asked, taking up the gauntlet. "And if you say it's `great'..."


"Well, not great, but it is kinda neat," Ray interrupted. "It says here that all three entities in the picture are Gaurnim. Those are gender differences in their forms. The one Janine saw was the female analog. The others are the male-alpha and male-beta. Wonder if it takes all three for reproduction..." He bent over the book engrossed.


Janine made a disgusted face. "What? You're saying it takes three to tango with those guys?"


"Oh man!" Winston groaned. "That is way more than I ever wanted to know about the sex life of demons!"


"They're not exactly demons, Winston," Ray corrected, blushing furiously. "It says here they don't live in the Netherworld at all."


"Whatever, Ray," Janine said as she steered the engineer to a chair and deftly replaced the book with a plate of pancakes. "Get some breakfast inside you, and then you can read all about the Secret Lives of Talking Lizards. And I'm gonna drag Egon down here before he passes out in the middle of the lab from low blood sugar."


"But..." Ray started to protest, but was quelled by a glare from Janine and quickly turned his attention to emptying his plate. The secretary nodded with satisfaction and headed for the stairs.


***


It was the murmuring that first invaded his sleep. Phantom voices...familiar but too low and indistinct to be recognized. They filtered down the dream-corridors adding an extra layer of uneasiness to already disturbing visions. It wasn't clear if it was the uneasiness or the intrusion of reality that pushed him toward waking. Perhaps it was a combination of both. Either way, Peter moved out of dreams into a shallow doze...shallow enough for the pain of his headache to wake him.

"Shit!"


Peter fumbled on the bedside table for the sunglasses he'd placed there the night before and didn't open his eyes until they were shielded. Then he carefully levered himself up into a sitting position and glared at the firepole's opening in the floor. The murmurs were now louder and recognizable; Janine and the guys with Slimer burbling in the background.


"You think there'd be some consideration for the walking wounded here," he groused as he staggered out of bed. "But noooooo! Let's get up at the crack of dawn and throw a party under the sickroom." He pondered taking another Vicodin for a moment, but the fading memory of last night's dreams sent a shudder through him.


"Now I remember why I don't like narcotics," he muttered to himself as he headed for the bathroom for a quick clean-up and some Tylenol. "I like to sleep, but I like nice dreams when I sleep."


The voices of his friends faded as he closed the bathroom door behind him. With a sigh of relief, he rummaged through the medicine cabinet and quickly downed two Extra-Strength Tylenol. Wishing fervently for a dimmer switch on the bathroom lights, he pulled off the sunglasses and looked himself over. Company was coming in the form of Bethany's healer friends, and, if memory served him, they were female. Damned if he was going to let even a scale-10 migraine keep him from impressing the fairer sex.


"The sacrifices I make for my public," he said with a half-hearted smirk as he fished his razor out of the drawer. But before he could make a start on shaving a sudden loud voice broke the relative silence of the bathroom. His head throbbed at the sound, causing him to drop his razor with a muttered obscenity. Pain mixed with suppressed anxiety and bubbled up as anger. Peter flung open the door and stalked out into the hall.


"Last I checked, this wasn't the Stock Exchange!" he snarled at the firehouse at large. "My head would really appreciate it if you guys could keep it down to a dull roar here. Is that too much to ask?"


Janine, who was just topping the stairs with a glass of orange juice, stopped in her tracks. "What the hell are you talking about, Dr. V?"


Peter rounded on the redhead. "What am I talking about? I'm talking about a little consideration here, Melnitz. You'd think that I'd be due a little after being kidnapped and tortured. You'd think people could try to keep their voices down 'til I get rid of this damn headache."


Janine's eyes flashed with indignation as she walked over and glared up at her boss. "Now see here, Dr. V! Everyone's been walking on tiptoe and speaking in whispers this morning. What do you want us to do? Wrap our feet in cottonballs and use sign language?"


"If this is your idea of whispering..."


"Not another word," Janine overrode him, "or you'll be wearing this orange juice! The guys are worried sick about you and I'm not going to let you..."


Her diatribe continued, but Peter found himself losing track of what she was saying. It was almost as if she was speaking through a poorly balanced sound system with each word being faintly echoed. He shook his head as if to clear it, but it didn't help. The murmuring that had awakened him was back with a vengeance. Faint voices, too faint to be understood, but pervasive. And as they increased, so did his headache. Peter involuntarily grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. Janine broke off as she caught the motion and concern quickly replaced ire when she took in the expression on his face. "Peter?" she asked. "What is it?"


The psychologist shook himself. "It's...nothing." He forced a weak smile. "Sorry about the blow-up, Melnitz. You know how I am before I've had my coffee."


Janine looked at him, trying to conceal her worry behind an expression of irritation. "Tell me about it. Here." She held out the glass. "Maybe this will help wake you up enough to be human. Now get your butt downstairs. Egon's got some theory he won't spill 'til you're up."


"Just let me get presentable," he said, quickly ducking into the bathroom before the fragile mask over his anxiety crumbled.


"Hey!" Janine yelped in protest and started to thump on the door, catching herself as she remembered his headache. She heard the water running in the sink and grimaced down at the orange juice she was still holding. "You'd better be quick, Dr. Venkman, or I'll be back up here with Slimer." There was no response but a faint sound of splashing. Janine frowned then turned and headed back down the hall to the stairs.


Inside the bathroom, Peter let the water run until he could no longer hear her footsteps. Then he sat down on the edge of the tub. The voices had slowly faded, but this time Peter was not reassured. He knew it couldn't be his friends. They were all in the kitchen. Janine was right. They would never talk loud enough to be heard all the way in here when they knew how much pain he was in. But if it wasn't the guys' voices...


I'm going crazy. The great Peter Venkman headed for the rubber room. I guess I should have been expecting it sooner or later. I always thought it would be Egon driving me 'round the bend, not some refugee from "The Crocodile Hunter", but that's life for you.


He sat there shivering for a while before he started cleaning himself up.


***


The early morning light slanted its way through cracks in the New York skyline as one of the Big Apple's legion of yellow cabs pulled up to the corner of Mott and Pell. The driver, whose blood levels of caffeine and nicotine would have probably sent the average person into cardiac arrest, sullenly reported the fee due. His passenger handed over the required currency with a calmness that seemed to deflect the cabbie's rudeness as oiled silk would shed water. She climbed out of the taxi and stood a moment, contemplating the converted firehouse while the taxi screeched off in search of another fare.


Sara Blackwater tucked a strand of iron-gray hair which had escaped her braids behind one ear and sighed. Four decades as a Lakota shaman and healer had given her exquisite sensitivity to power of many kinds, whether one called it "spectral energy", "auras" or "medicine". This place screamed to the Inner Senses. It was to be expected given that not only did the Ghostbusters confine powerful spirits on the premises, but also the fact that four Warriors (and she had no doubt the Ghostbusters were true Spirit Warriors) would imbue their dwelling with a powerful medicine of their own. All in all, she would prefer to do this elsewhere; say in a sweat lodge with a full ceremony. However, she doubted these men-of-science, open as they were to the spirit world, would be comfortable with that. And it was her patient's comfort, not her own that mattered. She used her traditional rites as a focus for her gift, but they were not the source of it. She could (and did) perform healings using symbols which better suited the patient and sometimes used her gift alone without any ceremony whatsoever.


All the same, she groused inwardly. It's going to be a challenge to work in the midst of all this.


She caught herself toying nervously at the necklace of beads and carved fetishes around her neck and set her mind firmly on the task ahead as she walked up to the door and knocked. After a few moments, she heard approaching footsteps and the door opened to reveal a young, stocky man with a round, good-natured face and reddish hair. He seemed to be brimming with bouncy energy, but Sara's experienced eye could see the underlying fatigue and stress.


"Good morning," he greeted her. "Are you..." His voice trailed off uncertainly.


"Bethany's healer friend?" Sara finished for him with a smile. "That I am." She held out a hand. "Sara Blackwater at your service."


"Ray Stantz," the young man responded as he accepted her handshake. Some measure of relief seeped into his expression as he ushered her into the garage. "We're so glad you could come. We've been so worried about Peter, and, well..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We're kinda at a loss."


The healer nodded understanding. "I'll do everything I can, which will hopefully be a great deal." The wrinkles seaming her brown face deepened as her smile spread to a grin. "For someone who claims to have no Sight, Bethany is adept at finding people who can use my help."


The young engineer returned her grin. "You said it. She took us all by surprise last night. Come on upstairs, and we'll get Peter for you. Say, do you mind if we take readings while you work? We've never actually seen a psionic healer in action before."


"As long as Dr. Venkman has no objections, neither do I."


"Oh, Peter won't mind," he blithely assured her. "We do this stuff all the time."


Sara followed the Ghostbuster to the second level, steadying herself against the melange of Warrior medicine and the taint of spirits, and walked right into...well, it wasn't quite an argument. Yet.


"Egon, I'm a patient woman. God knows I'd have to be given what I have to put up with in this nuthouse. But enough is enough. You're going to tell us what you think is wrong with Peter and you're gonna do it right now, or Winston and I will beat it out of you."


"Uh-oh," Ray murmured as they reached the top of the stairs. "I warned Egon that Janine wouldn't wait much longer."

The two of them emerged into the living room to find a tall, blond man fetched up against the stereo cabinet, pinned there by a shorter, fiery-eyed woman. A handsome African-American stood a little off to one side, his manner showing he supported the woman's position one hundred percent. The trapped man turned his spectacled eyes toward the stairway and caught a glimpse of Sara and Ray. Relief spread across his face; no doubt from the chance to escape his current predicament as well as the prospect of finally helping his friend.


"Ahhh, you must be Mrs. Blackwater," he called out, quickly taking advantage of the healer's arrival to escape the corner. Introductions were quickly dispensed with. Sara had been given a quick run-down of the Ghostbusters when Bethany had called her the night before. Comparing that report to what she now observed, it was reassuring to confirm the nurse's assessment of the tight bonds of friendship, love and loyalty. They could make things much easier. Time to get down to business.


"Peter's upstairs getting freshened up," Winston said after the preliminaries were done. "I'll go make sure he hasn't fallen in or something." He paused as a new thought occurred to him. "Or should we wait a bit? I remember Bethany saying there were two of you. A doctor in the hospital?"


The healer sighed and nodded. "My apprentice, and, as you can probably guess, one with obligations in the mundane world. She had some hospital chores she couldn't get out of but..."


"Hello? Anybody home?"


Everyone jumped at the voice filtering up from the garage. Sara chuckled and continued. "...but apparently she's right behind me. We're upstairs, child," she answered in a slightly raised voice. A few moments later, another woman came bounding up the stairs, and you would have been hard pressed to come up with an odder couple. Where Sara was short, plump, bronze-skinned and elderly, dressing in full, colorful skirts and blouses, the newcomer was in her early-to-mid thirties, fairly tall and pale skinned with short, spiky black hair. Over surgical scrubs she wore a battered leather jacket.


"The door was unlocked," the woman said in explanation. "Hope I didn't miss all the excitement."


"Not at all," Egon said smoothly, reaching out a hand in greeting. "We're very glad you could make it, Dr...." As he glanced down at the hospital I.D. hanging around her neck, he froze. Then, with an infinite amount of control in his voice, he asked, "Are those truly your initials?"


The others quickly looked at the offending name tag. Ray put a hand to his mouth, attempting to hold a giggle in by physical force. Janine and Winston were both biting their lips. Dr. Basco, recognizing their need for a tension breaker after all they'd been through, shook her head with mock resignation (and a concealed wink toward Sara). "Yes, for better or for worse, I'm Tabitha Adrienne Basco. And, for God's sake, go ahead and laugh before you hurt something. I don't mind."


All four of them took advantage of her permission and let loose although they managed to keep it down to subdued snickering out of consideration for Peter's headache. "Oh, you must have had it rough in grade school," Janine finally said, sympathy creeping through her amusement.


"You'd better believe I've heard every possible joke in the book," Tabitha said with a rueful chuckle of her own. "But I don't mind so much now. The kids get a kick out of going to see `Dr. Tabasco'." The gamin grin she flashed made her look remarkably like a Brian Froud rendition of Puck. "And I can always tell my parents it's their own fault I turned into a saucy wench."


"Ugh! Forget healing me. That joke's worse than the migraine."


Egon glanced up the spiral staircase. Sara followed his gaze to see Peter leaning against the banister on the top step, his eyes shielded by dark glasses. "Pleased you could join us, Mr. Anderson," Egon quipped.


"Okay, next Matrix crack gets a punch in the teeth. Morning, ladies," he said with an attempt at his usual lady-killer smile. "So you're the ones who are gonna put Humpty-Dumpty back together again. Should I try to make it downstairs without killing myself, or are you coming up?"


Years of experience were all that kept the shock out of Sara's face. She'd felt the young man's pain dimly when she reached the second level, but now that she "saw" him directly she was aghast. The damage she "saw" pulsed at her with a sullen heat. Normally, she only experienced that sensation when in direct contact with her patients. Indeed, her work was cut out for her.


"We'll join you upstairs," she said, suiting action to words. "We'll need a comfortable place for you to lie down and I don't see one down here."


"Hey, don't knock our couch," the dark-haired man protested. "I've gotten some good nap time on it."


"And then you wake up moaning about the wreck it makes of your back," Winston said knowingly. "Get your ass into the lab. We'll set up the cot."


***


Peter stared up at the lab ceiling and forced his muscles to relax. This was it. The cavalry was here. Healer and Co. had been given a brief overview of what happened to him, and they were about ready to begin. They'd fix whatever Barbizilla had done to him. He kept holding to that thought with an iron grip. The voices he'd heard earlier had to have been a side-effect of the psionic injury. Once it was gone, they'd be gone. Over at the workbench, Ray and Egon were setting up equipment to monitor the healing. He smiled at the familiar sight. Even with all their anxiety, the excitement of discovery was leaking through.


If it wasn't for the fact that my brain got barbequed, they'd probably be bouncing off the walls, he mused. Well, Ray would be bouncing. Egon would go 'hmmmm...' a lot and probably let his glasses fall off his nose from the excitement.


And while the Ghostbusters' science team was busy, Janine and Winston had been drafted into helping with "apprentice work". At the moment, they were walking around the room waving smoldering bundles of herbs. Dr. Basco was by his cot, cursing under her breath at the lighter which had gone out just before she could light her own bundle.


"You okay, m'man?"


Peter looked up at Winston who had paused in his circuit to clap his friend's shoulder. "Doin' great, Zed. Got a doc who's as hot as her name fussing over me. What more can I ask for?"


The physician in question rolled her eyes as she struggled with a recalcitrant lighter. "He like this all the time?" she asked.


"Naaaaah," Winston said with laugh. "You caught him on a bad day. He's usually much worse."


"Hey!"


"Pipe down and be a nice, well-behaved sick person, Dr. Venkman," Tabitha said with a stern look on her face that was ruined by the twinkle in her grey eyes. The stubborn lighter finally lit and the apprentice healer carefully ignited a small bundle of sage and sweetgrass. Blowing out the flame, she wafted the smoke around the cot.


"Just what are we doing here anyway?" Janine asked from across the room. "Aside from making the lab smell like a smokehouse?"


"It's called `smudging', Janine," Winston answered. "It's supposed to purify places and people."


Tabitha looked up, pleasantly surprised. "Got it in one, Mr. Zeddemore. I think of it as surgical prep for the spirit. Have you been involved in Native American rituals before?"


The former soldier shrugged. "No, but there was a guy in my unit back in 'Nam who did this to our barracks. He told me some about it. And call me Winston. We're not much for titles around here."


The doctor smiled. "That's nice. I like to check my title at the door when I leave the hospital. Call me Tabitha or even Tab."


"How about Tabasco?" Peter suggested.


"Only my close friends can call me that," Tabitha retorted, obviously enjoying the by-play. "And right now, you're my patient."


"But I'll get better. I bet..." Peter's comeback was cut off as a spike of pain shot through his head. Tabitha startled at the grimace that twisted his face, then turned to her mentor who was sitting in a chair at the head of the cot, eyes closed.


"Sara?"


"Almost ready, child. I want you to observe. I'll let you know if I need your help."


Tabitha nodded and looked back down at Peter. "You were saying?" she asked.


But Peter had already forgotten what he was going to say. The murmuring was back, very faint, but there. He swallowed his fear and forced a smile. "Nothing important. So what's gonna happen. Laying on of hands?"


"Sort of. It's an abbreviated version of a Lakota-style healing. If you like, we can do a full ceremony, but we'll need a sweat lodge and a troop of dancers and drummers."


"Drumming with this headache? No thanks. I think I'll pass."


"Maybe later then," Tabitha suggested. "Anyway, Sara's gonna try to `touch' your injury to see what the extent of it is. Then she'll stop any further damage and nudge the healing process up a notch or two. Just relax, close your eyes and focus on her singing."


"Singing, huh? Does she take requests?"


"We will begin now," Sara interrupted smoothly. Tabitha smiled reassuringly at Peter and took his hands. As the others clustered about, Sara started rhythmically shaking a tortoise-shell rattle in one hand. After three beats, she started singing in Lakota. With her free hand she reached out to touch Peter's forehead. Involuntarily, he jerked away, reminded of a similar touch the day before.


"Relax," Tabitha soothed, holding his eyes with hers.


"We're here, Peter," Egon said softly. "Nothing's going to hurt you."


Peter took a deep breath and nodded. Sara's song went on steadily as she placed her hand on the psychologist's forehead once again. As the haunting tune wove its way through his battered mind, it drowned out the growing murmur, and Peter found himself relaxing. Tabitha smiled encouragingly, then her let her eyes go unfocused. Peter felt his own eyelids grow heavy and let them slide shut as the song cradled him. After a few moments (or an eternity, Peter wasn't sure), the tune shifted subtly. Instead of simply holding him, it was moving over him, exploring the edges of the scorched place in his mind. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't exactly pleasant either. Peter focused on the song, willing himself not to tense up and resist. To his relief, it didn't last long. Exploration complete, the song took on a purposeful tone and moved slowly through the damaged area. It felt like a good soaking rain on parched ground. The constant pain Peter had been enduring faded. Not covered up by drugs, but absorbed and smothered by Sara's gift.


The song faded away into silence. Peter opened his eyes to look up at Sara, gratitude practically radiating off him.


"Thank you, beautiful."


"Flatterer," Sara said as she smiled back weakly. The elderly lady swayed suddenly and the rattle slipped from her fingers to clatter to the floor. Peter's eyes widened and he sat bolt upright on the cot, throwing out an arm to steady the healer before she could fall off the chair.


"Aw, crap!" Tabitha lunged at her mentor. The other Ghostbusters dropped whatever equipment they held and hurried over.


"Is she all right?" Ray asked frantically as they converged on the cot. Sara waved them off.


"I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."


"Just tired my ass," Tabitha snapped as she worked one arm around Sara's shoulders and felt her forehead with her free hand. "Try exhausted. Damn it, Sara. Why didn't you ask for help? That's what apprentices are supposed to do, isn't it?"


"You've never worked with wounds of this nature before, child," she said reprovingly. "I have. You profited more by observing this time."


Tabitha shook her head in frustration. "Okay, teacher. Next time, don't drive yourself into the ground before asking for help." She looked up at Winston. "Mind if we borrow one of your beds for a little while? I'll take her straight home, but I'd like to give her some recovery time first."


"No problem," Winston said as he took Sara's other side and helped her up. "You two can stay as long as you like. We'll even treat you to lunch. Least we can do for your help."


They started for the door, but Sara paused. "Wait. We've got to tell them..."


"I'll tell them," Tabitha said firmly. "I saw everything, and I know exactly what it means."


The others watched, puzzled, as Winston helped guide Sara out of the lab, then turned to look at each other.


"What was that all about?" Janine asked. "I thought she fixed you, Dr. V."


Peter grinned. "She did. Of course, how could she improve on perfection?"


"Well, she could have added some humility to the mix while she was messin' around with your head. Seriously, Egon. What do you think she was talking about?"


The scientist stared thoughtfully at the lab door. "I'm not sure. But we'll find out soon enough."


"Peter, it was so neat!" Ray crowed. "We recorded through the whole thing. Wait till you see the readings."


"And I am looking forward to your account of the experience," Egon said as he put out a hand to help the psychologist to his feet. "How are you feeling?"


Peter turned to look out the window at the bright autumn sunshine, reveling in the lack of pain. "Pretty good, Spengs. Amazing how not having a steel drum band playing in your skull improves your day." He raised his arms and stretched lazily. "Not saying I'm completely recovered, though," he said with a sly smile. "I'd say I need at least three days of pampering until I'm up to working again." Peter grinned at the exasperated looks on his friends faces, knowing at the same time that they were reassured by his typically outrageous behavior. The pain was gone and all was right with the world.


Or was it?


Now that the pain was gone, Peter noticed something. Something felt...different. He couldn't quite put his finger on what. As if something was missing that he hadn't even noticed was there before. It most reminded him of getting a tooth pulled. Normally, the curve of teeth around one's tongue went unnoticed, but, when one was lost, a person really noticed that gap. The smile faded from Peter's face as he became aware of something else. The murmuring was back, very low. So low that he could probably ignore it if he wanted to.


Oh, God, am I going crazy anyway?


"Peter? What's wrong?"


Egon was looking at him, his eyes filling with growing concern. This voice, like Janine's earlier, had a faint echo. Peter stubbornly swallowed his rising fear and pasted a smile on. "S'okay, Egon. I guess I'm still kinda tired. Hope Winston didn't give Mrs. Blackwater my bed."


Egon wasn't fooled for a minute. "Peter..."


"Excuse me."


Everyone turned to see Tabitha re-enter the lab, followed closely by Winston. Peter's heart sank even further when he saw the look on her face. They must teach that look in med school, 'cause he'd seen it on other doctors. It was a particular variety of compassionate look that said, "Your tests came back positive."


"Peter," she said. "I need to talk to you about what Sara found. Would you'd rather do this in private?"


He shook his head. "Spill it here, Dr. Tabasco. If that lizard did something to me, the guys need to know."


Tabitha rolled her eyes at the nickname, but let it go. "Okay," she said pulling up a stool. "Make yourselves comfortable, folks. We've got some ground to cover."


Peter appropriated the lab's worn couch. Egon noted the carefully concealed tension in his friend's shoulders and took a position perched on one arm of the piece of furniture within easy reach. Janine slid into the other side. Ray and Winston dragged over chairs of their own to complete the circle. Tabitha glanced at each of them, then focused on Peter.


"First, let me tell you what Sara was able to do. The energy that was channeled through you behaved not unlike a thermal injury. Now the first step in burn treatment is to remove any source of burning. Much had been removed by your friends last night, but there was enough left to do further damage. That's what was causing the majority of your pain."


Peter nodded cautiously. "Makes sense. Felt kinda like burning when Barbizilla had me on the slab. So Sara dunked me in cold water then poured on the aloe vera?"


"Good analogy," Tabitha confirmed. "You're not all healed up yet, but she's nudged the process up a few notches. You'll make a full recovery from most of the damage."


Peter felt rather than saw his friends stiffen at that little tidbit of information. Most of the damage. Just what was unfixable? He was already hallucinating. Was that it? A chill ran through him, and he managed just barely to suppress the shudder. A warm hand clasped his shoulder, and Peter looked up into Egon's comforting blue eyes. From somewhere, reassurance crept in to displace some of his anxiety. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he turned back to Tabitha.


"Okay, Doc. What else did you see?"


She ran one hand through her short hair and rubbed the back of her neck, obviously stalling while she found the best way to explain. "You'll have to bear with me a bit. It's kinda hard to describe. There's a place inside each person which doesn't seem to correspond to any anatomical structure of the brain, but it is very real all the same. It's the place where the mind-body conglomerate is most closely bonded to the soul. Sara calls it the `gate of gifts'. This place...well, it's just like it sounds. If a person has any paranormal abilities, it comes from that site. The power of the soul is channeled through the mind-body which together influence how the gift manifests. In most people, the gate is `closed' and they exhibit no paranormal abilities. It can open spontaneously or in response to various mental or spiritual disciplines. It can also be closed through active or subconscious rejection of the gift." A rueful smile flashed for a second. "That's what happens with most people. We're all born with the gate cracked open just a bit. That's why little kids are generally more sensitive to the spirit world. But, as we grow up, we're told over and over that the world just doesn't work that way and we believe it, so we close the gate."


"Oh, wow!" Ray breathed. "So you're saying that Peter's become psychic? Egon, this confirms what we found last night!"


"Hold it! Time out, Tex." Peter made a T with his hands as he shot an annoyed look at the scientist. "Just what did you find out last night?"


"Ooops! Sorry, Peter." Ray quickly ran through the EEG anomalies and what he had learned from questioning Slimer. The psychologist absorbed the news with growing dismay.


"You mean I've turned into ghost catnip?" he wailed. "That I have a lifetime of sliming to look forward to? Some `gift' I've got here."


"Look on the bright side, Pete," Winston offered. "If the ghosts are that attracted to you, it could save us loads of time on busts."


"Yeah, stake Petey out like a goat and watch the nasties with long, pointy teeth descend. If I'm gonna be bait, I want to have some choice in the matter, Zed." Peter turned back to the black-haired woman. "Okay, Tabby. Barbizilla opened the barn door and the horse is kicking up his heels on the north-forty. How do we catch him and lock him back up?"


"But Peter," Ray said with dismay. "This is a great chance to study the development of psi-sensitivity."


The psychologist sighed, leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. "I'm not interested in starting a sideshow act, Ray. I don't want to know the future. Cassandra had to be the most miserable person in the entire city of Troy. And I'm really not interested in being a slime magnet." He ran both hands through his hair and looked up. "Let me have it, Doc. How do we close this gate of yours?"


Tabitha closed her eyes for a moment as a pained look flashed across her face. "We can't. That's the damage I was talking about earlier." She opened her eyes and continued doggedly. "When the entity flooded you, it didn't push the gate open. It blasted it open. What you've got is wide open channel. There's no way to close it because there's nothing there to close anymore."



Blood drained from Peter's face as the full implications sank in. He fell back on the couch, in shock, staring blankly at a point on the floor just in front of him. Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled heavily. "So I'm Karnak The Perpetually Slimed now, and there's nothing I can do about it?"


Tabitha blinked. "I wouldn't say nothing. We can't shut down your gift, but there's no reason to believe you can't learn to control it." The wry smile came back as she slipped off the stool and walked over to the couch. "That's the trick. Learning to control your talent so it doesn't end up controlling you. I've got psi-healing with a good dose of empathy. I had a few dicey moments before I got a handle on it, and I still have my bad days." She crouched down to Peter's eye level. "You've got two advantages on me, though. One, you know what's happening to you, and, two, I believe this is part of your line of work."


Tabitha managed to intercept his gaze for a second, but he quickly looked away. She looked up at Egon and Janine with a small shrug. "Hard to accept, I know. But Sara and I will help all we can if you want us. I'll leave you my beeper and office number. Sara doesn't believe in pagers, but I can track her down pretty quickly if I have to."


When Peter didn't answer, Egon cleared his throat. "We really appreciate this, Dr. Basco."


"It's Tabitha."


"Sorry. If there's anything we can do for you, don't hesitate to call us either."


The hobgoblin grin was back again. "I'll keep that in mind if the walls of my apartment start bleeding, or my pets start speaking Latin." She stood up and stretched her back. "I'd better go check on Sara. And the woman says I'm stubborn."


***


The image was slightly distorted. Minor ripples chased each other across the surface of light, but not so greatly that they obscured the image. Sound was transmitted with no distortion whatsoever, which was the more important consideration. Blue and lavender mists still swirled around the cushioned slab, but it was now occupied by the former captor. The Gaurnim sat cross-legged on it, her tail dangling over the edge, as she watched the images in the scrying spell. It was risky. The spell might be detected. Discovery would bring her delicate plan crashing down, but she had to monitor the progress of Peter Venkman.


Fortunately, I am quite adept at covering my tracks.


The healer left the room to the five teh'cherin (five, not four as she'd previously thought). It was reassuring to some extent that the humans had found such a person. The quicker her victim recovered, the more time he had to prepare for what was coming. That is, if her actions had the results she intended. The Gaurnim scrutinized the humans. Peter was obviously (and quite understandably) in shock. The humans named Winston and Ray were looking on, somewhat stunned. The light haired human, Egon, looked troubled. Janine, the one who had so valiantly challenged her, looked at each of them in turn. The red-headed female looked last at Peter, a brief expression of sympathy flashing across her face before assuming a slightly sarcastic mannerism. It was she who broke the brittle silence that hung in the air.


"Come on, Dr. V. It can't be that bad. I could handle a bit of extra slime if it meant I could pick the winning Lotto numbers."


Egon finally spoke up. "Peter's new ability may not necessarily take the form of precognition."


"Why not?" Winston asked. "He's been pulling that phone trick for years now."


"Well..." Egon broke off, strangely reluctant to continue. Janine caught the guarded expression on his face and rounded on him, eyes snapping.


"Okay, Egon. It's time to spill whatever it is you've been worrying at all night. Now start talking, or I'll personally dump all your mold in the incinerator."


That jerked Peter out of his shock. "You know what I've got, Spengs?"


"I may," Egon said slowly. The physicist took off his glasses to give them a thorough (but unnecessary) cleaning. "Do you remember when I checked on you in your room last night?"


Peter frowned. "A little. Was probably half in la-la land from the meds."


Egon nodded and settled his glasses back on his nose. "You complained about the noise Raymond and I were making in the lab. Granted, our walls may not be perfectly soundproof, but, given the levels at which we were conversing, it is highly unlikely that enough sound would have reached the bunkroom to disturb you. Especially when you were under the effects of medication."


Janine spoke up with an "a-ha" tone. "Oh, my gosh! And then you snarked off at me this morning. I couldn't see how you could even hear us through one floor and a door." Her eyes narrowed, and Peter fought the temptation to cower from her glare. "Then you got this deer-in-the-headlights look and bolted for the bathroom." She poked him in the chest with a perfectly manicured nail. "Looks like you've got to spill something too, Dr. V. You gonna do it the easy way or the hard way?"


But Peter seemed rather reluctant to spill. Tension could be seen in every line of his body, and he nervously bit his lip. Winston sighed with exasperation and took the bull by the horns. "Come on, Pete. The silent act isn't gonna help you. We've got to know what we're dealing with here before we can fix it."


"Fix it!" Peter exploded, jumping to his feet and pointing at the closed door. "Didn't you just hear what Dr. Tabby Basco just said? It can't be fixed. If the voices were the fixable part, they would have stopped after the healing!"


"Voices?!" Ray interrupted. "You're hearing voices, Peter? When did this start, and why didn't you tell us?"


The distress in the engineer's voice stopped Peter in mid-rant. "I noticed it when I woke up. Thought it was you guys at first. Hell, it even sounded a bit like you. But later when Janine laid down the law to me..." He rubbed his eyes with one hand, then looked up with a bleak expression. "I thought it would be fixed by the healing. No muss, no fuss. No need for you guys to worry about me starting to hallucinate on you."


"I don't believe these are hallucinations, Peter."


Green eyes flashed as Peter whirled around to confront Egon. "Well, just what the hell are they, Dr. Spengler? I'm hearing voices that I can't find a source for. I've even got sensory illusions going on. When the voices kicked in, your voices started getting this weird reverb."


"You're forgetting one thing, Dr. Venkman," Egon said sternly. "You've just been...perhaps `gifted' is the wrong word. You've had an unknown psi ability thrust upon you. This may be its initial manifestation." His eyes softened as he realized he'd cut through Peter's panic to the point where the younger man could think more clearly. "Now, I have theory regarding the nature of the voices you are hearing, and I would like to perform a small experiment to confirm it."


"Okay, Spengs. Haul out the Colander of Doom," Peter said with a martyred sigh the effect of which was ruined by the hint of relief in his eyes. "Let's get it over with."


"Unfortunately, the visual image tracker has not been fully repaired," he said with a frustrated scowl at the device. The physicist slid off of his perch on the couch and took a few steps to stand directly in front of Peter. "However, is not necessary at this moment. Close your eyes, Peter."


"Then I open my mouth and you stick one of your disgusting fungi in it? Haven't fallen for that one since pre-school, Spengs."


"Peter."


"Okay, okay!" Peter said, raising his hands in surrender. "Just remember, I know where you sleep."


As Peter closed his eyes, Egon took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a possibly unpleasant task. "All right, Peter. All I want you to do is listen carefully and let us know what you hear. As for the rest of you, I need absolute silence." Quickly but gently, Egon reached out and gripped Peter's wrist. They stood there for a few moments in total silence, Egon's intense, blue eyes fixed on Peter's face. Janine looked at Winston who shrugged his ignorance. In unison, they turned to Ray who threw up his hands in a "don't look at me" gesture.


"For crying out loud, Egon!" Peter's eyes snapped open, and he jerked his hand free. "I've told you over and over, speak English! And what does a particle physics lecture have to do with where these voices are coming from?"


A sudden gasp caught Peter's attention. He turned to see Ray, his face lighting with comprehension. "Peter...you heard Egon?"


"Yes," Peter said slowly, knowing something screwy was going on. "Didn't you?"


"I didn't hear a thing," Janine answered.


"Egon was standing there dead silent, Pete," Winston confirmed uneasily. "He didn't say a word."


"But I heard him, Zed," Peter insisted. "Running off at the mouth about quarks and neutrinos. Maybe I'm going nuts here but I think I'd..." His voice trailed off as understanding dawned. Slowly, Peter turned back to Egon, a question in his eyes.


"This happened last night," the physicist said quietly. "You probably don't remember, but it occurred when I made skin-to-skin contact with you. I believe we've just shown the phenomenon is repeatable. And, from what Dr. Basco has told us, it may likely be permanent."


Winston and Janine's eyes widened as they got it, too. Janine cleared her throat nervously.


"So you're saying Dr. V. is a mind reader?"


"A telepath, Janine!" Ray said, excitement rising in his voice. "Oh boy! Peter's a telepath! Wait until people hear about this!"


"NO!"


The shout made all four of them jump. Peter's manner had abruptly changed from bewildered to determined. "We don't tell anybody," he ground out in a tone that brooked no argument. "You understand? No one."


Ray was taken aback by his friend's vehemence. "But Peter. Think of what this will do for the study of parapsychology."


"As much as I love my job, Ray, I've got my limits and this is one of them." Peter's expression hardened. "This stays between the five of us."


Ray would have continued to argue, but something deep in Peter's eyes stopped him. The engineer turned to Egon who nodded understanding.


"If that is your wish, Peter, we will honor it. However, there is the issue of getting this ability under control. My review of your journals confirmed that there has been no other confirmed case of full telepathy found to date. You may need assistance in determining how to control it."


Peter shook his head stubbornly. "We're just as likely to figure it out as the guys up at Arkham." He looked at all of them imploringly. "Please, guys. Let's keep it quiet for now."


"Okay, Peter," Ray said, disappointment mixing with confusion in his voice. "If that's the way you want it."


"Thanks." Peter turned and walked wearily toward the door. "Is there any breakfast left downstairs? I've got a feeling I have a long day ahead of me."


The Gaurnim banished the scry spell with a sigh of relief. Telepathy had been awakened in the teh'cherin and not some other gift. She had studied him carefully both from a distance and directly when she brought him unconscious to her domain, but there had still been some element of uncertainty. The human's determination to hide his gift was also reassuring. Above all else, her plan depended on no one discovering her actions until the irrevocable move was made. Not her people, not the Others. Especially not the Others.


My choices were quite pitiful, she mused. My people act to stop Tirad, and we trigger a war that could destroy many worlds. We sit idle and war comes all the same. No, this was my only chance to stop it. A slim chance. And all it cost was the destruction of two lives. I can only hope Peter Venkman's life will be easier to repair than mine.