It doesn't get much better than this!
"Come on, Ray! Spooky's about four doors down."
Ray grinned as he looked up from his PKE meter. "Dead on, Peter! Let's get him!"
"Unfortunate choice of words, Tex," Peter said as he pushed his pace to a trot. Ray sped up a little to stay abreast of his friend. This was their third bust of the week, and the most complex they'd had since Peter had been able to rejoin the team full-time. Their latest assignment, a hotel haunted by a nasty Class Six and a plethora of Two's and Three's, was running them ragged. The Six had been challenging but relatively quick to trap. The others, however, had been scattered throughout the fifteen floor building, requiring the Ghostbusters to split up.
And Peter's getting better and better at homing in on them, Ray chortled inwardly. This is just so cool!
"Care to make a guess as to the class?" the engineer asked as they came up on their target. Peter gave him a pained look.
"It feels nasty, Ray," he said. "And quite frankly, that's as far as I care to go."
"But, Peter," Ray coaxed, dropping his voice to a whisper as they paused in front of the door to the penthouse. "You should be able to tell if you just give it some practice."
"What? And put Egon out of a job as our meter-reader?" his friend shot back with mock horror. "No thanks, Ray. I'll do okay with things the way they are. I enjoy good wine, but I don't need to be able to tell the year, vineyard and age of the person who stomped on the grapes by taste."
Ray shook his head as Peter kicked open the door and resolved to get Egon to help bring the psychologist around. Although they had gotten an incredible amount of information on psi-ability from Ba'aque, they had only scratched the surface. He jerked himself back to the present (and the ghost making a royal havoc of the wet bar) before Peter could snap at him to pay attention.
"Sorry, buddy," Peter quipped. "You're over the limit, and I'm cutting you off."
The whip-thin specter threw its rocks glass against the wall and darted to the side as Peter's proton beam flicked out, driving it right into Ray's beam. Seconds later, it was safely trapped.
"Don't you just hate it when ghosts can't hold their liquor?" Ray asked with a wry chuckle. He pulled his PKE meter off his belt and checked the screen. "I think that's it. Egon and Winston must have gotten the other Class Three downstairs."
"Good," Peter said, picking up the smoking trap and hanging it on his belt. "Let's grab the guys, drop off our bill and head home."
Ray didn't bother radioing Winston and Egon. He didn't need to, not when he had Peter with him. One aspect of his telepathy Peter had actually been eager to develop was the ability to sense and home in on the presences of his friends.
If he can pick us out of a crowd, Ray thought with mild irritation, I'm sure he can do the same thing with ghosts. Oh, well. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. This satisfies his mother hen instinct. He gave Peter a calculating look when he wasn't looking. Now maybe Egon and I can convince him that learning to differentiate ghosts would help keep the team safe.
"Now, let's see..." Peter muttered, punching one of the "Down" buttons as they reached the elevator bank at the end of the hall. "There is a God!" he crowed as it lit up at his touch. "Looks like they got the power back to these babies."
"Awww, come on, Peter," Ray scolded. "Let's just take the stairs. The others were only three levels down."
"Were being the operative term," Peter responded, catching his reflection in one of the antique mirrors hanging in the hallway and brushing a few stray strands of his hair back into place. "They must have chased that gooper halfway to the lobby. Besides, I need to conserve my strength."
"Why?" Ray asked with an impish twinkle in his eyes. "Got a hot date tonight?" And about time too, he thought. You're just not the hermit type.
"Yeah, that's right, Ray," Peter sighed as the elevator doors opened with a "ping". "I'm sure you know her. White mohawk and one hell of a dry skin condition."
"Oh," the engineer said, the wind taken out of his sails, as he stepped inside and leaned against the dark paneled wall. "I thought you were having your lesson with Ba'aque this morning."
Peter hit the eighth floor button with perhaps a little more force than necessary. "She finally made connections with some of the other illegal aliens we've got in the Big Apple and they wanted a meeting," he explained, his face an expressionless mask. "So we postponed 'til this afternoon."
"Really? What do they want?"
Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Make sure she's got new I.D.? Job search, maybe? Check to make sure that illusion spell you found passes muster? Whatever. I really couldn't care less."
Ray took the hint and dropped the subject, but, as the elevator descended, he found himself obsessively going over his latest personal dilemma. Peter was his friend, and he had every right to feel the way he did about Ba'aque. The trouble was he couldn't bring himself to dislike, much less hate, Ba'aque, because she wasn't really a bad person. Over the past month, Ray had learned enough about her from their questioning sessions to determine that. A sharp wit was balanced by an extremely kind and gentle nature. Ray had no doubt that what she had been forced to put Peter through had been just as painful to her own soul.
She's a good person who got caught in a no-win situation, Ray sighed inwardly as he stared at the floor. And now she gets to pay the rest of her life for making the only thing close to a right choice she could find.
Ray wanted to help her. To even maybe be friends with her and help her get settled into life in this world, but he couldn't do that without feeling like he was betraying Peter. There was slight jolt as the elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal Egon and Winston, both covered in a generous coat of fuchsia colored ectoplasm.
"Not one word, Dr. Venkman," Egon said warningly as they stepped into the elevator.
"Who, moi?" Peter asked with feigned innocence, barely choking back a snicker. "You honestly believe I would find my colleagues' misfortune amusing, Dr. Spengler?"
"You bet we do," Winston growled as he hit the button for the lobby.
***
Ba'aque examined her opponent and abruptly switched tactics. She changed her mental imagery from a blade to a point of extreme cold. The shield froze and grew brittle under her attack, preparing it for the final blow. With the speed of thought itself, she punched her target and felt the defenses give way. She darted in to deliver the coup de grace, but found herself caught in a sticky morass that wrapped around her probe before she could withdraw it. Peter followed the probe back and "tagged" her before she managed to extricate herself.
"Ufff..." she grunted as he released her. "Well done. I see you took the lesson on secondary defenses to heart."
The human shrugged. "I learned that one from my dad. Give people what they expect to see and you can usually blind-side them."
Ba'aque's crest fluffed out in surprise. "You mean that was deliberate. You let me break through your shield?"
Again Peter shrugged, this time his mouth twisting in a half-smile. "Of course. When you punched through into my trap, your momentum did half the work for me."
"Ahhh...it is a fortunate teacher who has a student who can instruct her as well," she said as she centered herself once again. "Shall we...how do you say it? Have another go?"
"If you say so."
And the battle lines were drawn once more. It was a unique fight in many senses of the word. To physical eyes, the human and the Gaurnim were simply sitting in the Ghostbusters' lab staring at each other across a table. On the mental plane, however, it was quite another story. A duel was fought which was part martial art and part rock-paper-scissors. Each telepath watched intently for weaknesses in the other's shields and tried to break through them while countering attacks on their own defenses. But how they did so was mainly through imagery. Peter attacked with a thin, sharp probe intending to pierce through Ba'aque's shield. Ba'aque countered by forcing the shield out into a sharp curve and "hardening" it so that the probe glanced off like a needle hitting a steel cup. At the same time, the Gaurnim lashed out with a mental claw, while Peter made his shield rubbery and slick so that she could not get a good grip on it.
The trick was knowing the right images to use at the right time. That had been the problem humans had encountered with shielding. In visualizing a wall, they had been on the right track. However, they had not figured out how to build a foundation for that wall to sit on. They could make the "bricks" composing it as strong as they wished, but, without a stable foundation, it was no wonder their shields kept collapsing. Peter had proved to be a quick study once he was shown what he had been doing wrong. And not only Peter Venkman. The healer Tabitha had come to Ba'aque for lessons as well.
I suppose that is another serendipitous outcome of my exile, Ba'aque thought in a tiny corner of her mind which was not occupied with her battle. Perhaps that is my destiny. To be teacher to the humans in this art. I wonder what Sker would think about that.
This time, superior experience balanced perfectly with innovation and strength. The two telepaths fought each other to a stalemate. They disengaged from each other, exhausted from their efforts. Ba'aque looked at her student appraisingly and nodded. It was time.
"I believe this portion of your penalty is fulfilled," she said.
Peter looked up sharply and brushed his sweaty hair back from his face. "What are you talking about? That's it?"
Ba'aque pressed her hands against the tabletop, fanning her fingers out across the wooden surface. "Yes. I have nothing more to teach you in this area. Practice now is what you require, but you do not require my presence for that."
Peter looked at her levelly, his face as hard as granite and shields so tight she could barely even register his presence in the room with her. Deliberately, he pushed his chair back and shoved himself to his feet. "So you're going," he said as he turned to face the window.
"If that is your wish," Ba'aque said, casting her mind back to her meeting earlier in the day. "There is a kelpie who lives by the Hudson River who offered to let me stay with her until I acquire the paperwork I need to work in this city. I'll leave the number where I can be reached in case any of you have more questions for me." She paused, waiting for an answer. The human only stood there, seemingly locked in his own thoughts, and what little she could sense of those thoughts was thick with tension. Finally, she rose gracefully to her feet and started to gather the tattered remains of her power to weave an illusion of humanity about herself.
Tomorrow I should look into this Reiki therapy Etain spoke of, she thought. It is a form of healing remarkably similar to our bio-energy balancing. I suppose I could make a living at it with some instruction.
A wave of bleakness swept over her as she contemplated the long years ahead of her. Yes, humans were not the only sentient beings on this world. There were others who lived among them, hiding their true visages, as she would have to, with magic. Far more than even the Ghostbusters knew about. But now, terrible, terrible loneliness came flooding into Ba'aque's heart to mix with the crushing guilt she knew she would never be free of. The maelstrom of dark emotions shattered her concentration. Resolutely, she cleared her mind to gather her power once again.
"Wait..."
The soft command made Ba'aque startle. Slowly she turned around. Peter was still standing with his back to her. His fists were clenched and his shoulders tight, but abruptly he relaxed. She looked on questioningly as he threw a glance at her over his shoulder. "You...you don't have to go that far," he said.
"I don't have to what?" the Gaurnim asked, puzzled by the human's behavior. Peter sighed and turned to face her.
"The whole not seeing your face again bit," he said, resting a hip on the table and crossing his arms. "Let's face it. You might not have any more to teach me about this telepathy gig, but I am nowhere near good enough to teach someone else.
"Yet," she corrected, gently.
"Okay, not yet," Peter said with a shrug. "We'll probably need to work together again, and that's gonna be pretty damn hard if I slap you with a restraining order."
"Yes," Ba'aque agreed. "That would be rather difficult."
Peter dropped his eyes to the floor. His face was once again a mask, but it was cracking a bit. A barely noticeable tremor of the muscles around his eyes betrayed great inner conflict. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision. Pressing his mouth into a thin line, he took a deep breath and looked into Ba'aque's eyes. His shields relaxed slightly as he said, "I don't think we'll ever be friends, Ba'aque. That's asking a bit much. But I think I can manage to forgive you."
It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, Ba'aque was shaken to her very soul. He was telling the truth. His shields were open enough for her to see that, but the very notion was inconceivable! She whispered, "You don't have to..."
"I know, I know," he interrupted. "I don't have to. Hell, I quite frankly don't want to, but it's something I gotta do."
"But...why?"
"Oh, I guess I've got a few good reasons," he said with patently feigned nonchalance. "Ray the Eternally Loving would like to be your friend but gets the guilts every time he even thinks about it because he thinks I'd get mad. Not to mention it's damned hard to work with someone if you're holding a grudge." His mouth twisted ruefully. "And, as a psychiatrist, I've seen up close how holding grudges can screw you up. It'd be a crime to let that happen to such a handsome soul as myself."
Ba'aque found herself smiling at the human's posturing. "It is indeed," she said in unconscious imitation of Egon's dry tones. Peter smirked, then suddenly sobered.
"And I'd have to be a pretty shitty human being to have all the pain you're putting yourself through shoved down my throat for the last month and not do something about it."
Ba'aque was staggered by this revelation. She had spent considerable energy trying to hide this from Peter during their lessons. He had been put through too much manipulation for her to want to even indirectly play on his feelings.
"I know you're a strong telepath, Peter Venkman. Far stronger than I am, but how did you..."
"Oh, please!" he said with a snort. "Remember the homework you did on me when we first met? I'm Mr. 'Wisest in the Ways of the Mind'. Granted, it helps, but I never needed telepathy to 'read' people before."
"I am well rebuked," Ba'aque said with a wan smile. "I know I do not deserve this mercy, but I thank you for it all the more."
With that, she spun the illusion of a tall, middle-aged Asian woman about herself and glided to the door. For the first time in ages, a tiny seed of hope sprouted in her soul.
***
Egon paused as he reached the top of the stairs to the roof and fingered the envelope in his pocket. All things considered, today had turned out remarkably well in spite of the fact that he'd been practically bathed in ectoplasm on the bust. The fact that Peter had managed to make peace with Ba'aque was a great relief. His smoldering resentment along with his continued self-isolation had worried them all.
I'm glad he was able to work it out without any prodding this time, Egon said to himself. Correction, he worked out half of his difficulty without prodding. It's high time we completed the cure.
He opened the rooftop door and stepped out into the early twilight. The balmy Indian Summer weather was long gone. The wind whipping over the buildings was sharp with chill, prompting the physicist to wrap his jacket a little tighter about himself. Peter was standing at the edge of the roof, one foot propped up on the parapet with his crossed arms resting on the bent knee. Although Egon knew that Peter had probably sensed him coming, he didn't look from his contemplation of the New York skyline as his friend joined him. After a measuring look at Peter, Egon turned and stared out over the buildings as well.
"You did a very noble thing today, Peter," he finally said. Egon caught slight movement out of the corner of his eye as Peter shrugged.
"That's me, Spengs. Just add 'noble' to my list of sterling qualities."
Egon rolled his eyes. "Of course. Right after 'narcissistic' and before 'obstinate'."
"No, you're the obstinate one, Egon," Peter retorted, a grin evident in his voice. "With me, it's 'steadfast' followed by 'studly'."
"Indeed, Dr. Venkman." Egon quirked an eyebrow. "However, the impact of this list is greatly lessened by the fact that one of the first entries is 'delusional'."
Peter snickered. "Envy is such an ugly thing to see in a man of science, Dr. Spengler."
"Seriously, Peter," Egon continued, sobering. "I know how hard you must have found it to forgive Ba'aque. And I for one am very proud that you found the strength to do so."
Peter dropped his gaze to the street below. "Yeah, it was tough. You know, I'm the first to admit that I'm not the nicest Joe on the block, but this..." His voice trailed off as he seemed to search for the right words. "Part of me didn't want to do it. A huge, freaking part of me saw her hurting and wanted to keep it going. Wanted her to suffer." He sighed heavily as he looked back up at the darkening skies. "That was the hardest part. Beating the bastard within into submission. It didn't want to give up. Hell! It's still pretty damn angry that I went and let her off the hook." He turned to Egon with a rueful smile. "Why is it that doing the right thing has to hurt so much?"
Egon smiled gently and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "'The healing of evil–scientifically or otherwise–can be accomplished only by the love of individuals,'" he quoted. "'A willing sacrifice is required. The individual healer must allow his or her own soul to become the battleground.'"
"'Whenever this happens there is a slight shift in the balance of power in the world,'" Peter finished. "M. Scott Peck. You've been swiping my psychology books again, Spengs. Though I wouldn't say that I love the lizard lady."
"But you did have compassion for her," Egon chided gently, giving Peter's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Just keep that in mind when your 'bastard within' throws a tantrum."
"You're gonna put me out of a job at this rate."
"Hardly." Egon gave Peter's shoulder one more squeeze before he let his hand drop away. "Now, you had better get downstairs and clean up or we will be late."
Egon was careful to keep his amusement at Peter's surprise out of his face. "Late? Late for what? You didn't schedule a night bust, did you?"
"Of course not," Egon reassured him. "However, we are going out on the town, and I'm sure you would wish to be seen in clothing more formal than your sweatshirt."
It wasn't often that Egon was able to completely blindside Peter. It made the look of complete and utter shock on the psychologist's face all the more entertaining. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Egon?" Peter asked slowly. "You don't do 'nights on the town', Spengs. What gives?"
Egon permitted himself a trace of a smile as he pulled the envelope from his pocket. It had arrived in the mail two days ago and provided the inspiration for the team's plan to pull Peter back into the mainstream. "The musicians we rescued from Tirad last month have sent us an invitation to their show at O'Sullivan's Pub as well as passes so that we do not have to pay the cover charge. Between the quality of their music and the wide selection of ethanol-based beverages available at that establishment, I believe that a good time will be had by all." He handed Peter the envelope, barely catching the quickly suppressed look of anxiety that flashed through Peter's eyes. "And they sent you a personal message as well. I suggest you hurry. We should be leaving in half an hour."
With that, Egon turned and headed back to the stairs. The psychologist had continued to avoid public situations aside from busts, most likely from continuing anxiety over his shields. This 'night out' was a challenge, indirect as it was, to face this last shadow, and Egon had carefully rigged it so that Peter's pride would not let him back away. And, from the last glimpse the physicist had caught, Peter probably understood exactly what Egon was doing.
Well, he has likely figured out part of what we're doing, Egon thought smugly as he descended the stairs. Now to make sure phase two of the plan is underway.
***
Yeah, guys. This is subtle. About as subtle as a sledgehammer between the eyes, Peter thought as he paused in the entryway and looked over the crowded tables of the pub. He reluctantly admitted to himself that being forced to take the plunge was probably the best way to get him to stop stalling and overcome his new social phobia already.
Social phobia, Peter thought to himself in irritation. Now there's two words I never thought I'd be labeled with.
He managed to keep himself from jumping at the gentle touch on his arm. "You okay, Peter?"
He turned slightly to see Ray looking at him with concern. Peter managed to find a mostly genuine smile to give him.
"Doin' great, Tex. Though finding a seat in here's gonna be fun."
Janine snorted as Egon helped her out of her jacket. "If you hadn't taken so long getting that mop of yours just right...and people say women take too long to get ready."
"Maybe Pete's just more in touch with his feminine side than the rest of us," Winston suggested playfully and held up his hands to ward off the Glare of Doom he received from Peter as well as the wadded up flyer Janine hurled at him.
"You made it! Great!"
Peter turned to see the fiddler from the subway weaving through the people milling around the bar.
If it hadn't been for the short, cryptic note that had accompanied their tickets, he probably would have beat a strategic retreat rather than confront the man he'd mind-probed without permission.
We managed to figure out what you did for us, it had read. It's okay. And no one will hear about it from us unless you say so.
"You must be Brad Stubblefield," Peter said, managing to keep his tone light. "Didn't get much of a chance to make introductions last time we saw you."
"Hell! As if I needed introductions with you guys," Brad said with a delighted grin and glanced over Peter's shoulder at Janine. "Though, I don't believe I've met the lovely lady with you."
"Lovely lady? Where?" Peter asked, looking around intently and earning himself a whack on the back of the head from the woman in question. "Ouch!"
"In the interests of preventing a concussion," Egon stepped in smoothly as Ray and Winston snickered in the background, "I am pleased to introduce Janine Melnitz, without whom our lives would be pure chaos."
Brad's grin spread and he bowed dramatically over the secretary's hand. "Ahhh, if I wasn't madly in love already, I'd have to run off with you, lovely."
Janine preened and shot both Peter and Egon a smug smile. "Nice to see that some good taste survives in this world. Pleased to meet ya', Mr. Stubblefield."
"Hey, to you folks, I'm Stubbie. Come on, I've got you a table up front."
They fell in behind the musician who slowly led them through the milling people. At one pause to let the crowd thin, Peter leaned closely and murmured in Stubbie's ear.
"Okay, how did you figure it out?"
Stubbie gave him a sidelong look and nodded once. "Berni and I compared notes afterward once the shock had worn off a bit. We also heard about how long it took the cops to snap out of it and figured you must have done something to pull us back from where that bastard magicked us." He grasped Peter's elbow as the crowd thinned to pull him along beside him as they resumed walking. "Also figured you'd be worried about keeping it secret. Lots of people with the Sight do in this town."
Peter's eyes narrowed. They all suspected that the psychic people Ray befriended were only a fraction of those actually living in New York. "And you know this because..."
"Hell, I'm sleeping with one," Brad answered with a smirk. "Berni's a stone-talker. Not to mention the Sight runs in my family, too."
Stubbie paused as a couple of people called his name from a few tables over and waved.
A mineral-energy sensitive, huh? Peter thought as the fiddler exchanged a few short pleasantries. Maybe she'd be the one to go over those weird crystals Ray picked up. Damned things are 'hot' on a PKE meter and damned if we can figure out why. But he decided to leave that idea for later.
"That's one of the reasons we wanted you here tonight," Stubbie continued. "With your job, you probably know that you're not alone." The fiddler gave him a sly wink. "But I thought you might want to know that not all of us are New Age fluffy bunnies either."
The memory of some of Ray's weirder friends came to mind, and Peter found himself snickering. "What a relief," he whispered. "Thanks, Stubbie. I'm glad you and Bernadette are okay with this. I really didn't like what I had to do with you guys."
"Hey, battlefield situation, mate." Stubbie stopped at an empty table. The rest of the team had fallen slightly behind, and he waved them over. "Here you go, folks. Best seats in the house. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to finish tuning up. And the first round is on me."
The group chorused their thanks as they took their seats and the musician ran up to rejoin the others on the stage. Peter tilted his chair back on two legs and was surprised to find himself relaxing. True, he could hear a faint murmur of thoughts through his shields (shielding out absolutely everything could be exhausting), but they were no more troublesome now than the half-heard conversations around him. And he was even starting to feel a bit of what Tabitha had described. Picking up the prevailing mood of jocularity and fun in sort of a contact high cubed.
Okay, this is almost too easy, Peter's pessimistic side complained. Catching the quickly hidden, concerned glances from his friends, he told pessimism to take a hike and stood up. "Okay, we've got free drinks with our names on them and it looks like the waitresses have their hands full. Name your poison."
Peter quickly took his friends' orders and wove his way back to the bar. As he waited for the drinks, the pub's manager stepped up to the microphone.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! O'Sullivan's is proud to present...One Last Round!"
Applause swelled as the musicians stepped up. Stubbie tapped out the time signature and they launched into a lively reel. Peter leaned back against the polished wood, his foot beginning to tap to the beat. Irish wasn't his favorite music, but it certainly was fun. Before the last of the drinks arrived, something else caught his attention. He felt another familiar mind enter the pub. With a delighted grin, he turned.
"Tabby!" he called. "Over here!"
The apprentice healer looked around for a second before she zeroed in on his voice. Her face lit up in surprise. "Peter!" she called back, quickly dodging through the crowd to the bar where she gave him an enthusiastic hug. "Talk about your small worlds. It's good to see you."
"You too, Dr. Tabasco," he echoed with an impish grin. "I almost didn't recognize you. I thought all you wore was scrubs."
Tabitha gave him a mock scowl and gently punched his arm. "Go on, you! When your job has a daily threat of being puked, spat or peed on, you'd not want to wear your good clothes on the job either."
"Good point," Peter agreed, giving her faun-colored suede pants and deep burgundy blouse an appreciative look. "So what brings you here? I thought you didn't need the party scene to keep sane thanks to the Gaurnim School of Higher Psionics."
"Hey, I found partying fun in and of itself before I had to do it," she shot back. "In fact, it's more fun now that it's a choice instead of a need." She turned to the bartender for a moment. "Bailey's on the rocks, please," she ordered and turned back to Peter. "As for why I'm here tonight? Stroke of luck, really. Bethany somehow got her hands on a pass for the cover charge. She doesn't care for this style of music, so she gave it to me."
"Wait a minute! You've got a pass, too?" Suspicion flared in Peter's mind. He turned to look across the tables at his friends. They all quickly looked everywhere but the bar, but smugness practically radiated from their table.
"What is it?" Tabitha asked, following his gaze. Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"I'm afraid we're the objects of what Spengs would call a 'benevolent conspiracy'," he explained. Just you wait, people, he sent in a narrow projection. Let's see how you like me beaming "Don't Worry, Be Happy" into your brains and getting it stuck there for a few days.
He indulged in a vulpine grin as shock replaced the smugness, followed by various, gruesome images of what they'd do to him if he followed through on the threat.
"Ohhhhh, I see," Tabitha said wryly. "Well, Bethany's been about the only nurse who hadn't tried to play matchmaker for me."
"And it's all completely redundant," Peter said with mock sadness. "I mean, I am irresistible."
"Well, maybe not irresistible, but certainly entertaining," Tabitha said with a wry, half-smile as she accepted her drink. The rest of Peter's order was completed, and he began gathering the glasses.
"So you're finally being drawn in by my ravishing good looks and dashing charm?" he asked playfully as he tried to work out the best way to transport three pints of beer, a Shirley Temple and a Coke. Tabitha deftly took part of his burden.
"Well...maybe I am."
Peter stopped cold. He hadn't expected that. He looked up at her with a question plain in his eyes, which triggered a chuckle which Tabitha quickly suppressed.
"What? Is this the first time a girl has actually fallen for that line?" she asked.
"Well, no," Peter said. "But the ones that did weren't exactly med school graduates, if you know what I mean."
"Why not?" she asked airily. "I.Q. isn't always the same as horse sense." She took a contemplative sip of her drink and said in a low voice, "No, I'm not falling for your charm or image. You let me see clean through that, remember?"
Peter nodded warily. "Well, yeah. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."
"I can't say I remember much of it," she continued. "Human memory probably doesn't have enough room to store the gestalt of a whole other person." She paused for a moment as music swirled around the room. The band had switched from pure instrumental music to lively singing, but Peter was only dimly aware of the lyrics in the background.
"But, what I do remember...I kinda liked," Tabitha finished a little bashfully. "And I think I'd like to get to know the rest of you again." An impish smile began to play at the corners of her mouth. "Though perhaps at a slightly slower pace."
Peter felt an answering smile stretch the corners of his mouth. He also didn't remember many details of his rapport with Tabitha, but what he did recall intrigued him. "I think I would like that," he said, dropping his fun-time mask. "I'd like that a lot."
Suddenly, the lyrics Stubbie was singing broke through to him.
In this beautiful life
There's always some sorrow
It's a double edged knife
But there's always tomorrow
It's up to you now if you sink or swim
Just keep the faith that your ship will come in
It's not so bad. And I say,
Hey, hey, hey
It's just an ordinary day
And it's all in your state of mind
At the end of the day
You've just got to say it's all right...
Okay! Okay! Peter thought with silent laughter at whatever forces might be listening. I get the point already!
"Come on, Tabby cat," he said aloud with a grin. "Let's get these drinks back to the others before they dry up and blow away."
***
Fini
The quote in this chapter is from _People of the Lie_ by M. Scott Peck, M.D.
The song quoted is "Ordinary Day" by Great Big Sea.