Publicity Stunt

by EGB Fan

My take on Roland’s mysterious “big family”. Having seven children increases the odds that one of them will rebel, and Manhattan’s answer to the Waltons is thrown into disarray when sixteen-year-old Tara finds a way out.

Extreme Ghostbusters: Publicity Stunt

"Oh no oh no oh no – please God no!" fretted Sharon Jackson, as she wrenched open the oven door and fanned away the billowing smoke with her hand.

"How did that happen?" her eight-year-old daughter Amy asked anxiously.

"I don't know, honey." Sharon shook her head despairingly at the blackened chicken that she had just rescued from the temperamental oven. "Oh dear. Maybe it'll be better on the inside."

"Yeah... maybe," Amy frowned dubiously.

Sharon took a moment to gather her thoughts before opening the cutlery drawer and asking, "How many of us are there going to be again?"

"Five," Amy answered promptly. "You, Dad, Roland, Tara and Mr. Herbert."

"Better make that six!" a young male voice called from the sitting room.

"No, seven!" added another.

Marcus and Ryan, aged thirteen and twelve respectively, were furious with their parents for making them go to bed early that night – and ten-year-old Casey wasn't too happy about it either. Not that any of them particularly wanted to sit down to dinner with their dad's boss, but as far as they were concerned, that was beside the point.

"What's all that smoke about anyway?" a third voice – Casey's – came from the sitting room.

Sharon wandered through to the dining room, deposited six sets of cutlery on the immaculate white tablecloth and then stopped in at the sitting room on her way back to the kitchen. Marcus, Ryan and Casey were playing Monopoly in the middle of the floor; Tara was sprawled across an armchair, her long, slender legs draped over one cushiony arm and her face buried in "Vogue".

"The oven's playing up again," Sharon said in answer to Casey's question. Then her gaze fell upon her older daughter and she went on, in authoritative tones, "Tara, if you're not going to help will you at least put on some pants?"

"What do you think these are?" demanded the sixteen year old, tugging at a loose thread on her cut-off jeans.

"Tara, please," begged Sharon. "We want to make a good impression tonight."

"Huh. I don't know why," mumbled Tara, wrinkling her snub nose in apparent disgust. "If Dad gets this promotion it'll only be because Mr. Pervert is scared of Race Relations."

"Tara!" exclaimed her mother.

"What?" the teenager shot back.

"That's a terrible thing to say! And you're going to have to get out of the habit of calling him Mr. Pervert before he gets here," she added.

"Mooo-ooom!" Amy called from the kitchen. "Do you want me to put the potatoes in yet?"

"Better do them later in the microwave, seeing as the oven's misbehaving," said Sharon, turning her head to face the kitchen doorway. "And put something over the chicken to keep it warm, will you? Hey!" she suddenly gasped, turning her head sharply towards the four kids in the sitting room. "Who's watching Joey?"

Tara looked vaguely around the room and then shrugged. Certainly none of those four was watching Joey, and the youngest of the Jackson brood was not with Amy. And since neither Roland nor their father was back from work yet, it seemed safe to assume that young Joseph was currently unsupervised.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Sharon, making a sudden dash for the stairs.

"What's going on?" asked Amy, appearing in the sitting room doorway with a bottle of red wine in her hands.

"Joey's on the loose," Ryan answered disinterestedly, not looking up from the Monopoly game. "Don't forget you owe me a thousand dollars, Case."

"I haven't got a thousand dollars," grumbled Casey.

"Careful with that bottle, AJ," Ryan advised his younger sister, apparently forgetting about his brother's debt. "It'd only take a huge wine stain all over the carpet to make tonight a complete disaster."

"Plus whatever Joey's been doing," Marcus flinched, as a barrage of angry yelling from Sharon wafted down from upstairs.

The yelling became gradually louder until Sharon reappeared in the sitting room with a guilty looking four-year-old boy under one arm. Joey was holding in his right hand an expensive looking dark shade of lipstick. Tara spotted this straightaway and leapt to her feet shouting, "Hey! That's mine!"

"Is it?" fumed Sharon, as Tara wrenched the object from her little brother's hand. "Well in that case you can clear up the mess your brother made with it in the bathroom!"

"Aw, what?" Tara squeaked indignantly. "Can't it wait? Mr. Pervert isn't going to see the bathroom, is he?"

"Oh no, of course not," scoffed Amy, who had taken the wine to the dining room unnoticed and since returned. "I heard he's got a bladder the size of a reservoir."

"I heard he's a neat freak," added Ryan. "Really – he won't like the mess at all."

"I heard he's a giant chicken," Casey muttered beneath his breath.

"Go and clean it up, young lady – NOW!" ordered Sharon.

Knowing when she was beaten, Tara rolled her big brown eyes and sighed like a steam train before flouncing huffily up the stairs.

"And put some clothes on!" Sharon yelled after her.

"Mom, I wrapped the chicken up in tea towels and put a big casserole dish over it," ventured Amy. "Is there anything else you want me to do?"

"Thank you, AJ," Sharon smiled gratefully. "Just watch your little brother for me, ok? Oh thank God!" she added with a sigh, as the front door clicked open. "Here's Roland."

"Sorry I'm late!" Roland called from out in hallway. "Is there anything you want me to do, Mom?"

"Thanks honey, but we've done everything for the time being," replied Sharon, wandering out into the hallway to join her oldest son. "Unless you want to help your sister clean lipstick off everything in the bathroom."

"How did that happen?" frowned Roland.

"How do you think?" grinned Amy, grabbing Joey by the waist as he came hurtling out of the sitting room – now, for some reason, having taken his off his corduroy trousers.

"I was going to give you a bath, baby," Sharon told her youngest son. "But you've put paid to that now."

Joey grinned a toothless grin at his mother, and then started trying to struggle free of his sister's grasp.

"Make sure he doesn't escape, AJ," advised Roland. "I've seen that bottle of wine in the dining room, and he's probably spotted it too."

"Let me go!" Joey squealed, beating at his sister's bare arms with angry little fists and kicking mercilessly at her white jeans.

"Joey, don't hit," cautioned Roland. "Maybe you should give him some dinner and put him to bed, Mom."

"Exactly what I was thinking," nodded Sharon. "Go get your brothers, AJ – it's dinner time."

Amy frowned at the wall clock as she shepherded her diminutive sibling towards their mother. It was all right for Joey, but she was not at all used to eating her last meal of the day at five o'clock.

"Why is our brother such a little shit?" demanded Tara, when Roland appeared in the bathroom doorway at half past seven. "Do you have any idea how much that lipstick cost me? I could be at Bill Marshall's party now, you know – but instead here I am scrubbing my hard-earned cash off Mom's precious bathroom walls and waiting to eat charred chicken with Mr. Pervert!"

"I've been sent to see how you're getting on," Roland told her, "and to see if you've put pants on yet." (She hadn't.) "Mr. Herbert's supposed to be arriving at any moment."

"Is he?" Tara sighed despairingly. "Well, I've got most of it out."

"I'll finish for you," offered Roland. "You go and put something on."

Tara obediently threw down the damp cloth she had been using and marched towards her bedroom. With the exception of the sleeping Joey, the Jackson Brigade would be downstairs awaiting the arrival of Mr. Pervert – sorry – Herbert. They were probably standing in line like some kind of army regiment all wearing sailor suits or something. Tara wouldn't have been surprised if their father had asked them to sing that stupid song about chimes and cuckoos from "The Sound Of Music".

Dinner with Mr. Herbert did not go spectacularly well. Tara now looked the part, in an ankle-length denim skirt and tight-fitting white t-shirt – but she did a very good job of letting her parents know that she did not appreciate being told how to dress and that she was not at all happy about missing Bill Marshall's party.

Throughout the meal she slouched in her chair, one elbow on the table and her chin resting in her hand. She took care to look distinctly bored all the time Mr. Herbert was talking about the stock market and politics and so forth, and she made sure that she was chewing her food with her mouth open every time the esteemed guest looked her way.

"I've heard that they're getting close to putting a man on Mars," Mr. Herbert – a large, ruddy-faced man with greying dark hair and the kind of nasal hair you couldn't help but stare at – was saying to Roland and Phil Jackson. Phil had arrived home slightly late from work with his boss in tow. "What a way to start the new millennium, huh?"

"About time too," was Roland's opinion. "Boy, I'd love to get a look at some of their equipment..."

"Waste of money if you ask me," Tara garbled through a mouthful of peas and roast potatoes (or rather microwaved potatoes that had been cunningly disguised to look like they had been roast). "Billions of dollars that should be used to solve all the problems on this planet before they go making problems on Mars. It's not like going to Mars is even important – they can't bring back anything useful. And I suppose it wouldn't even occur to them to send a woman."

When she had finished speaking and received no response, Tara lifted her dark eyes from the mashed-up, microwaved, would-be roast potato sculpture she was making and registered three shocked and angry expressions from her mother, father and brother. As for Mr. Herbert, he was looking faintly surprised that his young hostess had spoken for the first time in nearly an hour.

"Sorry," Tara went on, tilting her head facetiously to one side. "Should I only have opinions about cake recipes and fabric softener? Great meal by the way, Mom. Let's just hope Dad gets what he wants out of it."

Roland grabbed the half-full bottle of red wine, tilted it slightly over his nearly empty glass and laughed nervously, "Oops! We're out of wine. Tara, will you please come and help me find that other bottle?"

Tara started to argue, "But we don't have another - "

"Go with him, Tara," Phil ordered darkly.

With an ostentatious sigh of exasperation, Tara pushed her chair noisily back from the table and skulked through to the kitchen, her brother following close behind.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" hissed Roland.

"Hey, I was just expressing an opinion," Tara said defensively. "It's about time that male chauvinist pig learnt that women have brains too – even black women!"

"Mr. Herbert has shown no indication of being either sexist or racist," Roland derided his sister.

"Oh yeah? So come he only talks to you and Dad?" retorted Tara.

"He's been talking to Mom. And maybe he'd talk to you too if you'd only remember your manners," Roland whispered furtively. "Now we're going back in there and you can darn well behave yourself, all right?"

"You know," mused Tara, "there's something funny about that Mr. Pervert. Have you noticed that twitch in his eye?"

"No – but what of it?" demanded Roland. "Lots of people have twitches. Now let's go!"

"What about the wine?" asked Tara. "Won't it look suspicious if we go back in there without any?"

"We won't," Roland assured her, holding up the half-full bottle and shaking it slightly so that the liquid inside swilled around noisily. "But we'd both better drink some so Mr. Herbert doesn't think it's strange when he finds the bottle's half empty."

"Sure," shrugged Tara. "At least I'm getting a little booze out of this crummy evening."

x x x

Eduardo had to try hard not to look twice at the pretty black girl with long legs, generous curves and a don't-mess-with-me scowl who sauntered into the Firehouse at eleven thirty the next morning. Instead he looked at Kylie and reminded himself of the famous quote by actor Paul Newman: why go out for a hamburger when there's a steak going home with you at the end of the day? Or something like that, anyway.

"Tara?" Roland exclaimed in outraged tones. "What in the name of blue blazes are you doing here?"

"Aw, lay off," pouted Tara, collapsing onto the sofa next to Kylie. "You had Mr. Horse-ass for English, didn't you? I just couldn't face him today."

"His name is Mr. Horace," Roland told her firmly. "And you'd better hope I don't tell Mom and Dad about this."

"Oh... why?" Tara sighed wearily, throwing back her head of tiny braids and staring up at the ceiling. "I couldn't be in any more trouble than I am now."

"Go back to school," ordered Roland.

Eduardo exchanged a look with Garrett, who was watching this little exchange with evident interest. It was impossible to tell which sibling he was rooting for to win the argument, but Eduardo had taken Tara's side immediately. She reminded him a lot of himself at that age – minus the baby goatee and plus the makeup, of course.

"No," Tara responded to her brother's command. "And anyway, I'm here on business."

"Really?" Roland asked dubiously.

"Sure." Tara stretched out her slender brown legs and decided that they were much nicer than Kylie's shorter, not so brown legs were. "I think I've figured it out about Mr. Pervert."

"Go on then," Roland sighed resignedly.

"He's a werewolf."

"Funny – I didn't expect anything half so stupid," was Roland's answer to that.

"Oh come on – it totally makes sense!" argued Tara. "That's why his so-called 'business meetings' on the other side of the city happen once a month regular as clockwork. And did you see the forest he was sprouting from his nostrils? That's not normal!"

"He's just old," her brother reasoned.

"Yeah – happens to the best of us," added Eduardo.

Kylie looked up at him and japed, "Some sooner than others. You know, honey, you're the only nineteen year old I know with unsightly facial hair."

"Hey, you promised me you'd stop making fun of my goatee," Eduardo pouted.

"Did I?" Kylie at once looked repentant. "I'm sorry, baby."

"That's ok." Eduardo switched on a smile, moved over to the sofa and dropped a kiss on Kylie's forehead. "I forgive you."

Kylie giggled – something their young visitor thought she didn't quite look capable of. Tara stared at the couple blankly, scornful of their behaviour. She wasn't to know that they were just getting used to loving each other instead of hating each other.

"I know you don't really believe that werewolf tripe," Roland said sternly to his sister. "Come on, I'm giving you a lift back to school."

"Get lost," sneered Tara. "If I'm going anywhere it'll be to the movies. Or bowling. I might as well get out when I can seeing as Mom and Dad have grounded me for the next forever."

"And so they might," retorted Roland. "Your behaviour last night was disgraceful."

"Hey, I was just being myself," Tara shot back defensively. "If Mom and Dad wanted the dutiful daughter who'd just sit and look pretty, then they should have got Amy to do it."

Nobody really thought that ordinary little Amy was as pretty as her stunning older sister, except possibly their parents – but that was entirely beside the point.

"You knew how important last night was," Roland derided his sister. "Now Dad's sure not to get this promotion and it'll be - "

"What?" Tara demanded angrily, jumping to her feet. "My fault? So what's new? I get blamed for everything!"

"Tara, that's not true," Roland calmly attempted to pacify his sister.

"Sure it is!" Tara yelled furiously, her fists bunched with anger at the sides of her frayed cut-off jeans. "Seven of us and I'm the only one who can do wrong! Marcus and Ryan manage not to get noticed much; Joey gets away with it because he's cute – and Casey only gets away with it because he's sly! At least I'm honest!"

"Tara..." Roland faltered helplessly.

"And you...! Well, you and Amy are just perfect! That's why Mom and Dad didn't stop at me – they kept going until they got the perfect daughter! And isn't she just!"

"Why are you bringing Amy into this?" demanded Roland.

"Because I hate her!" bellowed Tara. "I hate all of you! And I'm not going anywhere with you in your precious car!"

With that she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her head held high. As the four Ghostbusters stared after her, Garrett had to refrain from shouting out, "That was so cool!" Teenage tantrums could often be fun to watch.

"Whoa!" Roland spoke at last. "What was that all about?"

"Simple," shrugged Garrett. "She wants a car."

"And she's sick of being talked down to by her bossy older brother," Eduardo put in helpfully, speaking entirely from experience. "The kid only wants to be herself. Give her a break, man. You're stifling her."

"Seven of you?" Kylie squeaked incredulously.

"Sure," shrugged Roland. "Haven't I told you that before?"

Kylie shook her head mutely.

"Yeah, well – imagine being a teenager stuck in a house with six siblings," Garrett said knowingly (although of course Roland didn't have to imagine). "No wonder she's feeling stressed out. And if she's grounded – well, that sure isn't gonna help."

"Yeah, you gotta feel sorry for her," added Eduardo. "And I think she's right: your parents shouldn't have made her do whatever she had to do last night."

"Hey, hold on!" exclaimed Roland. "You don't know my sister, you don't know what happened last night and suddenly you're all on her side?"

"I didn't say anything," Kylie was quick to defend herself.

"I'm right, you know," Garrett went on. "She wants a car. It's symbolic. What she really wants is freedom. Sounds like your mom and dad are running a tight ship."

"Plus she's jealous because you got a car and she don't," Eduardo told Roland knowingly.

"Well... maybe you're right," Roland relented. "It's impossible to cope with such a large family all the time, especially when you're sixteen. I'd better talk to her about this when I get home tonight."

x x x

When Roland got home that night, he was shocked to discover that his younger sister had not come home from school. Phil and Sharon were understandably concerned, and now so was Roland – but they needn't have worried just yet. As her older brother was walking through his front door, Tara was idly flicking through a glossy magazine in the untidy bedroom of her best friend Karen.

Tara was sitting cross-legged on the floor, nodding along to New Radicals and occasionally complaining about her family. But she knew perfectly well that Karen wasn't listening to a word she said, being far too busy applying fake tan to her freshly waxed legs.

"Roland's the worst, you know," Tara suddenly announced, not looking up from the feature she was reading on the pros and cons of body piercing (the main con, as far as she could tell, being that too much body piercing was likely to lead to all sorts of disfiguring skin diseases). "It's like he thinks he's one of the grown-ups instead of one of us. I mean, Mom and Dad telling me what to do – that I can handle. But Roland's my brother, you know? He's the only older sibling I've got. I figure him and me should stick together, but he'd much rather boss me around like he was one of my parents."

"You know," mused Karen, "if I was black like you I wouldn't have this problem."

Pulling a face, Tara looked at Karen's tube of fake tan and said sarcastically, "What, if you were black you wouldn't have fair skin? How long did it take you to figure that one out, K?"

"It's all right for you," retorted Karen. "You're beautiful, but I got stuck being a redhead."

Tara rolled her eyes. Karen was generally thought of as attractive, and yet she still went to every measure to alter her body beyond recognition. No wonder most of the not so pretty girls at school hated her.

"So what happened at Bill's party last night?" Tara decided to change the subject. "Anything good?"

"Nah," shrugged Karen, stretching her skinny body across the length of the bed to reach her dresser, from which she picked out a bottle of firming lotion.

"What about Zeke?" Tara asked cautiously. "He didn't chat anybody up, did he?"

"Well, maybe one or two," shrugged Karen.

Tara scowled.

"Aw, c'mon, give the guy a break," her friend reasoned. "It was a party. Everybody flirts at parties – but I'm almost positive that he didn't lay a finger on anyone. He likes you. Taylor told me."

If it wasn't for her quick temper and the venomous looks she was capable of (her inch-long blood-red nails only adding to the effect), Tara probably could have had any man she wanted. It so happened that she wanted Zeke Matthews: seventeen years old, six foot three, handsome and addicted to reckless fun. It was lucky really that he was so pally with Karen's boyfriend.

"Speaking of Taylor," Karen went on, "I told him I'd maybe check out that new club with him tonight. Why not call Zeke and you can both come along too?"

Tara hesitated. "Uh... Karen, I don't know. My parents are probably worrying about me already..."

"So what?" Karen drawled breezily, picking up another bottle from her dresser. "Let 'em worry. I thought you were supposed to be mad at them."

"I am," Tara agreed, squinting at the label on the bottle of stuff that her friend was now rubbing into her face. Moisturiser. It would serve her right if moisturiser reacted badly with fake tan.

"So call Zeke and let's have some fun!" Karen enthused, lifting the receiver from her Barbie-pink phone and holding it out to Tara. "You don't want him to go off you, do you? He was really bummed that you couldn't make Bill's party last night. If only your mom and dad had let you go out..."

Karen, as well as having a fairly good argument as far as her friend could see, was obviously not going to take no for an answer. So Tara let out a sigh of resignation and took the phone. Maybe she should call home and let her parents know where she was. Hmm... maybe she should dive headfirst into a vat of boiling oil. She was going to be in so much trouble for going to Karen's after school.

Oh well – might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Punching out Zeke's number, Tara decided to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

x x x

For some demons, body stealing is as easy as counting to ten. For Drax, however, taking the body of Darrel Cutts had been very hard work and required a lot of energy and concentration. It wasn't even a very nice body, the demon reflected. For some reason the females of the species seemed to like it – but Drax found the itchiness from the stubble on his chin almost unbearable, and his sandy-blond hair kept getting in his eyes.

But he couldn't trim either of them down if he wanted people to believe that he really was Darrel Cutts. Ok, so he was certainly no stranger to hypnosis, but he was going to need all of his power for what he had in mind.

Straightening the lapels on his horribly uncomfortable denim jacket as he sauntered into the nightclub, Drax vowed that going to this dreadful place in that horrible body had better be worth it. Surely among all these energetic, star-struck teenagers, he would find what he was looking for.

Drax switched on his super-hearing and began the tedious task of listening to every conversation going on in the crowded club. If you could put conversations on a maybe pile, Drax's would have been full within the first minute:

"My mom totally doesn't have a clue, Shaz. I mean, it's my room. I should be able to keep it the way I want, right?"

"Dude, it's driving me crazy. Every night he's bringing home a different girl and they never seem to care that I'm in there trying to sleep. They won't let me switch roommates and I can't go home. It'd be like, 'I told you so' every day for the next, like, fifty years or something!"

Of course a lot of teenagers seemed to mind these minor imperfections in their lives, and Drax was well aware of that. He didn't sense any real need in these people, but he kept trying. There had to be a-hundred or more kids in that place. Surely one of them...

"I don't understand why Roland hasn't moved out," a female voice shouted with feeling above the blare of the music. "Seven of us in that house, minus Mom and Dad. That's nine altogether. Nine! Can you imagine? Let me tell you, when I go to college I'll be out of there faster than... uh... oh jeez, I don't know. It's impossible to think of comparisons in a place like this."

Something compelled Drax to keep listening. This girl, whoever she was, really seemed to mean what she was saying.

"Uh... bummer," a disinterested male voice cut into her flow.

"Seriously!" the girl went on insistently. "There is not one spare inch of floor in that house you can call your own! If you want some space and a bit of time to yourself – tough! They even come and bother me in my own room! I don't know how much longer I can put up with it, Zeke. I've got kids screaming in one ear; I've got parents nagging me in the other; I've got schoolwork and friends to keep up with, but it's impossible to do anything in that place without somebody asking you to mow the lawn or play Boggle or something! And I am so sick of being told what to do all the time! I just wish I could get out and take a break from all that, you know?"

A short pause.

"Zeke, are you listening to me?"

"Sure I am, babe," the girl's companion told her coolly. "You wanna get out and take a break. Hey, join the club – you know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, well – how many people have four little brothers, one little sister and three nags living with them? And now I'm s'posed to be grounded – but I don't think it's too much to ask just to have the house to myself for a few hours, or to be allowed to spend a few days staying with a friend!"

"Well Tara, you know you're always welcome to stay at my place," Zeke drawled suggestively. "You can stay over tonight if you'd like."

"Ugh," grunted Tara. "Shut up, Zeke."

"What?" the boy asked defensively. "Ok, don't come home with me – but at least lighten up! I thought you wanted to have a good time!"

"I do!" Tara squeaked insistently. "It's just not easy with so much crap to look forward to when I get home!"

"Don't think about it, baby," Zeke advised. "Come on, loosen up. Let's dance."

"Well... ok," Tara agreed, a smile at last evident in her tone.

Drax ran his eyes along the teenagers lining the bar until he caught sight of the black couple walking hand-in-hand towards the dance floor. That had to be them. Drax concentrated on the girl, encouraged by the apparent seriousness of her problem. It wasn't anything too drastic, but certainly it was enough to allow him to convince her to cooperate with him.

She was pretty – very pretty – and she seemed to be able to dance. That was encouraging. He could certainly use someone like that for what he had in mind. But there was one crucial factor he could not yet be sure about.

"Excuse me," Drax smiled politely, halting Zeke's frenzied dance movements by touching his shoulder. This stopped Tara as well, so Drax looked at her and asked simply, "Can you sing?"

"Um... a little," Tara replied uncertainly.

"Then I've a proposition for you," Drax told her, maintaining his smile and wondering if he was ever going to be able to get rid of it. "May I buy you a drink?"

"Depends what you mean by a drink," grinned Tara, holding out a hand that labelled her "Under 21" in bold, red letters.

"Whoa, hey, wait a minute!" Zeke interjected, stepping between them. "Tara, this guy's gotta be at least twenty-five. And besides," he added, with a forlorn look, "you're here with me."

"My intentions are entirely honourable, I can assure you," Drax continued to smile, hiding his annoyance well. "What's your name, young lady?"

"Tara Jackson."

"Tara. Perfect," mused Drax. "The surname may need a little work, though. We don't want people thinking you're related to anyone you're not. My name is Darrel Cutts. You may have heard of me?"

"Man, I've heard of you!" Zeke exclaimed excitedly. "Aren't you some kind of record producer?"

"Smart lad." I wish to goodness he'd go away and leave us alone. "Tara, shall we get that drink?"

As she was shepherded towards the bar, Tara looked back over her shoulder at Zeke and mouthed incredulously, "Record producer?"

Zeke nodded, grinned broadly and gave her two thumbs-up. He then looked around for Taylor, spotted him and quickly deduced that his friend was enjoying a much better date than he was.

Wow, thought Zeke. Fake tan sure melts quickly under these disco lights.

x x x

The next day was Saturday, which of course meant no school and no college. Garrett got up early and went to college anyway, in order to use the gym. After a rigorous one-hour session, he begged a lift from a friend who, by an incredible coincidence (Garrett swore he hadn't done it on purpose) was just leaving the gym also.

Rolling through to the Firehouse foyer, Garrett was faintly surprised when he narrowly avoided a collision with a speeding little black boy. The young girl following hot on his heels and screaming, "Jo-eeeeeeeeeey!" came as slightly less of a shock – and it wasn't at all unusual to find Casey wreaking havoc around these parts. At that moment he was rearranging the files in one of Janine's cabinets.

"Hey Mrs. S," Garrett grinned facetiously at Janine. He was constantly trying to come up with a better nickname for her since she had married Egon, but for now Mrs. S. would have to suffice. "Why are there three small Jacksons running round the place?"

Janine sighed and said soberly, "Apparently Tara didn't come home last night."

"Oh," Garrett responded with due concern.

"So now apparently their mother's having some sort of nervous breakdown in the kitchen and doesn't want the brats hanging around. Roland says it was his idea to bring them here. I'm not quite sure how great an idea that actually was, though. They're bored already."

"It wouldn't kill you to help, you know!" Amy yelled across the room at her older brother. She had successfully caught the kicking and screaming Joey, and was now holding him in a kind of headlock.

"Hey, AJ! Is – uh – Joey into cars?" asked Garrett. He was familiar with most of the Jacksons, Amy being his favourite possibly even ahead of Roland, but this was his first encounter with their smallest sibling.

"Yes," answered Amy. "Why?"

"You could try taking him up to the roof," Garrett suggested. "Dr. Venkman did that with his son once. It kept him quiet for hours – you can see the cars on like ten streets. Unless you think he's likely to jump off," he added, only half-joking.

"Worth a try, I suppose," Amy said with a grateful smile. "You coming, Case?"

"Not now AJ, I'm busy," Casey muttered distractedly. He certainly looked busy, flicking through a binder full of old files.

Amy shrugged and started to propel her little brother towards the stairs, trying to encourage him by saying as brightly as she could, "Come on then, Joey! Didn't I tell you we'd have fun?"

"How old is she?" Garrett asked Janine, impressed by Jackson number six's child handling abilities.

Janine simply shrugged in response.

Roland didn't spot his youngest sister and brother passing through the sitting room on their way up to the roof. He was too busy not finding out anything useful from Karen over the phone – bar that Tara had disappeared from a nightclub while her boyfriend had stayed there until he got bored and announced his departure to his friend. Roland was astonished to find that he felt relieved at that news. Surely it would have been better if Tara had spent the night with Zeke rather than vanishing into thin air.

"This is terrible," Roland fretted, after he had put down the phone. "Nobody knows where she is. She's run away and it's all my fault!"

"Don't blame yourself," Kylie said soothingly.

"Yeah, you didn't do anything," added Eduardo.

The phone started to ring. His body sagging and his eyes empty of expression, Roland answered the call robotically: "Hello. Ghostbusters."

"Roland?"

Roland perked up immediately. "Tara? Where are you?"

"Brooklyn!" came the animated response.

"WHAT?" Roland squeaked incredulously.

"I know! Can you believe it?"

"Believe what?" demanded Roland. "What are you doing in Brooklyn?"

"Getting a break after all my rotten luck!" Tara told him in adamant tones. "I've been trying to call you for ages but the line was always busy! Karen and I went to a club last night and I got spotted by a talent scout!"

"Talent scout?" echoed Roland. "What were you doing?"

"What do you mean?" asked Tara, a frown evident in her tone.

"Well, if you were spotted by a talent scout you must have been doing whatever it is he or she was scouting for. What was it?"

"Oh. Well... dancing," shrugged Tara. "Anyway, I'm just calling to let you know that I'm ok. I'm staying in a hotel – Darrel's people are paying – and I may not be home for several weeks, 'k? Bye!"

"WHAT? Tara, no – don't hang up!" Roland panicked into the phone. "Just tell me exactly what's going on."

"I told you," Tara sighed irritably. "I was approached by a talent scout. Well, a record producer actually – but he was talent scouting in the club I was at last night. And he's going to make me famous. Got it?"

"No!" Roland protested. "Tara, what... what about school?"

"What about school?" Tara retaliated. "I'm dropping out."

Roland was momentarily speechless. Finally he said, "You have got to be kidding me."

"Roland! This is exactly what I need!" his sister whinged. "Besides the fact that I have seriously got to get out of that house, this is my chance to prove that I'm as good as any of you! Even you," she added bitterly.

"But Tara, nobody thinks you're not! Please, won't you listen to reason? Mom and Dad are gonna hate this!"

"Duh! Why do you think I didn't call home? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Roland," reasoned Tara. "Give me one good reason why I should turn it down. Hell, this is everything I ever wanted!"

"But... but..."

"What? I can't talk long – Darrel wants me."

Roland took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts and then tried a different angle.

"Tara, come on, think about it," he reasoned, forcing himself to calm down. There was no way Tara was going to take any notice of him if he didn't seem to know what he was talking about. "If this works out, you are forever going to be told what to do, how to dress, where to go and who to go there with. You'd hate that!"

This was answered by a brief pause, and in that moment of silence Roland really hoped that he had convinced his sister to change her mind. But sadly:

"So what?" fumed Tara. "It'll be worth it to get away from you people! I know none of you believe in me and you don't think I'm up to much, but I'll show you! I'm going through with this and you can't stop me!"

The line went dead. Roland stared at the phone in his hand in abject horror. He had a terrible feeling that neither he nor any member of his family was going to hear from Jackson number two any time soon.

x x x

In the weeks that followed, the excitement and enthusiasm that the start of a new year at college had instilled in Roland soon dissipated in favour of extreme concern for his sister. Needless to say that Phil and Sharon were going out of their minds with worry, and Marcus and Ryan found that they missed their big sis – even though they were sure she'd be fine out there on her own. (On her own apart from Darrel Cutts, that is, whose identity Ryan had worked out from the information Roland had received from Tara).

Joey hardly seemed to notice that one of his older siblings was missing. Well, when you're four years old, the difference between five and six is scarcely noticeable. However Casey and Amy, both having learnt some of Tara's own hardiness and determination, were very instrumental in the campaign to track their sister down. When they found that it was impossible to reach Darrel Cutts by telephone (Casey was dreading the phone bill – he was going to be in so much trouble), they made Roland drive them to Zeke's house so that they could interrogate the poor boy.

Zeke, as it turned out, knew nothing of Tara's whereabouts. Amy was convinced he was lying. Casey thought so too for the first ten minutes – until Zeke became close to tears and insisted that Tara had phoned him just once in order to dump him.

"Did you trace the call?" demanded Amy.

"Trace the call? No!" Zeke was adamant. "Why would I do that?"

"Because, Ezekiel, our sister ran away from home!" Amy shot darkly, her big brown eyes shooting daggers at Zeke.

Roland continued to be surprised whenever Amy the amiable got like this – but like him, if there was one thing that got her riled, it was anything that tried to disrupt her family.

"If somebody's missing," she went on, "one of the first things any sensible person does is trace their phone calls."

"Come on AJ, he doesn't know anything," Casey intervened at last. "Let's get outta here."

Roland took them back to the Firehouse, but soon wished he had taken them home instead. Eduardo and Kylie were setting a very bad example: canoodling on one of the armchairs while Garrett lay on the sofa with his head propped up on a pillow, his chair in close proximity should he need it in a hurry. He was focussing half his concentration on MTV; the other half was dedicated to hinting heavily at the oblivious pair on the armchair by making loud sick noises.

However Amy soon put a stop to all that by barking at Eduardo, "Hey, is your brother any closer to finding my sister?"

"I've told you before, AJ – Carlos isn't involved in the case," Eduardo answered apologetically.

"Well can't he find out what's going on?" Amy demanded.

Casey cut a sideways glance at his sister. He had already been through all this with his friend Kevin: Carlos Rivera's son. According to Kevin, Carl had tried to become involved with Tara's case – but apparently, because he knew the missing girl personally, he was "in danger of becoming emotionally involved." Carl had argued that he had only ever seen Tara Jackson once in his life, at which time he had not communicated in any way with her – but apparently being the father and brother respectively of the missing person's brothers' friends made him too close.

"Actually I did find out something," Eduardo admitted tentatively, adjusting his position slightly as Kylie moved off his lap and onto the arm of the chair. "Carlos says that because Tara called to let you know she was ok, finding her isn't a priority case."

"WHAT?" Casey had not heard that part. "That's ridiculous!"

"I'll say!" fumed Amy.

Roland remained unnaturally silent.

"Honey, you make it sound like Carl's fault," Kylie gently pointed out to Eduardo.

"Do I?" he sighed. "Well I suppose it isn't – but you're right, AJ, he ought to be able to do something."

"Uh... guys?" ventured Garrett.

"What?" his five companions asked in unison.

"Isn't that Tara?"

Garrett was staring at the psychedelic pop video currently playing on the television. Eduardo, Kylie and the three Jacksons all stared too at the scantily clad black girl pouting back at them and dancing suggestively to some dizzying camerawork, and to the punchy song playing in time to the movement of her own lips.

Tara looked so different that her brothers and sister had to stare for some time before they even recognised her. It was Amy who finally exclaimed, "Oh my God, thatis her!"

"She looks totally different," Casey stated the obvious.

"I know, but it's definitely her," Amy maintained. "My God – what's she wearing?"

"Not much," Casey remarked dryly.

"Well, whatever it is it'll certainly sell a few copies of – uh – 'Gonna Be On Top'," Amy decided, squinting at the small caption on the screen. "Oh – eww!"

"How old is that kid?" Kylie murmured next to Eduardo's ear.

"Don't be disgusting," Casey derided his sister (Roland, who would normally have done the honours, seemed to have become totally incapacitated).

"Come on, Case, it's MTV," Amy defended herself. "They really mean it like that." She squinted again at the screen. "Tara J, huh? Catchy."

"She couldn't very well call herself Jackson," Kylie put in knowingly. "People would think she was related to Michael and Janet and people."

"Or maybe Samuel L. Jackson," added Eduardo.

Amy pulled a face. "What people?" she asked.

"I don't know, just people," shrugged Kylie. "There'd almost definitely be a rumour that might even end up in the papers. Far simpler not to let people know her surname."

"Well, at least we know where she is," Casey pointed out.

And then at last Roland returned to the land of the living and said simply, "We have to go to MTV."

"Really?" Casey's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Yes. See that?" Roland pointed at another caption that had just popped up on the screen. "They're interviewing Tara live in half an hour, so if she's not there right now she soon will be. Um... maybe I should take you guys home first."

"What, you think Tara's going to listen to you?" scoffed Amy. "Take us with you – I promise I'll be good."

"Me too," added Casey.

"Huh," scoffed Garrett.

Roland thought for a moment before shaking his head and saying apologetically, "Sorry, guys. I can't risk losing you at MTV," and he began shepherding his small siblings towards the stairs.

"Hey, can't we use the pole?" objected Casey.

"No way. I don't want to have to stop at the emergency room as well," Roland told his brother firmly.

"It's not a bad song," Garrett opined, once the three members of the Jackson clan had departed. "Don't you think so, Eddie?"

This prompted Kylie to look down at Eduardo, who was staring fixedly at the TV screen with a glazed expression.

"Hey!" she shouted, grabbing hold of his goatee and pulling his head sharply round to face her.

"Ow!" Eduardo objected. "Come on Ky, be reasonable! I love you, but you can't seriously expect me to pretend that she's not attractive."

"She's sixteen and your friend's little sister," Kylie firmly derided him.

"So what?" argued Eduardo. "If she's going to go gyrating around in hot pants on national television, what does she expect?"

"She is kinda cute," Garrett put in helpfully.

"Cute?" echoed Eduardo, his eyes moving down to Tara's inch-long nails. They were decorated with little black skulls on blood-red backgrounds. "She's terrifying!"

"Ah well – just your type, Eddie," Garrett grinned facetiously. "Ouch!"

Kylie allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. She knew that cushions, with enough force behind them, could deliver a surprisingly painful blow.

x x x

Roland found that getting into the MTV studios was astonishingly easy. But then, when he was sitting among MTV's usual collection of raucous teenagers, he reflected that he needn't have been quite so surprised. Even his PKE meter had managed to get inside (surely, Roland thought, a device like that ought to be treated as suspicious) – but reaching Tara was going to be a different matter altogether. All Roland could do was ask around until he found somebody who would deliver the message that Tara J's brother was here to see her.

Nearly two hours passed before Roland was allowed to visit Tara in her dressing room. When he saw her she looked more like her old self than she had done during her interview: she wore a small amount of makeup, skin-tight jeans and a white t-shirt, and her mini-braids were scraped back into a ponytail. But she looked tired as well, Roland noticed, and a bit fed up – as though she had just come back from a busy day at school.

"Are you ok?" he asked, concerned.

"Fine," Tara shrugged from her swivel chair in front of a large mirror. "I suppose you're here to persuade me to come home."

Roland tried to avoid that question for the moment, deciding it was best not to push her. Instead he told his sister evenly, "It came as quite a shock, seeing you on MTV. Mom and Dad went mad when I told them."

"Huh. Should have known I couldn't count on their support," Tara muttered bitterly.

"So," Roland went on uncertainly. "Apart from making that pop video, what else have you been doing?"

"I've recorded an album," Tara replied disinterestedly. "It's called 'Impulse' and it's out next week. God, listen to me – I've been told to plug the album so much that I'm even doing it to you. And I've done some interviews for radios and magazines... and TV too. Every medium there is, actually."

"And are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, here we go." Tara rolled her eyes, kicking the nearby doorframe to swing the swivel chair round and turn her back on Roland. But he continued to watch her face in the mirror as she went on, "I knew you'd try to persuade me to stop. But I'm not gonna, got it? I became famous three hours ago and I'm going to stay famous, thank you very much."

"But you look..."

"What?" demanded Tara.

"Tired," Roland finished lamely. "I hope they're not working you too hard."

Tara had been examining the tiny skulls on her fingernails. Two hours of sitting with her fingers splayed just so that she'd look more or less the same now as she did in her stupid pop video.

She glanced up, watching Roland's face behind her in the mirror. He seemed genuinely concerned. Yes, she was feeling rather put upon lately, and her older brother had been right: being told what to do, where to go, how to dress and whom she may and may not be seen with was starting to grate on her a little.

But she was damned if she was going to tell Roland that. Whatever the price she was paying, fame and fortune had to be better than living with five kids, a bossy older brother, a fussy mother and a strict father. It was inevitable that she would miss them at first, but Tara knew she would get over that in time – as she had to keep reminding herself. And besides, there was no going back now. This was her chance to prove herself to all of them.

"How come they let you come in here with that thing?" she asked scathingly, tilting her head in the direction of Roland's gently humming PKE meter. The thousands of tiny black plaits moved gracefully with her gesture. Roland thought they looked like they had been retouched recently.

"Don't know. They didn't really seem to notice it," he told his sister truthfully, reflexively putting a hand to his PKE meter. Only then did he notice that it was buzzing slightly.

"Did you know it's flashing?" Tara added helpfully.

Adopting a puzzled frown, Roland took his PKE meter into his hand and watched as it gave him a very clear reading.

"What now?" Tara demanded irritably, noticing the change in her brother's expression. "Your time's almost up, you know. I'm s'posed to be going to some cocktail party or something with Andreas Johnson tonight. Darrel will be here any minute to take me back to our hotel."

"Andreas Johnson?" frowned Roland. "Isn't he a little old for you? Tara, you're giving off a strong PKE reading."

"Must be faulty then," Tara decided. "You know as well I do that I'm alive."

"I'll get Egon to take a look at it," Roland told her, not entirely convincingly. He trusted his PKE meter with his life.

"Will you please go now?" Tara turned and frowned at him cantankerously.

"Um... sure." He really didn't like leaving her like this, but he knew that for the moment he didn't really have a choice. "If you're sure you're ok."

"I'm fine." She rolled her eyes again. "Really. Go home and tell everybody I'm fine, ok? Couldn't be happier."

Roland had known Tara all her life, and he could tell when she was lying. However he also knew that it was usually best not to confront her too readily, and this occasion was no exception.

x x x

"There's nothing bad in here, honestly," Garrett insisted, watching Roland's harrowed expression over the top of the morning paper. "Aren't you just the slightest bit curious?"

"Well I want to hear it," Kylie butted in. "Either read it out, Garrett, or give it to me."

"Roland can always leave if he really doesn't want to listen," Eduardo put in helpfully. "So come on – read it or give it to Kylie."

Garrett read it, starting a few paragraphs in at the point where Tara was first mentioned:

"Among the prestigious company at last night's party was sixteen-year-old Tara Jackson, otherwise known as Tara J, who has become an overnight sensation following her debut yesterday on MTV. Within seconds she had attracted the attention of every reporter in the room. Sadly I was one of the one of the last in line, but as it neared three a.m. I was finally able to ask Tara how long she had known Andreas Johnson, the man lucky enough to have the beautiful young diva on his arm last night. To this Tara replied, 'Actually I just met him tonight. This is nothing to do with either of us – it was set up by some bigwig from the record company I work with.'

"Record producer Darrel Cutts, who discovered Tara in a nightclub just four weeks ago, has expressed concern about her uninhibited honesty after yesterday's MTV interview. However that interview, along with her punchy debut single 'Gonna Be On Top', has already earned Tara what is possibly the largest fan following ever to form in the space of twenty-four hours. Maybe the youth of today find her honesty refreshing in the face of the superficiality of today's popular culture – although I must admit it seems probable that Tara's stunning good looks were instrumental in her quick rise to fame. And although it seems that she will not be making the transition from Jackson to Johnson any time soon, I think it's probably safe to say that Andreas's help will not be required to make Tara J 'Glorious'!"

"Oh, very clever," Kylie sneered disdainfully.

"After that there's some stuff about Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Sarah Michelle Gellar... nothing else about Tara," Garrett reported, as he skim-read the rest of the article.

"Nice that she's doing well," Roland said unconvincingly.

At that point Egon marched into the room, brandishing Roland's PKE meter and looking faintly harassed. He blanked the other three Ghostbusters and went straight to Roland, announcing with a distinct finality to his tone, "I've checked it over again and again, Roland. There's nothing wrong with it. I also took the liberty of analysing the reading you got from your sister yesterday. Now I don't want to alarm you, but I think she may be under the influence of a demon."

Roland frowned, deciding not to panic too much just yet, and asked, "What kind of a demon?"

"I don't know," Egon confessed. "That's what we're going to have to find out."

x x x

Tara was sitting cross-legged at the centre of the king-size bed in her hotel suite. She was wearing a white towelling robe and her hair was scraped back into a high ponytail. Several newspapers and magazines surrounded her. Dozens of editors seemed to have decided to publish articles on her, and most of them seemed fairly favourable. However one crude yet popular glossy magazine that liked to show celebrities at their worst had decided to publish a photograph of her choking on a cocktail sausage, while Andreas Johnson helplessly stood by and looked lost.

Letting out all her frustrations in one enormous sigh, Tara threw down the magazine she was currently looking at and collapsed back onto the bed, the papers rustling as her weight crashed into them. Maybe she should call home. That might make her feel better – but then she wasn't at all sure that she wanted to hear what either of her parents had to say. Alternatively she could call Roland, but she didn't much want to hear the inevitable smug, "I told you so!"

There came a knock at the door. Tara called, without much enthusiasm, "Come in!" She then sat up to greet Darrel Cutts as he wandered into the room.

"So how did you enjoy last night's party?" he asked.

"It sucked," Tara answered flatly. "And I don't much care for Andreas Johnson."

"I've read some of the articles." Darrel swept his hand over the length of the magazine-strewn bed in an all-encompassing gesture. "Tara, do you think maybe you could omit the odd detail when you're being – uh 'refreshingly honest'? Frankly I find it more worrying than refreshing."

"You know," mused Tara, "when you offered me all this, I was so excited that it didn't really occur to me I might not be allowed to be myself. In fact, now that I think about it, I had more freedom at home."

Drax narrowed Darrel Cutts's blue eyes on Tara's unornamented yet still pretty face. He was as strong now as he was ever likely to be in that body, before he got what he needed – and it was obvious that if he didn't act fast he was in danger of losing Tara.

"Have you contacted your parents yet?" he asked evenly. "Imagine how proud they must be – seeing your success. You've certainly proven yourself like you wanted to."

"I guess," shrugged Tara.

"Tara, look at me."

She had been staring down at her bare nails, wondering if she could put up with another manicure – but at Drax's coolly spoken words she lifted her head to look into those deep blue eyes. He was a very handsome man – and so compelling to watch...

"We must do something about these," crooned Drax, taking both of her hands in his. "I know it's tedious, holding out your hands for hours on end while somebody slaves over each finger in turn. Maybe we can come up with something a little more... permanent."

Tara kept her eyes firmly on Darrel's as he ran his rough hands over her smooth, long fingers. Then suddenly he broke eye contact, seeming to lose his concentration and even his energy as he slumped down into the crumpled white quilt cover.

Goodness, thought Drax. This is going to be harder than I thought. All my energy sapped just after that... I can't have her full cooperation as I had thought.

"Wow." Tara stared down at her nails, now the colour of a summer night's sky and curling into sharp points towards the palms of her hands. "How did you...?"

"Never mind." Drax concentrated fully on staring at her dark eyes, willing her to forget her confusion. "Listen to this, Tara. Famous for one day and I've already got you the biggest gig we could have hoped for. Two weeks on Saturday, ten thousand people will be flocking to Central Park just to see you in concert."

"Central Park?" Tara frowned slightly. "That's a little close to home. Just over two miles away, actually."

"Yes," Drax answered dryly. He had realised that this could prove to be a problem – unless he could persuade Tara to renounce her family completely.

"Are you sure about this, Darrel?" Tara went on. "Two weeks is awfully short notice. Don't these things take months to organise?"

"Think of the date, Tara," Drax smiled at her as pleasantly as he could. "Surely you know that the concert has been organised for months. Half the tickets have already been sold. We've agreed to let them have you as a favour. You should sell the remaining five thousand-odd tickets before the night."

She had been right in one way, Drax reflected: this was cutting things a little fine. But it was a comfort to him to know that the transformation had already started. He would need to remind himself constantly to keep her looking human until the night of the concert – but hopefully by the time that night came, he would have her full cooperation and his plan could not fail. And after that... well, the world would be his oyster – his and Tara's.

But then Drax's eyes fell upon the framed photograph displayed on the dresser by Tara's bed. Nine people had managed to cram into the shot: a toddler; a little girl; three young boys; an older boy – more a young man; Tara herself, and a middle-aged couple whom Drax presumed to be their parents.

Tara was certainly missing them – that much was obvious. But hopefully a hectic two weeks before the concert and the enjoyment of her first paycheque would be enough to take her mind off them.

x x x

With Roland's mind seemingly absent, it was up to somebody else to come up with a feasible plan to infiltrate the party celebrating the release of "Impulse". Everyone had hoped that Roland and his parents would be invited, and all three of them had been deeply hurt when they heard nothing more about the party than what they read in the newspapers. They weren't to know that Darrel Cutts had forbidden the admittance of family members.

Garrett's plan was to ask Casey and Amy to come up with something – Casey being devious and Amy having the collective determination of an entire army about to go into battle. Though Egon, Janine, Eduardo and Kylie all thought hard in the days leading up to the party, it was Garrett's plan that finally came through.

"I saw it on a crime drama last night," Casey informed his audience – which consisted of the four Ghostbusters, Egon, Janine, Slimer and Sharon Jackson (Phil still being at work). "The criminals threw a brick through somebody's window assuming said somebody would call the police. A few minutes later, one of them shows up in a police uniform and asks for a cup of coffee. While the victim is making coffee, he hits them over the head with a teapot or something and steals all the valuables."

"Case, we're trying to rescue your sister, not rob people," Garrett explained patiently.

"I know." Casey rolled his eyes. "That's what I'm saying – you could do something similar! Make it so the Ghostbusters are called to the party!"

"How?" demanded Sharon.

"Ahem!" Slimer coughed politely, feeling slightly smug that he had been relatively quick in realising the implications of Casey's idea.

"Oh! Oh, I see!" Sharon exclaimed as it all became clear. "Oh Casey, sweetheart, that's brilliant! You're brilliant!"

"Mo-om. Get off!" whinged Casey, as his mother moved to hug him.

"She's right Casey, it's brilliant," put in Egon. "Well done."

"Of course there's no guarantee it'll work," Eduardo made his usual sceptical contribution.

"Jeez, why do you gotta be so damn pessimistic all the time?" Kylie demanded with a sigh of exasperation. "I don't see any reason why it shouldn't work. If a few hundred people see a little green ghoul floating around, one of them will be bound to call us."

"And there'll be lots of free eats, Slimer," Garrett added with a grin.

"Yeah!" exclaimed Slimer, his mouth already watering with anticipation.

"Um... actually," Janine ventured tentatively, "I've thought of a snag."

"What's that?" Roland asked warily.

"Tara will recognise Slimer," Janine pointed out.

"Ok, no problem." Eduardo suddenly seemed to take Kylie's advice about being less pessimistic. "All Slimer has to do is avoid being seen by Tara. You can do that, can't you, Slimeball?"

"Uh-huh! Uh-huh!" Slimer nodded vigorously.

"Just in time, Casey," Kylie solemnly told their diminutive guest. "The party's tomorrow night."

Roland pursed his lips. He didn't want to say so in front of his mother, but he feared that by the time they got to Tara, she might be beyond help.

x x x

The day of Tara's party was a Saturday – and with no lectures or seminars to distract him, to Roland every minute of that day felt like an hour. But finally, at around nine o'clock when the party would have got into full swing, Egon suddenly told the four Ghostbusters that it was time to go.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" screamed Slimer, instinctively ducking behind Garrett as the Ecto-1 narrowly missed an oncoming goods van.

"All right, that's it!" Kylie suddenly announced. "Time to switch drivers!"

As the Ecto-1 pulled into the nearest side street, Garrett secretly suspected that even he could do a better job than Roland was doing of driving them to this party. He certainly seemed to be more able-bodied than Roland was at the moment. Neither of them had any control over their feet, but at least Garrett still had the use of his hands.

"It'll be fine," Kylie reassured Roland in the awkward seconds that he was sitting on Eduardo's lap. "Nothing can go wrong."

"That's a pile of crap and you know it, Kylie," muttered Roland, struggling clumsily with the leg that seemed miraculously to have attached itself to Eduardo's jeans. Eduardo himself was making slightly better progress; another few inches to the left and he would be in the driver's seat.

"All done?" Garrett asked brightly, once the interesting display in front of him had ceased. "Better step on it, Eddie."

"You remember what you're supposed to do, Slimer?" Kylie called over her shoulder, her grip tightening on the seat as Eduardo turned sharply onto the main road. She silently vowed that if they ever had kids, she would do all the driving. But then she remembered that Eduardo had reported taking his nephew to basketball practice on occasion; maybe he drove less recklessly then. After all, Kylie reasoned, she had only ever seen him drive in an emergency.

"Uh-huh!" Slimer grinned excitedly.

"Scare people but avoid being seeing by Tara," Kylie reminded him firmly. "Right?"

"Yeah! Yeah!" Slimer nodded enthusiastically.

"I shouldn't have made him that promise of free food," Garrett muttered to nobody in particular. "He's slobbering all over me."

The remainder of the journey passed in silence until Garrett suddenly piped up from the back of the car, "Hey, wasn't that it?"

Eduardo swore, did an abrupt u-turn that knocked the breath out of all his passengers and sped along the virtually deserted road until he reached the extravagantly lit hotel that was the venue of Tara's party.

"Yup, this is it," announced Garrett, holding up his newspaper and checking the building against the photograph complementing the article about the party. "Says here that Britney Spears is gonna be there. Think she'd give me an autograph?"

"She'd prob'ly give you more than an autograph if you rescue her from Slimer," was Eduardo's opinion. "Go on then, Slimeball – let's do this thing!"

"O-kay!" enthused Slimer, puffing out his chest and saluting Garrett before rocketing through the closed window.

"Oh no." Roland spoke for the first time in nearly half an hour. "I don't know if I can stand more waiting."

"Um... you wanna do the crossword?" Garrett asked kindly.

Seconds later a loud, collective scream wafted from the building over the road to the Ecto-1. Kylie shot Roland a sympathetic smile and said reassuringly, "Sounds like Slimer's doing a good job. We shouldn't have long to wait now."

However they were waiting longer than any of them had anticipated: nearly ten minutes passed before Janine's voice crackled over on the radio to tell them that somebody had finally found the initiative to call the Ghostbusters. Typically Garrett wanted to rush straight in, but Kylie was quick to point out that their sudden appearance on the scene might arouse suspicion. So Eduardo drove once around the block, turning on the siren halfway, and then screeched to a halt directly outside the impressive building.

"Nobody panic!" Garrett called out dramatically as he burst through the double doors into the hotel's function room. The volume of his voice ensured that everybody could hear him above the music. Unsurprisingly Tara's album was playing. Garrett recognised her voice but not the song as he announced loudly, "The Ghostbusters are here!"

Slimer was not too difficult to spot. A large empty space had formed around him and the snack table – sorry – the buffet, where the little green ghoul was happily stuffing his face with dainty triangular sandwiches and other foodstuffs to which his usual unsophisticated taste was quite unaccustomed.

Roland scanned the crowd for Tara, spotted her and made straight for her. Garrett began ploughing his way through the collection of party guests, muttering, "'Scuse me, coming through, Ghostbusters..."

"Here," Kylie hissed furtively, taking the ghost trap from her back and handing it to Eduardo. "You go with Garrett and get Slimer – take as long over it as you possibly can. I'll see if I can find this demon or whatever it is."

"Be careful," warned Eduardo, before following Garrett through the crowds.

Kylie narrowed her dark-green eyes and scanned the room for anyone who looked remotely inhuman. Nobody did, but a youngish man with long, sandy-blond hair attracted her attention. Almost at the exact same moment Kylie spotted him, he spotted Tara in conversation with Roland and assumed a look of extreme anxiety. There was definitely something suspicious about him – so with one hand on her PKE meter, Kylie too began to wade her way through the crowd.

Slimer, meanwhile, was really throwing himself into the role of Unwanted Ghost At Party. When he caught sight of Garrett and Eduardo struggling towards him, he let out a high-pitched scream and spiralled into the air. A powerful stream of proton fire followed him, but Eduardo remembered Kylie's advice to take his time and deliberately missed.

The man Kylie was doing her best to tail was trying to barge his way towards Tara and Roland. However Kylie was fortunate enough to catch up with him before he reached them and take a surreptitious PKE reading – and not in vain. She then reached out and grabbed the arm of one of the numerous journalists in the room to ask if she could borrow a pen and a page from his notepad. She wanted to write down the readings she had obtained before she forgot them. The journalist obliged – and then he started asking Kylie a lot of very annoying questions about the ghost gatecrashing the party.

"Talk to him," Kylie told him irritably, pointing vaguely in the direction of Garrett, who was currently trying to corner Slimer under one of the tables.

The journalist sidled off. Kylie looked around, and was grateful to see that her demon – or whatever he was – had not managed to get very far through the crowd. Wondering how the hell she was supposed to keep him away from Roland and Tara, Kylie jumped nimbly in front of the man and exclaimed brightly, "Hi!"

"Uh... hi," the man said uncertainly, his deep blue eyes looking over her head towards Tara.

"Great party, huh?" babbled Kylie. "I'm Kylie Griffin. I'm a Ghostbuster." Dressed as she was, there seemed little point in trying to deny the fact. "I'm here dealing with the... uh... you know."

"Um... Darrel Cutts," Drax replied distractedly, shaking Kylie's proffered hand in a robotic fashion.

"The record producer!" Kylie recognised the name at once. "Um... is Tara one of yours?"

"Yes," Drax frowned irritably at her. "Now if you'll excuse me I - "

Kylie reacted quickly when she saw Slimer hurtling towards them. She grabbed hold of Darrel Cutts's sleeve and pulled him to one side. She managed to rescue him from Eduardo's proton stream (perhaps unwisely), but she wasn't in time to rescue him from a severe sliming to the left ear.

"Oh darn, look at that," Kylie pretended to sympathise. And then she was struck with a sudden burst of inspiration that compelled her to ask, "Say, Mr. Cutts, my boss will probably want a sample of that slime. Would you mind?"

"Um... help yourself," muttered Drax. He was now thinking about giving up on trying to reach Tara. If her brother (whom he recognised from the family portrait by her bed) was going to change her mind, he probably would have done it by now.

"Thanks," smiled Kylie, reaching out to Drax with a small plastic beaker, careful to take a few of his sandy-blond hairs that were hovering around the green slime.

Roland, meanwhile, was beginning to suspect that he had chosen the wrong angle in trying to persuade his sister that she was under the influence of a demon.

"Roland, please!" Tara shouted above the punchy music and the chatter of her guests. "If I was under the influence of a demon, then believe me, I'd know about it!"

"That's what everybody says!" objected Roland.

"Please!" Tara cried out desperately. "Just trap this ghost or whatever it is and get out of here!"

So far the plan had been going well. They had infiltrated the party, and Roland could only hope that one of his friends had encountered Tara's demon. But he should have known that they couldn't count on Slimer. In his childlike excitement, the little green ghost had forgotten his promise not to let himself be seen by Tara. Just as Roland finished speaking, Slimer swooped down between him and Tara and then started soaring through the crowd, grinning excitedly and occasionally making what sounded like foghorn noises.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Tara, realising straightaway what must have been going on. "That was Slimer! You did this on purpose!" she shot accusingly at her brother.

"I... I..." stammered Roland. He had not anticipated this, and therefore was quite unprepared for it.

"I can't believe you!" fumed Tara. "All this demon bullshit... you were just making that up! Well you gatecrashed my party all right, but you won't persuade me to give all this up! See all of this, Roland? SEE IT? This is all for me! I told you I could do it and I have! I'm as good as any of you! But you still don't trust me to do anything on my own!"

At that point a chandelier went crashing to the ground some feet away when Eduardo finally caught Slimer in a proton stream, having been given a thumbs-up from Kylie. Garrett was still talking to the reporter Kylie had offloaded onto him, and the tumbling chandelier was the result of Eduardo trying to control a large proton pack and a ghost trap by himself.

"And... and... YOU'VE RUINED MY LAUNCH PARTY!" Tara yelled angrily.

Drax watched with satisfaction as Tara turned on her heel and stormed away from her brother. It seemed that the foolish boy had not only failed to win her round; he had actually made her hate him more. Surely now Tara would never want to go back to her family. Surely, Drax thought, he had finally got what he wanted.

x x x

When Roland climbed out of the Ecto-1 and heard "Gonna Be On Top" wafting from Egon's lab, he made straight for the door. However the music stopped moments after he had left. Egon had evidently heard their arrival; he came to meet Kylie, Garrett and Eduardo on their way to his lab. (Slimer, now out of the trap and evidently thinking that his work was done, had made straight for the kitchen.)

Kylie greeted her boss with a frosty reception: "Well that was very insensitive! Roland's just had a terrible time with Tara – and he's finding all of this very difficult to cope with, you know, without having to hear that stupid song when he gets back!"

"He left," Eduardo added helpfully.

"Oh. I didn't think," Egon frowned, looking genuinely sorry. "Well, actually what I thought was that it might not be a bad idea to analyse Tara's music. It seems a coincidence that she accumulated so many devotees so quickly when she's possibly under the influence of a demon."

"She is," Kylie informed him at once. "Under the influence of a demon, I mean. The record producer – Darrel Cutts – was giving off something fierce. Here."

She held out the PKE readings she had obtained and the small plastic bag that now contained one of Darrel Cutts's hairs. It hadn't been a pleasant task, fishing around inside the beaker of slime to try and isolate one or two small hairs – but she had gritted her teeth and done it all the same.

"Good work, Kylie," Egon approved. "I'll get onto this straightaway. I've nearly finished with the music. I think there may be a hypnotic effect to it – something that draws people to it and to Tara."

"Quite a jigsaw puzzle, ain't it," remarked Garrett. "We may have got what we wanted, but in the process we've probably made things even worse between Roland and Tara. I really hope it's not too late."

Every Sunday morning the entire Jackson clan piled into Phil's people carrier and went to church. The last few Sundays had felt strange without Tara complaining that she should still be in bed, but by now they were all starting to get used to it.

The Sunday morning after Roland's disastrous efforts to retrieve his sister went as normal. The Jacksons went to church, came home and then trudged single file up to their bedrooms to change into casual clothes. The memory of last night's fight with Tara still haunting him, Roland pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and then wandered downstairs.

His mother was in the kitchen, just starting on lunch, her husband leaning against the washing machine and chatting to her while she worked. Amy and Joey were playing Snap in the middle of the sitting room floor. There was nothing unusual about that – but Roland was slightly puzzled by the sight of Marcus, Ryan and Casey all huddled together on the sofa and looking at the Sunday paper.

"What are you guys reading?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Nothing!" they all told their brother adamantly, in perfect unison.

Unsurprisingly Roland was not convinced by this, so he walked over to his brothers and whisked the broadsheet out of all six of their hands. Marcus, Ryan and Casey all exchanged anxious looks, but Roland did not notice this. He was too busy looking at the blurred shot of Slimer doing his foghorn impression, and then at the much larger picture of himself being yelled at by a furious Tara.

"Evidently star-struck by the array of celebrities attending Tara J's party," the article read, "all but one of the Ghostbusters seemed more interested in chatting to the guests than catching the ghost (photographed left). One even begged the loan of a pen from me, presumably to acquire the autograph of famous record producer Darrel Cutts, whom the young lady approached after directing me towards her colleague, a Mr. Garrett Miller. Mr. Miller immediately abandoned his pursuit of the ghost in order to beg a plug for the Ghostbusters in my next article. However after witnessing the team at work last night, I feel disinclined to recommend them to anyone.

"I was about to ask Mr. Miller how being disabled affected his work as a Ghostbuster (he has been confined to a wheelchair all his life), but sadly we were both distracted before he could answer. As the one competent Ghostbuster finally caught the apparition single-handedly (causing considerable damage to an expensive chandelier in the process – some of us may recall something similar happening about twelve years ago, shortly after the Ghostbusters first went into business), Tara J herself silenced the room with a violent outburst. She was heard by several to yell at one of the young male Ghostbusters (photographed right), 'You've ruined my launch party.' After that, with the ghost finally contained and one of their number duly crushed by the beautiful young star, the Ghostbusters beat a hasty retreat..."

Roland stopped reading and threw the paper down onto the coffee table.

"Please don't let Mom and Dad see that article," he said expressionlessly, addressing the whole room but looking particularly at Marcus, him being the oldest of Roland's five remaining siblings. "I have to go to the Firehouse. Egon wants me."

This wasn't necessarily true. Roland had just hoped that would be the case. Specifically he had hoped that Egon would want him in order to tell him exactly what had been happening to his sister and what could be done about it. But there was no such luck. When Roland arrived at the Firehouse, Egon was still puzzling over what Kylie had given him the day before.

Janine was at her desk as usual; Garrett was out, enjoying a session at the university sports centre. Eduardo and Kylie were on the sofa – Kylie with her feet tucked under her and her head resting on Eduardo's shoulder so that she had a clear view of the newspaper he was holding.

"No need to look so worried," Roland told them flatly, recognising the same look that he had got from his brothers half an hour earlier. "I've already seen it."

"This might even be the worst article ever written about us," frowned Kylie. "And that's saying something. But at least you come off pretty well, baby," she added, smiling at Eduardo. "Apart from the chandelier thing, of course."

"Stupid reporter didn't even bother to find out who I was," muttered Roland.

"Egon thinks he's making progress." Kylie blinked her big green eyes pityingly up at Roland. "Maybe by the end of the day we'll know what to do next."

"I have to try and talk to her again," Roland decided.

Eduardo flinched, thinking that the idea didn't sound too promising. But he didn't want to say anything. Anyone trying to interfere in his family affairs really got him riled, and he was no hypocrite. Any decisions that Roland made were his business alone.

x x x

Roland was surprised and immensely relieved when Tara agreed to see him. He had to wait until Tuesday, when she finally had a spare half hour. Technically Roland should have been attending a business studies class in that half hour, but this was so important to him that he didn't even have to think twice about skipping the class.

"I'm sorry I ruined your party," he told his sister sincerely, once they were both seated on the edge of her king-size bed.

"So you should be," Tara retorted.

"We all miss you," Roland went on tentatively.

"Yeah? Well I don't miss you. Any of you!" Tara shot back nastily. "I'm having a great time. And I've got more money than I know what to do with. And Darrel's being great to me – much better than you or Mom or Dad ever were."

Darrel's a demon, Roland thought sadly. He wondered what that demon was doing to his little sister. He was doing something – that much was certain. Tara sounded different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it – her voice was pretty much the same as always and it wasn't as though she had never been angry before – but there was something in her tone that was completely new to him. She almost sounded like a stranger.

And then Roland noticed Tara's claws. They could quite easily be the result of a manicure, of course – but then he looked into her eyes and saw that they were different too. They were a bright yellow in colour and they seemed to glow, creating two little halos around the narrow, vertical slits that were her pupils. To sum them up in one word: they were cat-like.

"As long as you're happy..." Roland said weakly.

"I've been unhappy ever since Marcus was born," Tara told her brother darkly. "When it was just you and me, that wasn't so bad – but then more and more started arriving until it just got unbearable. But not anymore. I'm happy now."

As much as he wanted to stay and reason with her, Roland felt compelled to leave. He got the distinct feeling that Tara literally was not herself.

x x x

"She's turning into something!"

Egon blinked confusedly at his visitor, taking a moment to get over the shock of Roland crashing through the door to his lab looking like he had just run a marathon. Then finally Egon regained his composure and asked evenly, "Who's turning into something?"

"Tara! Tara's turning into something! Darrel Cutts is turning her into something!" Roland babbled insanely. "She looks different! And... and she sounds different! She's turning into something!"

"Well," Egon responded levelly. "Let's not blame Darrel Cutts for this. I believe that he is possessed."

"By what?" demanded Roland.

"Let's go to the others, shall we?" Egon suggested gently. "I think you all need to hear this if we're going to be able to help your sister."

Five minutes later Egon, Janine, Slimer and the four Ghostbusters had all assembled in the sitting room area of the Firehouse. Six pairs of eyes – two brown, two green, one blue and one colourless – were fixed expectantly on Egon's face. Roland's dark-brown eyes stared with particular intensity. He knew that he probably wouldn't like what he was about to hear, but he had to know the worst.

"The demon that I think might be possessing Darrel Cutts," Egon began, "I had thought to be extinct. However in light of what Roland has just told me, I now believe that there is one left, and that it is alive and well and living inside this Cutts character. It is called a Dralex Demon – or Drax."

"So what's this Drax doing to my sister?" demanded Roland.

"Well, I'm afraid this is based on a lot of guesswork," Egon answered apologetically, "but I really see no other way that all of this fits together. You see, Dralex Demons have very little power on their own. However a pair of Dralex Demons is virtually unstoppable."

"So if there's only one left, he'd be looking for a mate to restore his power," Kylie thought out loud. "Egon, do you think he's trying to make Tara his mate?"

"I do," affirmed Egon. "If a Dralex Demon cannot find a mate for whatever reason, it is possible to turn a human into one of them. However the process is very draining. Drax must be using all of his power and energy to change Tara and to take possession of Cutts's body."

"So wait a minute," frowned Eduardo. "Why'd he bother to make Tara a famous pop star?"

"If a human is to become a Dralex Demon, he or she must be willing," Egon explained. "Not necessarily willing to become a demon – Tara probably knows nothing about that – but willing to leave the life they know behind. Drax has been persuading Tara to do that, and the more willing she becomes the easier it is for him to manipulate her. However it does seem a lot of effort to go to just to persuade Tara to make her home and family a past she would rather forget, which is why I thought there must be more to it than that."

"You said you thought the music had a hypnotic effect on people," Kylie reminded him.

"Yeah, what's the deal with that?" added Eduardo.

"It does indeed have a hypnotic effect on many," Egon agreed. "And ten thousand of those people will be going to Central Park to see Tara in concert a week on Saturday. Hopefully – from Drax's point of view – by that time Tara will be a Dralex Demon and his mate. Or its mate, I should say. Dralex Demons have no gender – they pair up purely to make best use of their power. And together Drax and Tara will be able to do anything."

"Ok, so what are they going to do to these ten thousand people?" asked Janine.

"My guess, Janine, is that they will make those people Dralex Demons also."

Kylie blinked in surprise and asked incredulously, "They can do that?"

"As I said, they will be unstoppable," Egon told her. "They can do anything they desire. And it seems entirely likely that Drax wants to rebuild its race. That's how Dralex Demons reproduce: the pair chooses a human they like and, between them, they make it one of their own. That probably had something to do with why they were all slaughtered some centuries ago," he added thoughtfully.

"Asexual reproduction – of a sort. It still takes two, but that's why there's no need for males and females," Kylie realised. "Like the Grundle – and those laughter vampires we encountered."

"Correct," affirmed Egon. "But I suspect that now Drax won't want to create its offspring one at a time. It is the last of its race, so it wants to create as many demons as possible as soon as it can. I daresay that's why it worked so hard to make Tara become famous as quickly as she did. The more time it wastes, the more power and energy it loses."

"That all fits," Kylie decided. "The record deal, the concert – he probably even chose Tara knowing that she was unhappy at home. But Egon, if Dralex Demons allegedly became extinct centuries ago, this one must have been waiting all that time. Why not do something sooner?"

"It may have been too weak," suggested Egon. "Centuries' worth of rest may have been what was required for it to generate the power it needed. As I said, Dralex Demons do not work well alone."

"What can I do?" Roland spoke for the first time. "Egon, if I go to Tara and persuade her to come home, will Drax lose his power over her? You said she had to be willing. What if I can change her mind?"

"That is the action I would recommend," Egon answered soberly. "But you must reach her before the transformation is complete. There is only hope for as long as she remains at least partially human – and that depends entirely on the abilities of Drax."

x x x

Roland tried to gain an audience with Tara the next day, but he couldn't even find out where she was, let alone speak with her. The day after that he spent hours sitting in the lobby of her hotel waiting for her to appear. When Tara finally came through the main entrance around six o'clock in the evening, accompanied by two very large men in dark glasses, Roland ran over to her and didn't even take a breath before asking urgently, "Can I please talk to you?"

"Roland, I'm busy," Tara returned shortly. "I don't have time."

Roland looked his sister up and down. He was relieved to see that she hadn't changed too much yet, although her nose seemed to have shrunk and he even thought that her skin looked a little lighter than it ought to be: like it had been when she was a small baby. Looking down at his own hand, Roland could see that he was noticeably darker now than Tara was; before there had been little or no difference between them. Of course if the press noticed any of this, they would undoubtedly credit the change to cosmetic surgery.

"But Tara..." Roland faltered. He knew that he really shouldn't talk about demons and the like in front of her bodyguards, so he finished imploringly, "We miss you."

"I don't have time for you," Tara was adamant. "Having a music career is kind of like having three teenagers and four little kids to take care of – or having to go to college and spend the rest of your time working as a Ghostbuster. You all didn't have time for me then, and now I don't have time for you."

"That's not fair," Roland objected. "We did have time for you!"

"Mom and Dad have only ever had time for the little ones," Tara argued. "That's not me anymore – not since Ryan was born. But they still had time for you, of course. They're so proud of their perfect son. I never really did anything – who can blame them for ignoring me? To start with I hoped that this would make them notice me more, but since you and your moronic friends crashed my party on Saturday I've realised that I'd sooner be forgotten by all of you and lead my own life. By myself," she added firmly.

"But... but..." stammered Roland. "Tara, you're wanted at home! Don't you miss us even a little bit? What about that picture by your bed?"

"It's in a drawer now," Tara told him flatly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've arranged to meet Darrel in the bar."

"Darrel?" echoed Roland. "Tara, no! Please – don't go to him!"

"Are you going to leave me alone now," Tara asked coolly, "or shall I set Minty and Drew on you?"

At these words each of the two burly bodyguards held up a tight fist. Roland could feel their eyes on him, although their dark glasses had the desired effect of making them seem less human and therefore more menacing by obscuring their eyes.

"All right, I'll go," Roland reluctantly conceded. "But please think about what I've said, Tara. We love you and we miss you."

Although the feelings are always there, it is rare for siblings to express their love for one another. Roland had six of the things, and he loved them all, but this was the first time that he had ever said the words to one of them. Of course he spoke for his whole family, but on reflection Roland considered that maybe he should have substituted "we" for the singular pronoun. It would have seemed more personal that way – maybe it would even have persuaded Tara to come home.

But it was too late now. He was out on the street, and she was in the hotel bar with Drax.

Ever since Roland trundled into work after college the day after his meeting with Tara, Janine had not been able to concentrate on anything. As she sat at her desk, she could literally feel despair wafting down from the room above her.

"Ok!" she asserted at last, marching over to the armchair in which Roland sat slumped dejectedly. "This is getting ridiculous. You look like you've given up!"

"I've done everything I can, Janine," Roland sighed wearily. "We'll never get her back."

"Don't you even think that!" scolded Janine. "It's not over until the black lady sings and everybody in Central Park becomes a demon – or whatever it is that husband of mine thinks is going to happen. Now listen: this is the plan. You, me, Kylie, Eduardo and Garrett are going to get into the Ecto-1 and go to this hotel that Tara seems to have moved into. Then those three will go and try to get the demon out of Darrel Cutts while you and I persuade Tara to stop this nonsense and go home."

"You?" Roland asked dubiously. "No offence, Janine, but do you really think you can make a difference?"

"Absolutely," Janine was adamant. "I haven't told you this before, Roland, but something like what's happening to Tara now once happened to me. I'm going to need your help – you're going to have to tell her you love her – but I'm not leaving that hotel until I've talked her round."

"But I've already..." Roland started to object.

"So tell her again!" Janine interrupted. "Now get up out of that chair – you're wasting time."

x x x

"Nice name: Tara," remarked Kylie. By this time she, Eduardo and Garrett were wandering the hotel corridors, tracking Darrel Cutts/Drax with PKE meters.

Janine and Roland, on the other hand, did not have to do any wandering at all, as Roland remembered exactly which room Tara was staying in. Janine was nursing ideas of ambushing members of the hotel staff so that they could walk around inconspicuously in chambermaids' uniforms or something – but fortunately they were able to get to Tara's room without any difficulty.

"TARA!" Janine banged insistently on the door. "Let us in right now!"

"Janine!" hissed Roland. "That might just be the fastest way to get us kicked out!"

So far he had been impressed with Janine's behaviour. Both wearing everyday clothes, they had attracted far less attention than had their three colleagues wearing Ghostbusters uniform and carrying a lot of cumbersome equipment. But of course Janine could never go for very long without attracting attention in one way or another.

"Well what else can I do?" she argued. "Why doesn't your sister answer doors?"

This was an unfounded accusation. Tara did answer doors, but only if she happened to be on the other side of them. Janine jumped a foot in the air when she heard Tara's voice behind her, demanding sharply, "What are you doing here?"

"Janine wants to talk to you," Roland answered simply. "Please just give us ten minutes. And if we haven't persuaded you to change your mind by then... well, I promise to leave you alone."

Tara accepted the offer without hesitation. For Roland to leave her alone was exactly what she wanted, and ten minutes of her time seemed a reasonable price to pay. So she unlocked the door to her room and beckoned her visitors inside.

x x x

"Sounds like he's in the shower," remarked Eduardo, frowning at his PKE meter as it responded enthusiastically to the sound of running water.

"Good. If he's naked then he'll be vulnerable," approved Garrett, trying the door handle. No luck. He was going to have to use his "sure-fire method for picking locks."

"What in the name of...?" someone spluttered from inside the en-suite bathroom.

Kylie, Eduardo and Garrett all had the same horrible thought: what if they had burst into the wrong room? But it soon occurred to all of them that the PKE meters indicated there was certainly something in this room that shouldn't be there – and when Darrel Cutts emerged from the bathroom wearing a white towelling robe, their concerns were alleviated.

"Miss Griffin," observed Drax, eyeing Kylie suspiciously. "And I see you've brought a few friends. And some interesting looking equipment. Um... are you here to...?"

"Kick your ass? You bet!" affirmed Garrett, wielding his proton gun menacingly.

"Going to blast me with that thing, are you?" leered Drax. "You forget that I have quite a shield protecting me. What would become of Darrel Cutts, I wonder?"

"That's a good point," remarked Kylie.

"Well it worked on you," Eduardo pointed out to her. "When you were possessed by Akira and I blasted you, it got her out of your system and you were absolutely fine."

"That was before we made the equipment more powerful," argued Kylie. "If we blast Drax, Darrel Cutts may not live to tell the tale."

"Ok, so it's a stalemate," Garrett said dryly. "He can't kill us either – he's not powerful enough. Look at him!"

Not having paid the slightest bit of attention to Drax during their minor quarrel, Eduardo and Kylie were both faintly surprised to see their foe struggling to hold himself up by the doorframe. Now what could possibly be the reason for that?

Kylie figured it out first. "Tara," she murmured, looking over her shoulder in the direction that Roland and Janine had gone minutes before.

"Tara!" exclaimed Drax, suddenly regaining his strength and sweeping past the three Ghostbusters so quickly that they had no time to react. This sudden burst of energy was surely down to some kind of adrenaline rush. Drax was evidently losing power through Tara, and he simply had to get to her before she renounced him completely.

x x x

"Look at yourself, honey," Janine was saying gently, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Tara. "You're changing. You're physically changing. Those aren't your eyes, or your nose, or your nails... hadn't you noticed?"

"I suppose I did." Tara shook her head as though trying to dispel her confusion. "I just didn't seem to think anything of it. I don't know. I don't understand."

"It's Darrel Cutts," Janine explained. "He's a demon and he's changing you into one of his own – but believe me, honey, you do not want to go there. It happened to me once – ten-odd years ago – and I only just escaped by the skin of my teeth."

Tara narrowed her cat-like eyes on Janine's face, still struggling to understand.

"Mine was called a Makeoverus Lotsabucks," Janine went on.

"Dumb name," remarked Tara.

"Well... yeah. But the point is, I thought I really did want to change, same as you. But I was wrong. I thought I needed to change for Egon, but as it turned out he loved me anyway – just as I was."

"This all happened ten-odd years ago?" queried Tara.

"That's right."

"So how come you and Dr. Spengler only just got married recently?"

"Ha! Good question," Janine remarked dryly. "It's a long story, sweetheart. If you really want to know I'll tell you later – after you've listened to what your brother has to say."

Tara looked expectantly at Roland, who had been standing by the window and listening anxiously to what Janine was saying. Now he opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't have a chance to utter a single word before Drax, still wearing only his white towelling robe, burst dramatically through the door.

"Tara," the demon panted, gasping for breath. "Don't listen to these people. Think of your fans – you can't let them down!"

At this point Kylie, Eduardo and Garrett all skidded to halt in the corridor behind Drax – but as it turned out they were not needed just at the moment.

"Ignore it," Janine told Tara firmly. "To tell you the truth, sweetheart, he wants to turn all your fans into demons as well. But if you ignore him, he has no power over you. Just pretend he's not there and listen to what Roland has to say."

"Tara... no..." wheezed Drax – but he was scarcely able to speak. He was quickly becoming drained of all his energy. He had far less power now than he had started out with – and no wonder with all the work he had been doing. Tara's cooperation had been sustaining him, but now...

"I've said it before, Tara," Roland addressed his sister. "And I'm going to keep saying it until you believe it. I love you – we all love you – and we want you to come home. If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself. I know I was largely responsible for driving you away and I am so, SO sorry."

He stole a glance at Drax, who was now struggling on the floor. But then Janine caught Roland's eye and mouthed at him, "Go on!"

"You needn't think you're not special either," Roland continued. "You've always been special to me. You were right: when it was just the two of us – that was pretty cool. You were my first sibling. You've got no idea how excited I was when Mom told me she was expecting you. I never felt that way again – not for any of the others. And it just hasn't been the same at home without you. I hate it – we all do. So will you PLEASE give all of this up and come home?"

Tara opened her mouth to reply, but her words were totally drowned out by an ear-splitting scream from Drax. Kylie ushered Garrett and Eduardo into the room and shut the door firmly behind them, hoping to avoid awkward questions from the hotel staff. Awkward questions, she reasoned, were almost certain to ensue if anybody saw a screeching, cat-like demon climbing out of the unconscious body of one of the hotel's most prestigious guests.

Drax looked around and hissed, but it didn't scare anyone. The demon clearly had no fight left in it; it seemed to have been totally drained of its energy.

"It's powerless," Kylie confirmed what everyone was thinking. "Let's get on with it."

She took her proton gun into her hand; Eduardo and Garrett followed suit.

Garrett gave the usual signal: "On three!"

"THREE!" the four Ghostbusters shouted – Roland joining in from force of habit, even though his mind was on his sister.

The Dralex Demon screamed as it was held in the three proton streams, until finally it was sucked into the trap.

"You guys deal with him," ordered Roland, nodding towards the stirring Darrel Cutts as he made his way across the room to sit beside his sister.

"Oh Roland, I'm sorry," sobbed Tara, leaning into Roland's shoulder as he put his arm around her. "I feel like such an idiot. How can I go home and face everyone?"

"Easy. I'll drive you," smiled Roland. "Trust me, Tara, they'll welcome you back. I meant everything I said. We've been frantic."

"But what about all this stuff?" asked Tara. "You know – the record contract and everything."

"Forget it. Just leave it all behind. Let somebody else deal with it. I don't care, as long as you come home!"

"I feel so stupid," sighed Tara, pulling away from Roland to wipe her dark-brown eyes with the back of her dark-brown hand – which, incidentally, was now sporting long, varnished nails instead of claws.

"Why?" Roland asked gently.

"Because I ran away from home. I mean, what a dumb thing to do!"

"Yeah," her brother smiled indulgently. "But we all drove you to it. It can't be easy for you, trying to grow up with no time or space to yourself. What can we do to make things easier for you, huh?"

Tara shook her head, wiped away the last of her tears and said quietly, "Just let me be myself, ok?"

"You got it," Roland assured her.

Tara glanced down at Darrel Cutts. Janine and Kylie seemed to be explaining things to him. Eduardo and Garrett had moved on to admiring the impressive view from the window.

"So now what?" wondered Tara. "Do you think I'll be allowed back into school?"

"I'm sure you will," answered Roland.

"And what about... what about Zeke?" she asked tentatively. "Have you seen him since...?" She couldn't quite finish, simply because she wasn't sure of what she was trying to say.

"Not much," Roland told her. "But when I did see him, he was pretty upset that you dumped him."

"Do you think maybe he'd give me a second chance?"

"I don't know," Roland replied truthfully. "Maybe. He did seem keen on you."

"Yeah, I guess he did." Tara finally managed to produce a smile. "Roland... I'm sorry I - "

"Forget it," her brother interrupted. "You're sorry, I'm sorry – everybody's sorry. But it's over now, so let's just forget about it."

"Right," nodded Tara. Then she looked over to the scene by the door and said, "Hey. Janine."

Janine looked enquiringly back at her.

"Thanks," smiled Tara.

Those thanks were certainly due, as Roland let Janine know for weeks afterwards. Some of the younger ones weren't too happy that Tara had had to give up most of her earnings to various people for breach of contract, but Roland didn't care about that. He felt that he owed Janine everything for the return of his sister, and he had never been more grateful to anyone for anything in his life.

THE END

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis and various people at Columbia Pictures. All original characters created by me.