Extreme Ghostbusters: A Little Boy Lost
Part 3
"This is really nice."
Sandra smiled. "Thanks. Yeah, it is."
"It's not like home." He caught the look on his mother's face, and added hastily, "I mean, where we used to live."
"Oh." She nodded. "No, it's not like that."
Jack, in spite of the change he had seen in his mother's appearance, had for some reason expected her home to look all but identical to the two up/two down terrace he had lived in as a child. He remembered it well: colourful wallpaper, scruffy carpets, toys strewn around the floor – at least two or three in every room. His father had been a mechanic, and the whole place used to smell of motor oil. This place smelt more artificial, like air freshener or soap powder or something.
Sandra led Jack through to the living room. He winced slightly when he saw a trio of identical white leather sofas that looked like they had never been sat on. The walls were white too, and there was no carpet, just pine floorboards that matched the pine units. There were flowers too, which sat neatly in a glass vase on a glass-topped coffee table and – Jack couldn't help noticing – matched the walls and sofas.
"You like this stuff?" asked Jack, in tones of utter astonishment.
"I thought I'd try being tidy and see how it suited me," replied Sandra. "I do like it, yes. It makes me feel like… well, like I'm in control, like there's order to my life. Do you understand?"
"Not really," Jack confessed.
"It's hard to explain – I don't think I can. Before you get any ideas, I don't keep the place this neat: I haven't the time. We have a cleaner who comes in twice a week."
"You must be rich."
"We're comfortably off. Deborah helps out around the house as well. She's so sweet. You'll see her when she comes home from school."
Jack was silent. He didn't dare sit down on that pristine furniture.
"It's not all like this," Sandra assured him. She led her son through an immaculate white kitchen to a refreshingly untidy little playroom that was neatly tucked away at the back of the house. "This is where Toby hangs out. Deborah's got some stuff in here too. She plays with Tobes a lot."
"Where is Toby?" asked Jack. "When I was two I used to spend all day with you. What did you do with him?"
Sandra's gaze dropped slightly. "Toby doesn't spend all day with me. He goes to a childminder – she's got him now. Actually I'd better go call her and tell her I'm home. I'll ask her to bring Toby home when she picks up Deb from school."
She made her way back through the kitchen and out into the hallway, Jack following like a puppy. There was a telephone out there. A white one. It was improbably clean. Jack didn't much care for it. As Sandra picked up the receiver he asked, "Why don't you want Toby home now?"
"I want to spend some more time alone with you," Sandra replied at once. "And I don't want to ask Sally to do two trips."
"Oh. Ok."
"I'll just be a minute, baby, ok?" She started to dial. "Go back through to the kitchen and make yourself comfortable. Find something to eat if you're hungry."
He found a chocolate bar in the fridge. He considered for a moment that it might belong to Toby or Deborah, but then he reasoned that they had probably already had plenty of chocolate recently – certainly in the last ten years. Besides, it wasn't as though this stuff was in short supply – they could always buy more.
Jack sat down at the pine table, ripped the wrapper from the bar and bit into it. He chewed slowly and let the chocolate melt over his tongue, enjoying the sensation for a few moments. Soon, however, he stopped. He took another bite and did it again. This time, he let out a deep sigh and pushed the remaining seven eighths of the chocolate bar away. Toby and Deborah could have it. Candy used to taste better than that, he was sure. Apparently his tongue had matured with the rest of his body. It still tasted good, but it wasn't everything it used to be.
Jack put his head in his hands and gazed at the floor. He wanted to cry. Nothing was the same for him anymore. Absolutely nothing. Kylie had changed; his mother had changed; his house, which looked like some kind of show home, was on totally the wrong side of the country… and he just didn't want to think about what might have become of his father. And now it seemed that even chocolate, something he really thought he could rely on, had changed as well. So what did that mean? Were there no pleasures for him in this guise as an adult? As a child he had loved all kinds of junk food. Perhaps now he wouldn't be able to enjoy any of them.
Sandra walked in, and Jack looked up sharply. She fixed him with a smile that was just filled with emotion: relief, gratitude, disbelief, concern and love. She sat down next to him and grabbed his hand.
"I love you so much, honey," she said, in a choked voice. "You know that, don't you?"
Jack nodded, finally able to smile. "I love you too," he said.
After that, the conversation grew more uncomfortable. They talked about all kinds of things – the past, the present and what might happen in the future – but wherever the discussion went, Sandra always managed to steer it back to the issue of where her son had been for the last decade. Finally, Jack lost patience.
"I don't know!" he exclaimed. "Mom, I told you: I don't remember where I've been or what I've been doing!"
"W-well," Sandra stammered, taken aback, "I told you there are people who can - "
"I don't want to see a shrink," retorted Jack. "There are more important things I have to do. Whatever I've been doing, I don't think I was in school. Mom, I can barely read! I can count but I never even finished learning how to add up! I don't know anything! I need to go back to school! I'm supposed to be a teenager but I don't know anything!"
"Calm down," Sandra said soothingly, when she saw the tears shining in her son's eyes. "I'm sorry, I… I didn't think of that. It's ok, Jack. We'll deal with it. You'll soon catch up."
Jack let out a deep sigh, and took a few moments to calm down. Then he said quietly, "I'm tired."
"Would you like to catch up on some sleep?"
"Yes please."
Sandra, still holding onto Jack's hand, led him up a pine staircase to what she termed "the spare – I mean, your room". Jack had expected it to be even barer than the rest of the house, but he was pleasantly surprised. The double bed had been made up with a blue-and-white striped quilt and pillowcase, a cute monkey toy sitting up smilingly on one of the pillows. There was a small pile of books on the dresser by the bed, most of which Jack knew he couldn't handle, but there were a few kids' books there as well. The small desk was topped with a vase of cheery yellow flowers, and a child's drawing of a widely smiling face had been taped to the door in a gesture of welcome. Jack was too tired to find any of this particularly puzzling; he assumed that the spare room must always look this way. His primary concern was with the bed, which looked to him extremely inviting. He lay down on top of the quilt (which really wasn't necessary, given the temperature), hugged the monkey to his chest and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Some hours later – he knew not how many – a light tap on the door awoke him. Jack scrambled into a sitting position, wondered where he was for a few moments and then called uncertainly, "Um, come in."
His visitor was a girl with a warm smile, long dark hair and soft brown eyes. Jack recognised her at once from her photo, as well as the grumpy looking toddler who followed her grudgingly into the room.
"Hi," Deborah Beaumont smiled pleasantly. "I'm Deborah. This is Toby. Tobes!" This grabbed the attention of the toddler, and she took hold of his fat little hand. "This is your brother Jack."
Toby looked dubiously at Jack, his big hazel eyes registering puzzlement and perhaps some disapproval. He looked so like his mother – their mother – it was extraordinary. Jack tried smiling at him. Toby didn't respond.
"Say hello," hissed Deborah.
"Hello," Toby said robotically. Then, quite suddenly, he pulled his hand free of his sister's and rocketed out of the door.
"Sorry about him," Deborah smiled apologetically, crossing the room to sit on the bed beside Jack. "He's been missing Sandra."
"It's ok."
"So how are you feeling?"
She was still smiling. Jack wondered if she ever stopped. His first instinct was to say that he felt fine; but when he turned his head to look at his new stepsister, he saw that she was genuinely concerned, her gaze inviting him to tell her anything he wanted to.
"Tired," Jack said at last, "confused, and homesick."
"This is your home now," offered Deborah. "You'll soon get used to Sacramento."
"Yeah."
"You like the room?"
Jack nodded. "It's nice."
"I fixed it up for you yesterday. I commissioned the picture from Toby – I thought it would be easier for you if you felt welcome. And that's Gary." She gestured towards the monkey toy. "He's technically mine, but you can keep him if you want to."
Jack was overwhelmingly touched, and not just by the Gary gesture. "Thank you," he said. "Why Gary?"
Deborah laughed. "I don't know – I can't remember. I've had him since I was three. Jack…" – her smile flickered from friendliness to compassion. "I'm very sorry about what happened to you. It must be weird, being… well, back."
"It is," Jack assured her. "I feel so strange. I'm not used to being… well, I don't really remember anything since I was six." He stopped, snapped his gaze away from Deborah's face and pouted down at his clasped hands. Finally he said vehemently, "It's not fair."
"I know," Deborah said softly, putting a consoling hand on his arm.
"All that time is just… just… gone! It's not fair! I want it back!"
"I know," she said again, in the same gentle tone. "I'm sorry, Jack."
"All that time," Jack repeated. He felt tears pricking the backs of his eyes. "I haven't been to school, you know. Kylie – that's my friend in New York who found me – she told me to e-mail her, and she showed me how to do it. She must have forgotten I can't write that well, and I don't ever remember using a computer."
"You don't?" Deborah looked absolutely astonished. "Well, you'll soon get the hang of it – it's easy. Any moron can do it. When was it since you last wrote something – the eighties? Didn't they have computers in those days?"
At last Jack managed a small laugh. "Yes," he said. "One or two. Kylie says that every home has one now. We had a few at school, and some of the rich kids had them at home. They were different then, though."
"I'll show you ours." Deborah jumped to her feet. "Come on – we'll e-mail your friend Kylie. I'll help you, and maybe afterwards we can take a look at one of my books – you'll soon catch up on everything you missed."
She was still smiling, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. She was obviously desperate to help him, and Jack knew that he couldn't very well refuse. He rose to his feet and followed her to the door.
"You're very kind," he remarked.
"Why wouldn't I be kind to you?" Deborah grinned at him. "You're family now."
Four weeks later:
Garrett skidded dangerously through the meat and poultry aisle, swerving at the last second to avoid a display of breaded chicken breasts. He wasn't being reckless just for the sake of it: a small goblin had attached itself to the right wheel of his chair.
"Guys!" exclaimed Garrett, as he rounded the corner and just about avoided a collision with a shelf stacked full of breakfast cereals. Roland, Eduardo and Kylie looked up in surprise, and Garrett turned his chair slightly to show them the rear of the wheel. "I found it," he added unnecessarily.
Eduardo readied his proton gun, but Roland held up a restraining hand. "Get out of the chair," he advised.
Garrett dove to the ground, moving as far away from the chair, the goblin and the cereal as he could, just as the slippery little creature jumped like a monkey onto the nearest shelf. Garrett, once he had landed fairly heavily on the ground, quickly regained his composure and rolled into a sitting position.
"On three," he said, grabbing his proton gun.
"THREE!" they all exclaimed, and a moment later the goblin was writhing and hissing its way into a ghost trap.
"Oh dear," remarked Roland, as a few flakes of whole-wheat cereal and several little bits of scorched card fluttered to the ground like snow, settling on the blackened mound that was the last of that particular display. "That's coming right out of our cheque."
x x x
Once the team was in the Ecto-1 and Roland was driving back towards the firehouse, Kylie finally felt able to relax. The Ghostbusters had been called to quite a few cases since the Grundle escapade, and not all of them easy. The huge flying aquatic creature that had sped through New York destroying anything faintly mechanical and almost run amok at JFK Airport had been particularly taxing, and there had been smaller incidents too – like the goblin in the supermarket. That had to be the last one for a while, surely. Kylie very much hoped so, because she wanted to turn her attention to a far more pressing matter.
"Eduardo," she piped up suddenly, turning her head to meet his gaze. "How many missing people… missing persons… how many of them actually get found?"
"I don't know," Eduardo replied, somewhat impatiently, though he tried very hard not to snap at her. Truth be told, he was getting a little tired of Kylie constantly asking him questions very similar to this. He wanted to help her – he wanted very much to help her, in fact – but he just didn't have the answers she wanted.
Kylie seemed not to notice the irritation in his voice, and she persisted with her questioning: "It's not many though, is it?"
"I don't know," Eduardo said again. Then, "I don't think so."
"Will you ask your brother for me?"
He looked horrified. "Will I ask my brother for you?" he returned incredulously.
Kylie did something rare in giving him a winning smile. "Please?" she asked.
Eduardo sighed, and slumped back in his seat. "Sure," he said grudgingly. Wow. He had thought before that he would do anything for her, but only now did he realise that he'd actually meant it.
x x x
Roland brought the Ecto-1 to a stop in the garage, and Egon came eagerly out from behind his desk to hear about the case. Kylie headed straight for the reception desk.
"Janine, may I use your computer?" she asked, as Roland and Egon headed towards the basement and ultimately the containment unit. "Jack should be home by now – he might have e-mailed."
"Y'know, it's only just gone one o'clock where he is," Janine pointed out.
"I know," snapped Kylie, practically barging Janine out of her chair. "It's Friday – he's only at school for the morning."
About a minute later, her excited cry of "Ooh – he's e-mailed!" brought Garrett eagerly towards her, and Eduardo trailed nonchalantly behind.
"How is he?" asked Garrett.
"He seems ok," replied Kylie, scanning the text on the screen in order to ascertain whether there was anything particularly personal in there that Jack would not want broadcast. Then, when Roland and Egon returned from the basement, she read the message aloud:
Dear Kylie,
Thanks for your last e-mail. I still don't quite understand this whole e-mail thing, but it seems to work, so I guess that's all that matters. Deb says it works just like telephones, but I never really understood how those work either. A lot of stuff seems to have been invented while I was away – it's like I've come back to a whole different world!
Deborah is still helping me write to you, but not so much – she says I'm improving really quickly and so do my teachers. (Deb also says hi.) I thought it would be really weird going back to school, and I thought I'd hate it, but it's actually ok. I thought I'd feel stupid because I was so behind, but the people in my class are just dense rich kids who are stupider than me because I'm improving faster than them even though they've been through high school and I never even finished first grade.
I think Toby's getting used to having me around. Yesterday he played with me for a whole hour so he must like me a bit. Mom's getting used to me too – she doesn't have to keep checking I'm still here as much as she used to. When can you come and see us? I really miss you and I'd love you to meet the family. Well, anyway, take care. Say hi to the guys for me.
Jack x
"He wrote that with a nine year old?" Roland asked interestedly. "That's very good indeed, considering he's ten years behind the rest of us."
"He told me on the phone that this Deborah's a smart kid," replied Kylie. "You know, I do wonder how he feels about this Ted person – his stepfather. He hasn't said in any of his e-mails that he likes him, and obviously if he didn't like him he couldn't say so because Deborah helps write them."
"She's the step-dad's kid, right?" Eduardo asked.
Kylie frowned slightly. "Yes. Jack doesn't really talk about him on the phone either. Perhaps he's afraid of being overheard."
"You ought to go and see him," offered Janine. "We can spare her for a week or two, can't we, Egon?"
"I want to," said Kylie, before Egon had a chance to answer. "I'd have to see Jack's mother, of course, but I'd just have to deal with it. I really want to see him again, and find out for myself how he's getting on. I can't go until college breaks, though."
By now she was talking to herself more than anyone else. She clicked on the reply icon, and everyone politely moved away. However Kylie, still staring at the screen, reached out and put a restraining hand on Roland's arm.
"What can I say to him?" she demanded.
"I don't know," shrugged Roland. "Say you're glad he seems to be settling in with his new family. Tell him about what you've been doing."
Kylie frowned, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. "I've done all of that – every time I've written. He's probably sick of it. I wish…"
Roland cocked an eyebrow. "What?" he asked.
"I wish I could give him some good news."
"Like what?"
"Never mind."
She pursed her lips, thought for a few moments and then quickly dashed off a somewhat woolly response:
Dear Jack,
I'm so glad you're getting on well. Sounds like you'll be out of school sooner than we expected! You always were smart. Remember when Miss Moore found out you and I were the only two students in the class who could count beyond ten!
Of course I would love to come and see you, and to meet your family. Unfortunately I have college, as you know, but maybe I can come over sometime during the Christmas break? Or maybe that's imposing – you'd better casually mention the idea to your mom and step-dad and see how they react. I'm so looking forward to seeing you. I've been missing you all over again!
Best wishes,
Kylie xx
She stood up abruptly, at the same moment sending the e-mail, and then stalked from the room. Janine reclaimed her chair, and Roland wandered upstairs. Eduardo and Garrett were up there with Slimer. Egon, presumably, had disappeared to his lab.
"I think Kylie's up to something," announced Roland.
"Up to something?" echoed Garrett. "Why would you think that?"
"Well, you know that look she gets, when she's going to borrow Egon's ghost beacon, or she's going to try and talk the giant plant round, or she's going to open up the containment unit and talk to the Grundle…"
Slimer, looking alarmed, suddenly rose a few feet into the air and started babbling incomprehensibly.
"I don't think she's planning to open the containment unit again," Roland added hastily, and Slimer seemed to relax. "I think it's something to do with Jack."
"With Jack?" Eduardo looked up sharply. "It was to do with Jack last time. We found the guy – what the hell is her problem now?"
"Well," said Roland, "everything didn't just go back to normal, like she probably hoped it would. She's worried about him."
"Finding him," Garrett added sagely, "seems to have opened a few cans of worms."
06:30 pm:
Of course they all knew what concerned Kylie the most. Indeed, Daniel Ryan's apparent disappearance was a cause for great concern. They had all hoped that he might have been found by now, but four weeks was long enough to confirm that he really was missing.
Eduardo had absolutely no faith in the police. Kylie had started out hopeful, but now she shared this somewhat pessimistic view. The goddamn cops probably didn't even care. A man, somebody's dad, was missing, but why should they care? If you cared that much about people, you couldn't be a cop. All that death and disappearance would drive you crazy. Even if one or two of them did start the job in possession of some compassion, they must quickly become desensitised. Eduardo had said something along those lines once: "They hear about people getting robbed, beaten up, killed, whatever, every day. After a while the words just lose their meaning."
She was in a corner of the basement, thumbing her way through a battered old hardback. Kylie trusted old books. The older the better, as far as she was concerned. About ninety percent of the population would have been illiterate when this one was written, and she had a theory that words composed for mass consumption were unreliable. After all, the news these days was virtually all a pack of lies. But why would someone give false information in a book that was unlikely to be read?
She paused when she came to a page that grabbed her attention, and for a few minutes she just sat catatonically and stared at it. The language was unclear and the letters distorted, and the pages were yellowed with age. Kylie squinted at the book, trying to make some sense of it.
I could do this, she thought. How hard could it be? What could go wrong?
That was a stupid question, and she knew it. Anything could happen and, knowing her track record, everything that could go wrong almost certainly would go wrong. This wouldn't be the first time she had acted alone and done something rash. Barely over a month had passed since she – with a little help from young Casey Jackson – had unwittingly freed the Grundle. Then, remembering the disaster with the ghost beacon, Kylie snapped the book shut and threw it to the ground in front of her. There was some considerable force behind the throw and the old book skidded several inches across the floor.
"You're an idiot," Kylie said aloud. She knew she had to hear the words, and not just inside her head, otherwise she probably wouldn't listen. "You're a kid and you can't do any of this stuff. There's another way."
So what is it? an annoying little voice in the back of her mind demanded.
Kylie shook her head. She didn't know. She wanted to talk to Jack, to find out how this made him feel. It must be eating away at him from the inside. The last thing he knew, he had been living happily with his parents in New York, and suddenly he didn't even know where his father was. He didn't even know whether or not he was alive! Kylie squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying not to let the tears spill over. She wanted to be with him. How could that goddamn woman take him so far away?
"Kylie!"
Startled, Kylie snapped her eyes open and jumped to her feet. Egon was standing at the top of the staircase, his eyes on the book in the middle of the floor.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
Kylie blinked back the last threat of tears. "Thinking," she said quietly.
"We just got a call. Didn't you hear the alarm?"
"Alarm?" Kylie was astonished. How could she have missed that? "No."
"Kylie, are you all right?"
Kylie nodded. "Sure. I'd, um, better go get kitted up, then." She crossed the room quickly and ran up the stairs. "See you later."
Egon watched her sprint up the stairs towards her teammates, and then strolled down into the basement. He wandered over to the book, picked it up with both hands and blew the light coating of dust from the cover. The book was hard, heavy and extremely worn. It smelt musty, and a little damp. Egon put it under one arm to polish his glasses, and then squinted at the title. On deciphering the worn text he frowned and jerked his head round sharply, his eyes following Kylie's line of retreat.
He pursed his lips, thinking. Should he take her off this case and talk to her now? The job had sounded fairly straightforward – the others would probably be able to manage without her. However the distant sound of the Ecto-1's siren made the decision for him. Shaking his head sadly, Egon hugged the book to his chest and made his way back towards the staircase. As he ascended to ground level, he reasoned with himself that it could wait until the team returned. Whatever Kylie was planning to do, she couldn't very well attempt it in the middle of someone's home.
03:30 pm:
"The Spice Girls," announced Deborah, waving a CD jacket under Jack's nose. "They're from England. They were very popular at the end of last year. They're still doing ok, but they'll be on the way out soon if you ask me."
She fed the CD to her CD player, which Jack thought resembled some kind of sci-fi fantasy alien spacecraft. He flinched when Deborah turned on the music. Well, the music wasn't bad – punchy and quite fun, really – but the English women shouting over it rather spoilt it for him.
"I don't think I like nineties music, Deb," Jack said apologetically. "I'm sorry, but that's just how it is."
Deborah frowned. She had been trying all week. "There must be something you like," she objected. "Was it really ten years since you last listened to music?"
"Um, I think so. Maybe more."
"I'm afraid I don't have anything from the eighties." To Jack's relief, she stopped the CD. "Dad might, or Sandra."
"Why is everything silver?" demanded Jack. "It's like something from Star Trek."
"Don't know," shrugged Deborah, sitting down next to him on the bed. It was her room, and Jack was perched self-consciously on a pink-trimmed quilt cover decorated with cutesy cartoon horses. "People like silver."
"We used to have CDs," Jack remembered, "but we had cassettes as well. I haven't seen a single one since I've been back. What's happened to them all?"
"They're on the way out," Deborah told him. "CDs are much better. They don't melt. Well, they might do if it was hot enough, but it never is. There's no CD that suddenly decides to get all tied up in itself, and you just have to press a button a few times if you want to listen to a particular song, instead of all that rewinding and fast-forwarding to find the right place."
"Huh," muttered Jack. "Everything's changed. I mean, look at the size of your computer! It's tiny! Computers should be at least as big as a fridge."
His tone was jovial, but Deborah didn't seem to see the joke. She just shook her head incredulously and asked, "How could you have missed all of this, Jack? Where have you been?"
Jack looked down at the carpet. It was a gentle shade of blue. Nothing in Deborah's room matched. It reminded him a little of his old home back in Manhattan. He liked hanging out in there, and he enjoyed spending time with Deborah. Her friendship was another thing that reminded him of his lost childhood.
"I don't know where I've been," he muttered.
Deborah opened her mouth as if to speak, but she said nothing. She tried to think of the appropriate words, but her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Come in!" she called brightly.
The door opened a few inches and Sandra poked her head into the room. She smiled on seeing her older son and said, "Oh, good – there you are, Jack. Hi, Deb," she added quickly. "Honey, I made you an appointment."
"An appointment?" echoed Jack, frowning confusedly. "Who with?"
"A doctor," replied Sandra. "Well… a, um, hypnotist."
Jack pulled a face. "Huh?"
"You know," Deborah said smilingly. She jumped down from the bed, crossed the room and picked up a silver locket from the top of her dresser. "You are feeling very sleeeeeepy," she intoned mockingly, holding the locket at the top of the chain and swinging it back and forth like a pendulum.
"Oh yeah," Jack nodded. In his youth – or what he had of it – he had enjoyed many cartoons, and almost all of them had featured a hypnotist at some point. "Why?"
"His name's Dr. Mortimer," Sandra explained. "And he's going to help you remember what happened."
Jack's heart froze. "What?" he croaked nervously.
"I told you I'd take you to see someone, honey."
"But… but I don't want to! Mom, please, I… I don't want to remember."
Sandra frowned. "Was it that bad?"
Jack shook his head. "I don't know. I don't… I don't want to know."
"Oh, sweetheart," his mother sighed. "I have to know."
"Why?" Deborah demanded suddenly, and for the first time since Jack had met her four weeks ago, her smile vanished. "It didn't happen to you – it happened to Jack. Why should he go through it again just because you want to know?"
Sandra scowled. "I need to know," she said coldly. "And I think Jack should too."
"Doesn't it matter what Jack thinks?"
This time Sandra ignored her. She turned her eyes to Jack, her jaw set like steel, and said stiffly, "Tomorrow at two, ok?"
Jack couldn't speak. He merely nodded.
"Good," Sandra approved. "Dinner at seven, you two – all right?"
She left, shutting the door firmly behind her. Deborah was still holding the locket, now with the thin silver chain coiled in her hand, and frowning thoughtfully at it through stray locks of her long dark hair.
"Deb," ventured Jack. "I thought you and my mom got on ok."
"We do, usually," shrugged Deborah. "Sometimes we don't agree. Nobody agrees with everybody all the time. I probably used to disagree with my mom sometimes too. I don't really remember."
This made Jack feel awkward. Since he had been living with Deborah the subject of her late mother had never come up.
"Anyway." Deborah placed the locket lovingly back on the dresser, and went to sit on the bed next to Jack once again. "I'm sorry about the hypnotist."
Jack returned his gaze to the carpet. His throat was dry, and he was overwhelmed with a horrible feeling of dread. "I can't go," he said quietly. "If he… if he's really going to make me tell him what happened…"
"I'm sorry," Deborah said again. "Was it very bad? Is that why you don't want to remember?"
"It was bad," Jack nodded. "And I… I know what happened."
"You do?" asked Deborah, sounding faintly surprised.
"Yes." He nodded again. "I can't remember, but I know. But I can't tell anyone. If I tell this doctor what happened, he… he'll think I'm crazy."
He expected Deborah to demand that he let her on in the secret, but she didn't. She simply put a comforting hand on his arm and said gently, "Well, maybe he's a bad hypnotist. Or maybe, if you really convince yourself that you aren't going to tell him anything no matter what he does, you'll be ok. I think you're strong like that."
Finally Jack looked up, and pulled a face. "That'll work?"
"I don't know," shrugged Deborah. "Worth a try. Does… does anybody else know what happened to you? Is there someone you can talk to about it?"
"Kylie," Jack replied at once. "If I call Kylie… your dad and my mom might hear."
"Well," said Deborah, jumping to her feet and flashing him a look of determination. "How about you call Kylie from up here, and I distract Dad and Sandra downstairs?"
"Really?" asked Jack. "You'd do that?"
"Of course."
"Um, ok. Thanks."
07:10 pm:
"Great, hi, come in."
He was a youngish man, perhaps in his late twenties, and handsome. He had a silver earring, baggy black jeans ripped at the knees and dark hair carefully gelled to look a mess. A silver skull pendant hung at his chest. Kylie noticed the way he smiled at her before he turned to lead them into his apartment.
"Sorry about the mess," the man, one Mike Fisher according to Janine's information, grinned sheepishly. "I don't get a lot of visitors, and you were kinda last-minute."
Roland found Mike Fisher's choice of décor slightly intimidating. Garrett quietly considered it pretentious, but Kylie rather liked it. Eduardo was just plain surprised. The walls were black and lined with shelves that housed a veritable library of worn old books. Candles, gothic statues… a skull, for crying out loud! It couldn't be real, Eduardo decided. It was just for show. This guy probably had guests over all the time, and delivered the same old line about the terrible state his home was in and how bizarre and interesting he must seem. He probably brought girls here constantly – a different one every day. He undoubtedly gave them all that syrupy smile he was currently radiating towards Kylie. Bastard.
"I'm sorry," Mike Fisher went on. "It's probably nothing. It's just… the noises… and the feeling I get when I go in there. You know when someone shoves a snowball down your neck?"
Garrett favoured him with a dry smile. "Not especially."
"Well." Mike Fisher crossed the room and opened a door to reveal what could have been a very large cupboard or a very small room. He was evidently using it as a very large cupboard, because it was stacked full of junk: old clothes, books, more hockey sticks than one man needs… "In there."
Roland took the lead, followed by Garrett, and then Eduardo. Fortunately for Mike Fisher, Kylie brought up the rear. She was about to try and squeeze herself in there with her three teammates – who took up three quarters of the available space between them – when Mike stepped into her path and said, with a lopsided smile, "Hey."
Kylie frowned at him. "What?"
"I knew I wouldn't regret calling you guys out here."
Her frowned deepened. "You have got to be kidding me."
"Hey, come on, give a guy a break," said Mike Fisher, still smiling in a way that was probably supposed to be endearing. "Can't I see if a pretty girl likes me back?"
"I'm an exterminator," Kylie returned flatly. "I provide a service. Would you make a move on the window cleaner?"
"I don't have a window cleaner."
Mike Fisher may not have a window cleaner, but he did have nice dark eyes. Kylie dropped her gaze and let her eyes wander over to the nearest bookshelf. Having seen this guy's taste in house ornaments, she couldn't help wondering about his choice of reading matter. Well, the books certainly seemed to match the gothic theme: horror stories, vampires, ancient orders, religious sects, myths and legends from various cultures…
"You're into all that stuff?" Kylie asked interestedly.
Mike Fisher bent his knees slightly, lowering his entire body until he was able to catch Kylie's eye. "It fascinates me," he purred.
"Ah-ha…"
"Hey." Quite suddenly, Eduardo appeared between them. "Dude, there's nothing in there but hockey sticks."
"Really?" asked Mike Fisher, his eyebrows shooting skyward. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry. I did tell whoever answered the phone that I hadn't actually seen anything, but… well…"
"It's ok," Kylie assured him. "If you felt there was something there you were right to call us."
"I'm so sorry to have wasted your time." He was still looking at Kylie, and so didn't notice Eduardo rolling his eyes. "And it's so late! Um, how much do I owe you?"
"Well," began Garrett, as he wheeled his way out of the small room/large cupboard. "We didn't actually do anything, but for the trouble of coming out here I think fifty dollars is reasonable. Or maybe sixty, as it's after hours."
Mike Fisher cocked an eyebrow. "It sounds like you just made that up," he remarked.
"Don't listen to him," Roland, the last to emerge from the cupboard, put in hastily. "Our secretary will invoice you."
"All right," Mike Fisher said amiably, not taking his eyes from Kylie's face. "So, what's your name?"
"Kylie."
Eduardo had been scrutinising this guy very carefully, and as Kylie announced her name he thought he saw something pass briefly over Mike Fisher's face. It was very quick, and Eduardo could not ascertain exactly what it was; but whatever it had meant, he got the impression that there was more to this situation than met the eye. There was something about Mike Fisher that just… didn't feel right. He seemed fake. His apartment and everything in it didn't seem natural. It felt… staged.
"Can I have your number?"
"Oh." Kylie looked away. "I don't think so."
"Ah well." Mike Fisher crossed the room and produced a pad of Post-its from a desk drawer. He scribbled something on one of the yellow scraps of paper and then handed it to Kylie, careful to brush his fingers against hers as he said, "Well, here's mine. Please think about it a little bit before you throw it away."
Kylie sighed. He was nice. He was handsome. He talked well: didn't give her silly nicknames like "babe" or "gorgeous". He acknowledged that she had every right to make the decision for herself. He had asked nicely. He had some good books. It might be safe to say yes. It might not. He might hurt her. He probably would, sooner or later. But he had a nice smile. Was she weak enough to be won over by a smile?
"I'll think about it."
"Thank you."
x x x
Throughout the journey back to the firehouse, Eduardo debated with himself whether to voice his concerns about Mike Fisher. He changed his mind a few times before he finally decided that expressing his doubts would be completely pointless. Kylie wouldn't listen. She knew that Eduardo was negative about most of the people they met, and this time there wasn't even any apparent reason for it. It was just a hunch.
"So," ventured Eduardo, once they were back at HQ and climbing out of the car. "Are you gonna go out with him?"
"I don't know," snapped Kylie. "Probably not."
"Oh. Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why'?"
"I mean, why?" Well, there was no better way to phrase the question.
"Is that any of your business?"
"Kylie!"
On hearing her name, spoken in unison by Egon and Janine, Kylie looked round sharply and raised enquiring eyebrows towards the reception desk.
"This is important," Egon said gravely, taking a few steps towards Kylie. "Can it wait, Janine?"
"Um, sure," shrugged Janine.
"Good. Kylie, would you come with me, please?"
Curious and more than a little nervous, for Egon was obviously displeased about something, Kylie followed her boss sedately towards his lab. He opened the door, stepped aside to allow Kylie room to enter and then very firmly shut them in. He walked stiffly over to a desk, from which he picked up a very thick hardback volume that Kylie knew only too well. She folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrows, looking at Egon impatiently.
"What's this?" he demanded.
"It's a book," Kylie replied calmly.
"Do you know what this book is about?"
"I seem to recall that that particular book is about Druidic magic."
"You were reading it in the basement earlier."
"Yes, I know."
His gaze was stern, but Kylie didn't waver. She didn't like being questioned like this. So she'd read a book – what exactly was her crime? It needn't matter that she'd had Jack's situation in mind at the time. Then quite suddenly she remembered the resentment she had felt towards the original Ghostbusters some weeks ago, when she pointed out to Eduardo that they had had the power to save Jack.
"Why?" demanded Egon.
"It interests me," Kylie returned irritably, dragging her mind back to the present.
"Why read it in the basement?"
"For quiet. Why are you asking me all of these questions?"
"Were you," Egon went on levelly, "or are you planning to perform any of these rituals?"
Kylie cocked an eyebrow. "Such as…?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"No, Egon, I am not," snapped Kylie. "I'm not stupid."
"I know you're not stupid," Egon deadpanned. "But you have been prone to rash behaviour, on occasion."
"Well not this time, ok? You've been jumping to conclusions."
"Good." Egon put the book down. "I'm glad."
"What, that's it?" Kylie asked sharply. "You're not sorry?"
"I had to enquire," Egon said calmly.
Kylie continued to scowl at him, quietly wondering whether she should feel guilty for reacting in the way she was. She had thought about performing a small spell, for all of five seconds. If Egon really wanted to know, she thought, her gaze dropping to the book on the desk, he could probably figure it out. But then again, he evidently wasn't always as smart as he liked to think he was. He had let Jack stay as a Grundle, stuck in that tree for all those years. If he and his team had just found Jack, his life would have continued as normal and his father almost certainly wouldn't be missing now.
"Can I go now?" Kylie demanded rudely.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yeah, sure, I'm all right. Egon, are you sorry about what happened to Jack?"
Egon looked surprised. "Of course I am," he said at once.
"Do you feel bad," Kylie pressed, "that you didn't stop it?"
"How could I have done that?"
"You could have found him."
"Kylie," Egon said sternly. "This is a pointless conversation."
"You should feel bad," Kylie said acidly. "It was your job to save all of those children. You should have double-checked. You shouldn't have let it happen."
"I thought you wanted to leave."
He looked angry, and possibly a little upset. Kylie sensed that she had struck a nerve. Well, how couldn't she, with a crushing speech like that? She was still feeling a lot of resentment, but Egon probably didn't deserve to bear the brunt of it. She wasn't really angry with him. She was just angry. But still, her words seemed to her to make a lot of sense. Looking at Egon now, she wasn't feeling the usual degree of admiration and respect she had for him. Then, quite suddenly, Mike Fisher jumped into her mind from out of nowhere. Kylie was a little taken aback by this. Here she was, alone with Egon, thinking of Mike Fisher.
"Sorry," she mumbled, raising a hand to her forehead as her confusion began to manifest itself in a dull ache between her temples. "Egon, did you ever date a client?"
Of all the things she had said to him that evening, this seemed to surprise Egon the most. "Um, well, no," he replied awkwardly. "Peter dated all the clients he could."
Kylie raised her eyes to his face. "And…?" she enquired.
"Well, you've heard about what Venkman's like. Why do you ask?"
"Mike Fisher gave me his number."
Egon pulled a face. "We already have it," he remarked.
"Yeah, well," shrugged Kylie, "it was more like a gesture really."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. He didn't even have a ghost, you know. I suppose it's possible that he might be a little bit crazy."
"Of course it's possible. He's just like any other new client: he could be anybody. You need to be careful."
"I know. I'm not stupid."
Egon didn't respond – he apparently had nothing more to say. Kylie hadn't either, so she decided to leave. After all, the conversation wasn't exactly flowing smoothly.
Eduardo, meanwhile, had been moaning to Janine about Mike Fisher. Garrett and Roland were hovering in the background and listening to the list of complaints: "He just seemed so fake. I mean, his apartment – he just happens to be into all the same stuff as Kylie – and he didn't even have a ghost! Don't you think that's suspicious?"
"I think you're clutching at straws," Janine said gently. "Eduardo, do you think you might be just a little bit…?"
Eduardo looked at her sharply. "What?" he demanded.
"Nothing," Janine back-pedalled hastily.
However Garrett finished the sentence for her: "Jealous."
"No," snapped Eduardo. "I just don't wanna see her get hurt. There was something wrong about that guy. He just looked at Kylie the moment we arrived and didn't take his eyes off her once. It was like he was…"
"What?" asked Garrett. "Attracted to her? It happens. Get over it."
"No," Eduardo snapped again. "It was like he'd been expecting her. And I don't mean us – I mean her, specifically. The way he talked to her seemed…" – he sought for the right word – "rehearsed. And all that stuff in his apartment looked brand new."
"So what?" said Garrett.
Just for a change, Eduardo ignored him. Instead of answering back he looked at Roland and demanded, "What did you think of him?"
"I don't know," shrugged Roland. "I guess I can see what you mean, but… well, I wasn't really paying that much attention to him."
"Look," Janine cut in. "Whether you're right or not, Eduardo, it has to be Kylie's – oh, Kylie, hi! You're back. What was that all about?"
"Egon doesn't trust me," Kylie replied irritably, "and he thinks I'm stupid."
"What?" Janine frowned confusedly.
"Never mind."
"Jack called."
Kylie looked at her sharply. "Jack called?" she echoed. "Why didn't you tell me straightaway?"
"Egon wouldn't let me," Janine said defensively.
"I'm gonna call him back, ok?" Her hand was already on the phone.
"Ok."
A male voice answered Kylie's call, but it wasn't Jack's. It must be his stepfather, this Ted Beaumont person she had heard so little about.
"Um, hi," Kylie said nervously. "May I speak to Jack?"
"Who's calling, please?"
"Kylie."
"Just a moment."
Kylie obediently waited for a moment – quite a long one – and then heard a few strange scuffling sounds. She was relieved when finally Jack's voice greeted her with a furtively hissed, "Kylie! Hi."
"Hi," replied Kylie. "Jack, are you ok?"
"Um…" – there was a short pause. "Yeah. Deb's distracting the parents for me. Ky, listen, I got a problem. Mom's making me go to a hypnotist tomorrow."
"A hypnotist?" Kylie's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh my God, Jack, that's terrible! He might make you tell him everything about the Grundle! Or is it a she?"
"It's a he," Jack said quickly, "but that doesn't matter. Kylie, what am I gonna do?"
"I don't know…"
"May I have that?" Eduardo asked sharply, and he snatched the phone from Kylie's hand. He then put it to his ear and said, "Jack, hi, it's Eduardo. Listen: hypnotists are full of shit, ok? They're all frauds, but if you go in there nervous and expecting to slip up you might say something you'll regret. Just chill out and don't let him grind you down, ok?"
"Um, ok," Jack replied uncertainly.
"I'm right, Jack – ok?"
"Sure, ok."
"Good." He lowered the receiver and offered it to Kylie. "Here."
"Well," Kylie said to Jack, once she'd accepted the phone back from Eduardo, "that actually sounds like good advice. Just try not to worry, ok? It'll be fine."
She sounded calm, but to those who could see it, her face betrayed her anxiety. She chatted to Jack for a few more minutes, and then put the phone down with a cry of, "Oh my God! This is terrible! She just doesn't give up!"
"He'll be fine," Eduardo said breezily, "if he takes my advice."
"Eddie," ventured Garrett. "Who don't you think is a total sham?"
"I don't know," retorted Eduardo. "Perhaps no one. Ky." He turned to look at Kylie, who was leaning against Janine's desk and looking extremely worried. "Just relax, ok? It'll be cool."
"Maybe it will be, this time – but then what?" retorted Kylie. "She is never going to give up. She's going to keep pushing and pushing until she finds out what really happened to him."
"Would that be so bad?" asked Roland.
Kylie shook her head. "Perhaps not. I don't know. I'm just so sure she wouldn't believe it. If I told her, she'd think I was lying. If Jack told her she'd think he was crazy."
"You mean Jack's mom?" asked Garrett. "Ky, you didn't see her for like more than ten years. You can't be totally sure of anything."
Kylie raised her eyes to look at him. "I guess you're right," she conceded. "Maybe I do just need to relax. We'll just have to wait and see what happens, won't we?"
x x x
In spite of her efforts, however, Kylie found it virtually impossible to relax for the rest of the day. When she arrived home later that evening she fed Pagan and then tried to get into some study, but she found that she couldn't concentrate. Just relax! she told herself, beginning to get quite irritable. What's the worst that could happen? Sandra already hates you, and she's never going to stop loving Jack – so nothing's exactly gonna change even if she does find out, is it?
However she quickly discovered that no amount of self-chastisement could soothe her rattled nerves. Kylie left the pile of work on her desk and threw herself onto the bed beside Pagan. The cat looked at her enquiringly and she tickled his chin, asking dolefully, "What am I gonna do, Pagy?"
Pagan purred as Kylie stroked him. He rolled over and exposed his stomach to her – the highest compliment a cat can give to a human. And then, quite suddenly, she was thinking about Mike Fisher again. She sighed despairingly. She couldn't believe it. She tried so hard not to get involved with people, because she had had enough of being let down. But on the other hand, thinking about Mike Fisher was better than thinking about Jack and it was infinitely better than wondering about Jack's father. Any distraction from that couldn't be bad, surely.
"You know what?" Kylie rose to her knees and stretched across the bed towards the phone, looking defiantly down at Pagan's enquiring gaze. "I'm gonna call him."
"Mrrrooowww," Pagan returned disinterestedly, curling up and closing his eyes.
Kylie shrugged off her cat's lack of support, and dialled Mike Fisher's number. As she did so she wondered if she was calling a bit late, but she had barely finished the thought when he answered on the third ring.
"Kylie!" he exclaimed, once she had announced her identity, and she could clearly visualise the smile she heard in his voice. "I'm so glad you called."
To be continued…