Chapter 3
There is weeping in my heart
Like rain falling on the city.
Paul Verlaine
Egon listened to the familiar sound of Ecto-1 departing. Then, as Winston had directed, made certain the doors were firmly locked and reset the security system. He went about the tasks mechanically, his mind already on the tests he planned to conduct on the strange substance Frump had delivered to them. He was barely aware of the sudden, heavy patter of rain striking the windows as he slowly made his way back across the garage.
Something, a flicker of half-seen motion caught out of the corner of his eye, made him hesitate. Pushing his glasses back up on his nose, Egon peered into the shadows at the edges of the room. "Slimer? Is that you?"
There was no answer, not that he'd really expected one. Cautiously, he backed toward the lockers and retrieved a PKE meter. He activated the meter, then scanned the room. Nothing, not even the barest flicker of the antennae.
Getting paranoid in your old age, Spengler? Peter's voice was so real that, for a moment, Egon half-expected the PKE meter to react. But it was only the voice of memory. He sighed softly and whispered, "Even paranoids have enemies, Peter."
Still clutching the meter, he swept the room for spectral activity, ending up at the desk in the reception area just in front of Peter's office. He stared at Janine's desk, the analytical part of his mind noting how strange it appeared without the usual clutter of everyday occupancy-no piles of paperwork waiting to be filed, no work orders, no bills or newspaper clippings or the occasional glossy magazine to combat boredom. Instead, the surface was immaculate, with nothing on the desk but the telephone. The old desk's battered wood practically gleamed under the lights. Ray had scrubbed and polished the surface until the desk was cleaner than it had been when they first acquired it, back when they had started the business.
Thinking of those early days, he almost smiled. He remembered installing their first computer, crawling around under this very desk while Janine attempted to draw him into conversation. What had they discussed? He frowned, concentrating, but all he could remember was telling her he collected spores, molds, and fungi. He had been distracted by his task, not really paying attention to her. He felt a pang of guilt as he realized how often that was the case. How often he had taken her for granted.
Despite Peter's frequent teasing to the contrary, Egon wasn't completely oblivious to the opposite sex. He simply had always found science far more comprehensible. But Janine was...an exception? He considered this. 'Exceptional' seemed a good word to describe her. He remembered all the times she had gone far beyond the call of secretarial duty. Certainly her actions that night had been exemplary. Although gravely wounded, she had still somehow managed to hit the alarm and warn them of the impending danger. If only he had realized in time what that danger was and exactly how grave...
He stared at the empty desk, trying not to remember. A thought surfaced. We'll need a new computer. The old one was unsalvageable, beyond even Ray's skills, its interior components thoroughly coated with ectoplasmA1 , its beige exterior spattered in blood.
Janine's blood, he thought. And against his will, the very images he had been fighting to keep at bay came crashing down on him like a tidal wave, drowning him in memory.
Screams echoing in his ears, Egon raced headlong down the stairs. In his haste, he missed his footing and nearly fell. He caught himself against the banister, not even stopping to completely regain his balance before plunging onward. He bypassed the last few steps, landed heavily on the floor, and flung himself toward the impossibly distant garage doors.
He had to get to Peter-
A low, muffled noise from the direction of Janine's desk interrupted his mad rush, made him spin around. What he saw momentarily paralyzed him with shock. One arm outstretched as if trying to reach the desk, Charlie Venkman lay on the floor in front of it, blood pooling darkly on the bricks beneath him. Egon's breath caught in his throat. He hurried to Charlie's side and felt for a pulse. There wasn't one.
Egon started to rise, to continue out to the street and Peter, when he heard the sound again. It was weaker this time. His own heart stuttered in his chest as he realized it must be-
"Janine!"
He dodged around the desk and slid down beside her, barely noticing the wetness that immediately began seeping into the cloth over his knees. Shucking off his proton pack, he bent over the wounded woman, his breath hitching at the sight of the bright red blood glistening like strings of rubies across her throat and down her chest. As bad as it looked, it hardly seemed enough to account for all the blood pooled beneath her. Then he saw the gash beneath her ear, pumping out blood with each beat of her heart.
It seemed impossible that she could still be alive. But when he touched her, she moved her head feebly as if in protest and tried to lift one hand to fend him off. He caught her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Janine, it's Egon. You're...you're safe, now."
The words caught in his throat, but the sound of his voice seemed to calm her. She quieted, her eyes flickering beneath half-closed lids. He doubted she was truly conscious, for which he was grateful. From the extent of her injuries, she had to be in tremendous pain. Gently, he placed her hand at her side, needing his own free in order to help her.
He searched his pockets and came up with a clean handkerchief, which he hastily folded into a makeshift bandage. Carefully, he settled it over the deepest wound and applied pressure, noting with some distress that there were similar, though thankfully shallower, wounds lower on her chest. Knife wounds? Or claws? he wondered sickly, swallowing a sudden rush of bile. On his shoulder, his own souvenirs from the intruders burned and bled sluggishly. He scarcely noticed.
"It's going to be all right, Janine," he murmured as he worked. He needed to stop the bleeding without causing any further damage, and the neck was a tricky enough area with which to contend without the additional fact that this was Janine. Or the fact that Peter was out there on the street, alone-
No, he couldn't allow himself to think about that. Janine would bleed to death without immediate attention and Peter... Peter was already-
He shied away from the thought before it was fully formed. Concentrate, damn it, he berated himself. Do what has to be done now. Peter would...Egon swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Peter would understand.
Careful not to lessen the pressure he was maintaining over the bandage, he reached up with his free hand and fumbled along the desk until he found the telephone by the simple expedient of knocking it into his lap. It landed with a jangle and skittered off his leg onto the floor. He snatched up the receiver, immeasurably relieved to hear a dial-tone.
Cradling the receiver against his shoulder, he dialed 911.
The phone rang, startling him so badly that he cried out, momentarily confused to find himself standing alone in the garage, rather than kneeling in a pool of Janine's blood. He shook himself, a tiny shiver dancing along his spine, then focused an irrational glare on the telephone. It rang again, the shrill sound grounding him in reality. He hesitated, one hand automatically reaching for the instrument, even as the answering machine kicked in. Too late, he remembered Winston saying he had turned on the machine. Egon froze as Peter's voice sounded cheerfully in the stillness of the empty room.
"You've reached the Ghostbusters. You've got a ghost, we'll make it toast! Please leave your name and number -"
Not waiting to hear the rest of the message, Egon turned on his heel and fled back upstairs to the sanctuary of his lab.