Chapter Four

Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
Edgar Allan Poe

As they strode across the uneven grass, Ray's gaze was drawn inexorably to the open wound in the earth before them. He fought its pull, turning his attention to the threatening clouds overhead, the distant trees, the dying grass beneath his feet - anything but the violated resting place of his friend. The trio of gray marble headstones caught his eye and he automatically read the names, though he knew them as well as he knew his own: Margaret Venkman, Charles Venkman.

Peter Venkman.

His eyes stung and he looked away, swallowing hard against the tears lurking just beneath the surface. They had only been here once since the funeral, to oversee the setting of the headstone. Then, everything had been neatly tucked away beneath a blanket of new sod. Now...Ray swallowed again and forced himself to really look at the grave.

The vandals hadn't been tidy. Sod had been ripped away, and great clumps of drying earth and dead grass lay scattered haphazardly around the opening in the ground. Some of the dirt had gotten onto the headstones, smearing them with crumbling soil. Ray watched as Winston knelt and brushed his hand over Peter's stone, trying without much success to clean it. He dug in his pocket for a crumpled handkerchief and handed it to Winston. "Try this."

Winston nodded his thanks and used the cloth to wipe the face of the stone clean. They shared a moment's heavy silence, then Winston looked up at him. "You okay, Ray?"

Ray scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, unashamed of his tears but unwilling to give in to them. They had a job to do and he was determined to do it. For Peter.

"Yeah, I'm...It's just..." A helpless gesture, more eloquent than words, indicated their somber surroundings.

"Yeah, I know." Winston's gaze fell back to the disturbed earth. He picked up a handful of dirt, let it trickle through his fingers. "I know."

"Who would do something like this, Winston?"

"Damned if I know," Winston said quietly. With a last swipe at the stone, he pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his hands. "That's what we're here to find out. So...let's find out."

Ray glanced down at the PKE meter gripped tightly in his hand. His knuckles were white and he had to force himself to relax his fingers enough to begin adjusting the meter's settings. His hand trembled just a little as he switched the meter on. He was so tense, he almost dropped the thing when it immediately sang out, its shrill tone signaling a lingering spectral trace.

"What've you got, Ray?" Winston peered upside down at the meter in Ray's shaking hand. "That looks like..."

"It's the same reading Egon got off that residue," Ray confirmed, frowning as he adjusted the dials. Whatever it was, it had to be pretty powerful to still register so strongly.

"Class nine?"

"Yeah, looks like. Negative valence, just like before."

Sounding as if he'd rather not ask the question, Winston prompted gently, "And the four?"

Ray hesitated, not looking at Winston, not looking at the meter, definitely not looking at the empty grave. He studied the frayed cuff of his shirt sleeve-he'd caught it in some equipment he and Egon had been working on...before, and forgotten about it until now-and chewed nervously on his bottom lip. His eyes burned.

Winston's hand closed reassuringly on Ray's shoulder. "Ray?"

"It-" Ray forced himself to take a deep breath, then gave a reluctant nod. "Yeah, the class four is here, too."

"Oh, man." Winston studied the lowering clouds, but they offered no answers and, after a moment's stillness, he turned his gaze back to Ray. "Is it...Can you tell if it's Peter?"

"I'm not sure," Ray admitted, toying absently with one of the meter's dials. "It could be, but-"

Ray shrugged helplessly. They had biorhythms on file for all of the team, including Peter. But they had no way of knowing if a living person's signature correlated with the spectral trace of that same individual's ghost. He shuddered at the idea that this might be their chance to put the theory to the test. "I just don't know."

Winston's breath hissed through his clenched teeth. "So, what do we do now?"

I wish I knew, Ray thought miserably. To Winston, he said, "I'll take some more readings. Maybe-"

The meter shrilled to life again, startling Ray, who almost dropped it.

"What is it, Ray?" Winston asked, his voice revealing his tension as his alert gaze swept their surroundings. "Where is it?"

If the class four was Peter, it wouldn't be a threat to them. But if it wasn't Peter- Watching the readings carefully, Ray turned in a tight circle. The meter's antennae reacted as it zeroed in on the source of the psycho-kinetic energy. Ray frowned. This was no residual. Something was definitely present and it was right...

"There!" With a triumphant cry, he pointed to a spot just beyond the trio of gravestones.

Both men stared, watching with trepidation as the air seemed to thicken…and the spirit began to materialize.

Ray's grip tightened on the still-warbling PKE meter as the ghost appeared in front of them. At first, it was just a slightly denser spot in the air, a faintly-human shape hovering just beyond the open grave. Then the ectoplasmic tendrils coalesced, sharpened like a television picture coming into focus... and resolved into a familiar figure.

"Hey there, boys," Charlie Venkman said, with an uncertain smile. "How've ya been?"

"Mr. Venkman?" Ray gaped at the apparition. He didn't know whether to feel relieved…or disappointed. No matter how much it would've hurt, he had really wanted the chance to tell Peter goodbye. He swallowed hard, blinking back tears, and was grateful when Winston stepped in to take up the slack.

"What are you doing here, Charlie?" Winston asked, quietly resting a supportive hand on Ray's shoulder.

"Everybody's gotta be somewhere, Winston." The elder Venkman shot a look at the meter in Ray's hand and sighed heavily. "You boys came looking for Peter? He's not here."

At Winston's questioning glance, Ray shrugged. "The readings match. Looks like Mr. Venkman is our class four." Then, belatedly realizing how that sounded, he blurted, "No offense, Mr. Venkman."

"None taken." Charlie shoved his hands in the pockets of his plaid sports coat, rocked back on his heels, and studied the sky as if he couldn't quite meet their eyes. "You're trying to find out what happened to Peter's body?"

Ray shivered. He stared at the ugly hole in the ground and felt his jaw tighten with barely-suppressed anger. "Yeah," he ground out, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Yeah," Winston echoed, darkly. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Charlie? Since you been hanging around and all."

"Wish I could say I did," Charlie said, voice dropping to a whisper. "My boy…"

He stared down at the desecrated grave, but from his stark expression, he was seeing something very different. "My poor boy."

"Why are you here, Mr. Venkman?" Ray asked. Charlie had sidestepped the question when Winston had asked it, but Ray wasn't ready to let it go so easily.

Ray knew that some ghosts were the product of a violent death. Some had unfinished business, something left undone that tied them to the world of the living. While Charlie Venkman had never seemed to genuinely worry about anyone or anything beyond himself, his grief for Peter appeared genuine. Of course, Ray had always known that Charlie loved Peter-in his own way. Unfortunately, Charlie's way had been haphazardous at best, and his neglect had hurt Peter deeply. And seeing Peter hurting had hurt Ray.

So there was an edge to his normally amiable voice when he added, "Mr. Venkman? You need to tell us why you're here, why you haven't moved on. What's holding you here?"

"Yeah, Charlie," Winston said, his gaze boring into the older man's shifting eyes. "If Peter's not here, why are you? Why haven't you moved on with him?"

There was a long moment of strained silence, then Charlie said, "That's just it. Peter hasn't moved on."

He ran a hand over his balding pate, his mouth a stark, white line beneath his thin moustache, and his voice broke when he added, "He can't."

Stricken, the two Ghostbusters stared at Charlie, Ray with open disbelief.

"How can you say that?" he demanded, voice sharp with rising outrage. "Peter's a good man!"

"No argument from me, Ray," Charlie said, raising his hands in surrender. "My boy's the best."

His gaze drifted back down to settle on the open grave separating them. "But there are…other forces at work here."

"What kind of 'forces'?" Winston asked skeptically. "Just what the hell are you saying, Charlie?"

Charlie stuffed his hands back in his pockets, scuffing one shiny black shoe at the clumps of earth piled around Peter's gravestone. When Charlie raised his head, Ray was stunned by the depth of grief etched on the older man's worn features. "Mr. Venkman, please-"

As Charlie opened his mouth to speak, something flew between them-a huge crow, its black wings almost brushing the top of Charlie's head. Charlie vanished, winking out of existence as if he'd never been there. The bird cawed loudly, wheeled overhead for a second low pass that sent both Ghostbusters diving for the ground and Ray's PKE meter into fresh paroxysms of alarm.

Winston rose cautiously from his crouch and turned to help Ray to his feet. Winston's stance was battle-ready, alert for another appearance of the dive-bombing bird. Over the still-shrieking meter, he yelled, "What the hell was that?"

Ray turned fascinated, worried eyes on him. "Class nine."