Chapter Seven

When matters are desperate we must put on a desperate face.

- Robert Burn

After five minutes, Egon finally realized he had been staring blankly at the same sentence for the entire time and still had no idea what it said. With a sigh, he saved his work and shut down the computer program he had been using to collate his notes. Reluctantly, he let his mind return outright to what it had been concentrating on all along.

He had run every test he could think of on the ash sample Frump had given them. So far, he had determined that it was a carbonized, organic compound and that it had absorbed PKE residuals, but that was as far as his research had taken him. With any luck, the new readings Ray and Winston were collecting would provide some clue as to the origin of the strange material.

Wondering what was taking them so long to return, he glanced at the clock. Sufficient time had passed, even allowing for traffic or -

A noise downstairs derailed his train of thought. Perhaps, Winston and Ray had finally returned. He had been lost in thought and had not heard Ecto's engine or the rattle of the garage doors, but an unauthorized intrusion—human or otherwise-would have set off the security system and there had been no alarm.

Egon hurried to the top of the stairs and peered down into the gloom of the empty garage. Ecto-1 was not in her usual space. That meant whatever he had heard, it wasn't the guys. "Slimer?"

There was a heavy silence, the silence of someone-or something-deliberately not making any noise. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked to attention as he eased down onto the first step. Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Egon raked his gaze over the room below: the bare desk, the empty expanse of floor... He saw something shift furtively in the shadows by the lockers and this time he was certain it wasn't merely the figment of a wishful imagination.

"Who's there?" he demanded. He backed up onto the landing and reached for the spare proton pack Winston had insisted they keep handy "just in case." He switched the pack on and, raising his voice over the distinctive whine of the nuclear accelerator as it powered up, added, "I warn you. I am armed."

There was a pregnant pause, during which Egon's hands tightened on the thrower. The machine hummed, the padded grip comforting against his callused palms. "Come out now, and you can explain your actions to the police. Persist, and you'll be explaining it to the business end of a particle rifle."

For a frozen moment, nothing moved. Then, out of the darkness by the lockers, a lanky form strolled almost casually into view, hands thrust into the pockets of its brown jumpsuit. Egon's breath snagged painfully in his throat.

Peter...?

"You neutronizing trespassers, now, Spengs?" A pause, as the impossible figure stopped on the cusp of the light from the landing. "…Not that I don't approve, mind you. After what happened, seems like the sensible thing to do."

"Who are you?" Egon demanded, though his voice was far less steady than he would have liked. "How did you get in here without setting off the alarm?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Egon. As for the first question…"

The man raised his head and looked up at Egon, who froze as he got his first good look at the other's face. It was Peter's face-or, rather, a gruesome mockery of it. The familiar features were as bloodless as a corpse, mouth and eyes outlined grotesquely in black.

"You..." Egon had to swallow to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. "You are not Peter. You can't be."

Something that might have been hurt flickered in the green eyes that were a perfect match for Peter's - or would have been, without the bizarre, harlequinesque markings framing them. Horror flooded Egon. Was this what had become of Peter's missing body? Had the grave robbers taken it only to return it to them in this form-a walking corpse, a soulless zombie? His stomach clenched painfully and he felt all the blood drain from his face. Black spots swam before his vision and he swayed, then grabbed the rail one-handed to keep from falling. Dear God, no. It could not be. Not Peter…

Feeling anger rising to replace the shock he grated, "What are you?"

"Damned if I know, Egon." Peter's voice was perfectly flat. And it was Peter's voice, it was-but it couldn't be. "Or maybe I'm just damned."

The imposter started to turn away, but Egon wasn't letting it get away so easily. He couldn't. No matter what it was, doppelganger or something…else… he owed it to the real Peter Venkman to deal with this. And so he would. Furious, thumb itching on the trigger, he aimed the thrower at the center of the creature's back. A hit there might not kill it, but it would certainly inconvenience it. He refused to even consider a moment longer the idea that this might actually be Peter's body, reanimated by some dark magic and sent to torment them.

"I don't know what you are or what you want, but I do know that if you don't show me your true face in the next thirty seconds, you'll be nothing but a bad memory."

The not-Peter turned back. The corner of its black-painted mouth curled in the bitter hint of a smile. "This is my face, Egon."

"It's Peter Venkman's face." When he spoke, Egon's deep voice was hoarse with strain. He had to swallow hard to get the words past the lump in his throat.

"Egon…" Beneath the tattered jumpsuit, broad shoulders slumped in what looked like resignation, then straightened. "I know I look like a Cirque du Soleil reject, but I swear to you…I am Peter Venkman."

The corners of Egon's mouth tightened - as did his hands around the thrower. "Peter Venkman's dead."

"Not arguing with you there, big guy." The thing that looked like Peter - that sounded like Peter - raked its fingers through its messy brown hair. "Dead and buried. And, let me tell ya, it hurts like hell. But I'm also back."

As Egon watched, ready to fire at the first hint of threat, the markings seemed to be absorbed into the entity's skin. Color bled into the obscenely white flesh and the wildness faded from green eyes, to be replaced by a profound weariness. Now, it really was Peter staring back at him. The illusion was so perfect, Egon found himself blinking back tears. His heart was breaking all over again.

"You are not Peter. It's not true!" It couldn't be. He didn't think his sanity could withstand the strain if the unthinkable had really happened, if the proof of it stood before him. A ghost could be put to rest, a zombie returned to its grave. But when the specter wore Peter's face…

The groan of the garage doors opening heralded Ecto-1's arrival. Egon heard the car screech to a halt beside him, but he didn't take his eyes - or his aim - off the imposter, not even when the car doors slammed and booted feet pounded toward them across the bricks.

"Egon, what are you doing?" Ray yelled, hurling himself toward the two figures locked in a stand-off. "That's Peter!"

"No, it isn't, Ray." Egon's aim was rock steady. He could do this. For Ray and Winston. For the memory of Peter. "It only looks like Peter." And moves like Peter, and sounds like Peter…

"Egon!" Ray's voice was urgent, pleading. "You weren't there, at the cemetery, when he... Look, I know it's him. Please, Egon, you gotta trust me!"

"It is doing something to make us think it's Peter," Egon said coldly. He could only hope desperately that such was indeed the case. It was a far easier hypothesis to live with than the alternative. His eyes flashed angrily behind the lenses of his glasses as he glared at the intruder. "I warn you. If you do not cease this charade at once…"

"What do you want me to do to prove it to you, Egon? Tell me and I'll do it-"

The words were earnest, but the green eyes were shuttered. Hiding their owner's pain? No, don't think like that. It's not Peter. It is not!

"-Then, if you still don't believe me, I'll never darken your doorstep again."

"Peter!" Ray's anguish was palpable. "I know it's you."

"Thanks, Ray." There was a kind of weary affection in the false Peter's voice. "But Egon's right."

The thing that looked likePeter shoved its hands back in its pockets and shrugged. Cool green eyes met Egon's narrow gaze and something disturbingly like a smirk twitched at the corners of the not-Peter's mouth. Beneath the self-mocking expression, though, Egon could see the taut muscles working along its jaw.

"You can't be too careful, after all. Especially not after what happened to Janine… and my dad. And me."

"Peter. You remember? You remember us and… everything?" There was a wealth of compassion in Ray's voice. At Peter's nod, Ray rounded on Egon with renewed determination. "Please, Egon. You've got to let us prove to you Peter is who he says he is! "

Egon risked a quick glance at Winston, who shook his head.

"Ray's convinced. Me, I'm keeping an open mind." Winston frowned. "But you do need to know what went down at the cemetery, Egon. We saw Charlie."

At the mention of Peter's father, something flickered across the not-Peter's face, an indescribable sadness that was there and gone, almost too quickly to see. But Egon had seen it… and he relented.

"All right. I'll listen," he told Ray, whose immediate, bright smile was like a stab in the heart. He would have to be the one to douse that hope by exposing this thing for the monster it was. The knowledge of his unavoidable duty lay like a crushing weight on his chest. Scowling, Egon turned back to the creature. "One move out of line and—"

"—I'm the ghost who's toast. Yeah, Egon, I gotcha." The imposter raised an eyebrow, meeting Egon's gaze with determined green eyes. "So, where do we start?"

They started with PKE readings.

"So you want to see how Peter 2.0 registers on your pet meter, Egon? Go for it."

Obviously not caring for Peter's flippancy, Egon grimaced. "I will compare your readings with those of the sample Frump gave us, as well as those retrieved from the cemetery."

Peter frowned and looked at Ray, who was digging around in one of the cupboards for the phlebotomy kit. "What 'sample'?"

As Ray explained, Egon fiddled with the knobs on the PKE meter, taking what seemed to be an unusually long time to adjust it to his satisfaction. It finally dawned on Peter that Egon was at least as nervous about the outcome of the test as he was. When Winston stepped up to hover protectively at Egon's elbow, Peter felt a surge of gratitude. He couldn't give Egon the support he needed right now, but the others wouldn't let him down.

"So Frump knows something weird's going down," Peter said, trying hard for a normal tone and failing miserably. "Let's just hope he has the good sense to stay outta the way and let the professionals handle it. And speaking of handling things, Egon, are you planning to stop communing with that meter and actually use it or would the two of you like some 'alone time'?"

Frowning, Egon aimed the PKE meter at him, but didn't switch it on. "The readings we got from the sample were most... unusual."

"Do tell." Peter scowled, reconsidering. "Or better yet, don't. Can we just get this over with, already?"

A part of him was genuinely curious about what the meter would show. A greater part of him shied away from the knowledge. When Egon still hesitated, Peter reached over and flipped on the device himself. The meter reacted instantly, alarming shrilly as it registered his presence. Tilting his head, Peter tried to read the screen upside down. On his other side, Ray shot him a reassuring look, then did the same.

"Go ahead," Peter said tightly when it became clear the physicist wasn't going to volunteer the information on his own. "What's the damage?"

It was Winston who answered. "It's reading you as a class nine. Just like at the cemetery."

Peter went pale- though, thankfully, not the inhuman white of his earlier transformation.

"A nine? But... That's not possible! I'm… I'm not…"

He sat down suddenly, only by pure chance happening to land on a chair as his legs betrayed him.

"You see why I cannot believe you," Egon said, turning off the meter and shoving his glasses back up with rather more force than was strictly necessary. "If Peter were to return, he would register as a class four or possibly-" He broke off, mouth thinning, and didn't continue the thought. "Whatever you are, you are not Peter."

The harsh words struck him like physical blows. Peter flinched, then buried his face in his hands, muffling his words. "Well, that's just peachy, Egon. Your meter says I'm not me, I'm some kind of freaky, class nine…thing. But I am me. If I'm not...Well, someone did a pretty damn thorough mind transfer job. I remember every bit of my life right up to…"

His voice trailed off into nothingness. Peter looked up, eyes glazing over as he stared into memory.

"Peter?" Ray reached out a hesitant hand. "Are you?"

Lost in his own dark thoughts, Peter didn't hear him. In a soft voice, he finished, "…right up to getting tossed out the window. I remember falling…for what seemed like forever. Then…"

When he didn't finish the thought, Winston prompted gently, "Then what, Peter?"

With a visible effort, Peter forced his attention back to the present. "I saw my dad. He… said some weird stuff. Then that damn bird brought me back."

"Bird?" Egon asked, peering at him over the tops of his frames. "What bird?"

An excited Ray pre-empted any answer Peter might have given. "You mean that crow, right? The one we saw at the cemetery. It registered as a class nine, too!"

"There was definitely something freaky about that bird," Winston agreed. "Biggest crow I've ever seen. Smart, too. It lured me and Ray away from…" He hesitated, shot an enigmatic look at Peter, then continued, "…our investigation. I'd swear it followed us when we left the cemetery, too."

"Corvids are quite intelligent," Egon said, absently. "But I cannot see what connection there can be between a crow and…"

"…little Petey Venkman," Peter supplied dryly, when it became clear Egon wasn't going to finish his sentence. "Don't look at me. Somebody forgot to give me a script for this farce."

"I think I might have an idea." Ray had a thoughtful look in his eyes. "I remember seeing something…"

"About crows?" Winston asked.

"Yeah, I think so. If I could just remember …" Ray trailed off, biting his lip as he tried to dredge up the elusive memory. "It was in one of the books I got at that auction, last year. I think."

"Go look, Ray." Winston reached over and took the phlebotomy kit from his unresisting hand. "See if you can find it. In the meantime, we'll run some more tests on contestant number one, here."

Peter rolled his eyes, strangely reassured by the jibe. "Oh, joy. I've always wanted to be a lab rat."

"Then this is your lucky day." Winston held up a hypodermic needle. "Roll up your sleeve and say 'squeak.'"

Even though Peter was willing to cooperate, his body appeared to have other plans. They quickly discovered that his heart was not beating. Which meant no pulse and no blood pressure. Which meant drawing blood via hypodermic was not happening.

Frustrated and fed-up, Peter grabbed a scalpel from the medical kit and slashed it across his arm. Vaguely surprised by how little it hurt, he squeezed the deep cut to force blood to the surface. It welled up, thick and dark, oozing from the wound like some liquid far more viscous than blood had any right to be. Peter was relieved to see it, though, since he had begun to wonder if he even had blood anymore. The minute the blood hit the air, it carbonized and Peter was left with a long streak of black ash clinging to his skin.

Without a word, Winston scraped some of the ash into a petri dish and handed it to Egon. He reached into the medical kit for a bandage, but Peter stopped him by scrubbing his hand over his arm, revealing it to be fully healed already.

"Well," Peter said flatly. "That'll come in handy."

Egon's expression was unreadable, even to Peter, who found himself suddenly unable to meet that accusing blue gaze. He sighed. Read quickly, Ray. I really want to know what I am, now…and if I'm even half as dangerous as I think I am.