Chapter IV: The Book and the Cat

Dark clouds obscured the moon shortly after Erica got home, though it was hardly noticeable given the neon glow of the city. She pulled off her clothes, getting into her pajamas, sat at her window, and pressed her forehead to the cool glass, letting silent tears roll down her cheeks. Images played out in her mind, images of the dinner, of what had happened and what could have happened. She went through dozens of apologies and responses and from those dozens she began to put together a speech, wording it over and over in her mind, memorizing it. When someone knocked on her door an hour or so later, she jumped but made no move to answer it, neither ready nor willing to face anyone.

As the night's conversation played out in her mind, one thing kept jumping out at her. Tobin's Spirit Guide, First Edition. As the clock ticked past nine, Erica boldly picked up her phone and dialed a cross-country number. "Hello. This is Erica, calling for Muriel?"

"Erica! How nice of you to call! Now, what's wrong?" Muriel's familiar, scratchy voice held both joy and concern.

Erica leaned her head against the window again, always amazed by Muriel's ability to sense how she was feeling. She supposed years of interaction helped, though Muriel had always been one to read people as soon as look at them. "I'm fine, really," she said, but her voice shook, and before she knew it she was in tears and pouring out the whole story, starting with running into Dana that morning to the dinner she had just fled.

Muriel was silent on the other line the whole time, only making little sounds to indicate she was there. When Erica was finally done, the woman said: "Well, you're in a right little pickle, aren't you."

Erica snorted and wiped her eyes.

Muriel continued. "You're lucky I'm still around, you know. Any woman who chooses to spend her life buried in the past is always going to need help dealing with the present." Erica heard her shuffling on the other side of the phone. "So, you're in love with one of these Ghostbusters, you tried to help him but got patronizing instead, and now you're trying to apologize?"

"I'm not in love..."

"Erica, no matter if you are or aren't, you are an intuitive and intelligent young lady who has a tendency to stick her nose in other people's business. Just like me. I understand you want to help, but you have to learn how to help someone. You have to listen to the warning signs, and you have to learn when someone actually wants your help. That bluntness was cute when you were six. Now it's costing you valuable friendships."

Erica bit her lip, Muriel's tough-loving words driving her into a tinier ball in the chair. She was right. She knew she was right. All the warning signs were there and I just...ignored them. I ignored them because I like him and I wanted to help. I wanted to make him like me.

"I wanted to help him so much that I just...didn't even think about how he was feeling." She said it out loud, making it real, cringing at the words. They sounded so childish.

"And that is my point. Also, taking care of someone isn't supposed to be done for selfish reasons. You aren't going to get an invite to dinner by coddling him." Muriel's voice softened. "Now, do you have any plans for how you're going to fix this?"

Erica took a few shaking breaths. "I've been apologizing for hours in my head. I've been trying to figure out what to say..."

"And how does it sound?"

Erica ran through it again and sighed. "Rehearsed."

"Go to sleep. It's late. When you talk to him tomorrow, don't sound rehearsed. I'll call you in the evening to hear about how it went."

"One more thing, Muriel?"

"What's that?"

"Ray said he lost his first edition copy of Tobin's Spirit Guide. I was wondering if you knew any stores that might have it."

Muriel's voice grew guarded "You can't buy his forgiveness, Erica."

"I'm not!" Erica sat up. I'm not that stupid. "I promise I'm not. He just...he was really upset about losing it and I thought you might have an idea..."

"I'll make some calls."

"Thank you. I love you."

"I Love you too. Be strong." Muriel's voice grew lighter. "Now don't forget, tomorrow's July fifth, 1964. You had a hell of an Independence Day party."

The line went dead, leaving Erica momentarily bewildered. A few seconds later, she registered the joke, and chuckled. A woman living in the past. Muriel had a tendency to shake her grasp on reality just a little bit. She went to her kitchen and pick up the newspaper, verifying it was in fact June of 1990, then returned to staring out the window, feeling just a little bit better.

Eventually, the dark clouds gathering overhead split open, loosing sheets of heavy rain on the city. Lightning ripped through the sky, throwing shadows into stark relief. The buildings and roads below became blurred and Erica slowly, finally, drifted to sleep.

By the time the world began to turn grey with dawn, the streets were saturated and slippery with water and oil and the gutters were pouring rivers onto the pavement. The smell of wet everything filled the air as commuters woke up and frowned at their TV screens. Multicolored umbrellas and raincoats began marching along the streets. And Erica's alarm in her bedroom rang.

Erica awoke, her body screaming in pain from spending the night curled up on the couch. Her eyes burned from the makeup she'd never washed off, and her neck and shoulders whimpered as she straightened up and staggered to the bathroom. Looking at herself in the mirror, she grimaced and sighed. "You have to apologize, rehearsed or not," she murmured, forcing herself to keep eye contact. She swallowed two tablets of aspirin and splashed water on her face. Her sleep-deprived brain buzzed with half-finished thoughts, but she managed to glue that idea down and focus on it.

An hour later she limped onto the rainsoaked street, determined to make it to Ray's Occult Books before the owner, hoping dearly that he would be in a forgiving state of mind. She picked up a coffee and a hot chocolate along the way and arrived at the bookshop at a quarter to ten.

Ten minutes later, with the wet wind finding its way under her coat and starting to make her shiver, she saw him running down the cracked sidewalk. Don't fall... She played with the idea of shouting at him to walk, that running would actually get him wetter, and bit her tongue. Today is not the day where you give your opinions on everything. She took a couple of steps backwards, making sure he had an open path to the door.

He came up, holding his black coat over his head, his khakis spotted with mud and rain. He was wearing a white shirt with a dark blue button-down over it. His eyes, when they lifted to meet hers, were confused but alert. "Hi there."

"H-Hi," Erica replied.

Ray regarded her for a moment, and then dug in his pocket and pulled out a key, unlocking the grate in front of his shop, pulling it to one side and locking it in place. He flipped the keys around, looking for the one that unlocked the shop. Once he got the door open, he held it and looked back at her. "Come on in. But don't touch anything."

Erica walked silently into the shop, setting the coffee tray gently on a stack of books, and closing the umbrella. She put the umbrella down just inside the door and picked up the tray again.

Ray shut the door and turned to her. He wasn't smiling. "So what brings you into the bookshop this morning? Peter mentioned you had been coming by regularly for a few weeks but never actually made it across the street to the door."

Erica's heart dropped into her shoes and her knees wobbled. No... She could feel her face going numb and the overwhelming urge to run sent adrenaline to her legs. The only thing that kept her still was the fact that Ray was between her and the door. Her hands started shaking, and her eyes went to the floor. I should have seen this coming. "I...I...not every day..."

"You know..." Ray moved away from the door but closer to her. She would still have to squeeze past him to run. Instead, she backed away, further into the shop. "If you want to ask a guy out, you don't stalk his place of work. And if you're casing the place, you don't bring anyone with you." He chuckled humorlessly.

Erica closed her eyes, wondering if she could possibly feel any more embarrassed. "I-I'm not trying to rob you," she got out, her voice growing smaller by the word. She felt the bookshelf press against her back as she reached it, and she stopped, her body still shrinking in on itself. She opened her eyes and fixed them on his shoes. I have to look at him. I have to.

His hands suddenly came into view, grabbing the drink caddy from her. She hadn't realized it was tilting at a dangerous angle, threatening to spill its contents all over the floor. She let him take it, and crossed her arms self-consciously in front of her. She couldn't raise her gaze.

"So what do you want?" Ray asked.

Erica tried to come up with the speech she had planned, the apology she'd been working on all last night. Don't sound rehearsed, Muriel had said. That was impossible. Muriel had no idea what it was like to stand there and look at Ray's shoes (or any part of him, really), and be able to do anything resembling normal. And the revelation that Peter had betrayed her secret destroyed her confidence. She was, just like last night, exposed for the world to see. Deep inside, she thought: well, what do I have to lose?

The bravery inspired by that line was just not enough.

"Erica?" Ray's voice was firm, but she detected a slight softening of his tone. "Look, I can tell that Peter wasn't supposed to tell me that, which doesn't make me too happy but there's nothing I can do about that now. So here's what you're going to do. You're going to act like you don't know I know about you watching me, and you're going to tell me whatever it was you were going to tell me. And then you're going to leave my shop and if you ever come back, you're going to come in and either talk to me or buy something. Right now, I'm not even a hundred percent convinced that you don't have something to do with the ghost that came through here."

The horror inspired by that last line was enough. Erica knew she could be blamed for a lot of things, but not the reason his shop was destroyed. "I don't!" she burst out, looking up at him. The familiar rush of pleasure and embarrassment at seeing him shot down her spine but she didn't look away. His eyebrows were drawn together again sternly, and his lips were pursed. He was standing straight, arms crossed on his chest, staring her down. Damn it, why is he so attractive? Even when he's angry? "I had nothing to do with the ghost that came through here, I promise! I...yes, I've come by the shop to watch you open it because I like you." Well that just came out, didn't it? As if it's a secret anymore..."I mean...you always seem so nice on the commercials and you've got a great smile and..." Making it worse! Stop! "And I'm sorry about last night." Better. "I came by because I'm sorry about last night. I brought the coffee because I know you have a long day and I brought the hot chocolate because whenever I have a bad night, I drink hot chocolate the next day to feel better and last night didn't go well for me because I was totally rude to you and I'm not like that all the time, I swear..." Back on topic! "But anyway I know last night was bad for you because you already were dealing with a ghost breaking your shop and hurting your friend and then I just..." You're repeating things! The speech! Get to the speech! "We barely...we don't...know each other and I really didn't have...don't have...the right to just talk at you like that. You had a hard day and the last thing anyone wants to hear when they've had a hard day is 'man up and deal with it.' So I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for how I spoke to you."

The flow of words stopped and, just like that, she felt her brain blank out. The fear began to creep in again, accompanied by realization of what she had just said. Could I have babbled more? Oh my God, did he even understand my apology in all that mess? Did I even apologize?

Ray was staring at her. His posture had relaxed, his arms sinking to his sides, his eyebrows returning to their normal position. The hardness in his eyes had even eased somewhat. He swallowed, cleared his throat, glanced at the coffee and hot chocolate, and back to her. "All right."

All right?

Ray moved towards the door, opened it, and held it. "Thank you," he said. "For the apology and the drinks."

Erica stared at him for a moment, feeling the slow waves of horror wash over her. Ray's face was stern and his words were dismissively polite. That's the way it is. No need to go over it again. You apologized. He answered. Get out. She forced herself to look away from him, making sure she had a clear path to the door so she didn't make a bigger mess on her way out.

Her eyes landed on the small table beside her. It held nothing but a simple book, a small tome of about four by six inches. It had a leather cover and was closed with a leather strap. The front of it read: "You have a job to do." A powerful compulsion overcame her and she picked it up, staring at it. It felt heavy and right in her hands, its contours pleasant and welcoming, its color cozy and warm.

Erica looked up at Ray and asked softly: "How much is this book?" Her voice sounded different to her, almost like a monotone. She was vaguely aware that this should be scaring her.

Ray's face looked a little different from a few seconds ago. His expression was fixed, flat. His voice was equally robotic as he replied. "Fifty dollars."

Erica nodded and reached for her purse. "May I buy it?"

"Of course," Ray tilted his head. "I don't think anyone has ever asked me if they can purchase something from my shop before."

Erica withdrew the money from her wallet. "You've had a mess. The shop is closed. But this book..."

"...is yours," Ray finished the sentence immediately. "I understand. I'll write you a receipt." He took the money over, dropped it in the cash register, and hand-wrote the receipt. Erica stayed in place, remembering that he had told her not to touch anything. But this book was hers. She knew it somehow, and she was glad he decided to sell it because she hadn't wanted to shoplift it out.

Ray returned, handing her the receipt. "It's yours."

"Thank you." Erica slipped the receipt and the book into her purse, closing it securely. She moved back to the door and picked up her umbrella. "Have a good day, Doctor Stantz."

"Same to you, Miss Crane."

Erica exited the shop into the sheets of rain, turning and heading for the subway and the day's work.

**o0o**

Ray stood in his shop for several moments after closing the door, staring at the table where the little book had been. Deep inside his mind, he felt something yelling and battering, begging to be heard. But it was all covered by an overwhelming sense of relief. The book had moved on. Its part in his life was over. His knees wobbled and he hurriedly dropped to a crouch, breathing deeply. It will be read. The job will be done.

It was several moments before he rose to his feet, and as he turned to face the destruction of his bookshop, all thoughts of the book slipped from his mind.

**o0o**

Egon Spengler enjoyed the quiet of the Firehouse.

"Quiet" was relative, of course. The electricity and heating/cooling elements were always running, providing a steady background drone of noise. Janine, Peter, and Ray were usually talking, and occasionally Egon would pick up on an interesting word or two and follow the conversation while he worked. And of course all the sounds of New York City hummed just outside, filtering in whenever the doors opened and closed.

But sometimes Egon was alone in the Firehouse, or sometimes he was downstairs in the concrete room that held their rebuilt storage unit. Sometimes the only sound he really heard was his nervous system, buzzing loudly in his ears, and his heartbeat, swishing blood through his veins and arteries. Those days had been more frequent lately, and he had been enjoying the solitude, a place to lay out his thoughts and images from his mind. It made working easier.

Today, however, was one of the louder days. Unexpectedly, Janine had come in right on time for her usual shift. Egon had not been anticipating her arrival and consequently had immediately retired downstairs after greeting her. Now he was sitting on the stairs, staring at a PKE meter, wondering when he was going to be comfortable enough to go back up and get a file he needed. Up above, Janine's voice rose up and down as she talked on the phone, taking notes for the worksheets for the next few weeks. Ray had estimated Janine would not be coming in to work. He'd obviously underestimated Janine's work ethic.

You are a scientist. This type of behavior is not only ridiculous, it's unacceptable. We were engaging in courtship, and I...she...the expected standards were not met. There is no reason why we cannot peacefully coexist as coworkers.

That wasn't entirely true. Janine Melnitz was a constant distraction at work. Egon Spengler had spent all of his life in the pursuit of science. All science. Janine's behavior towards him had been indicative of the desire to initiate a mating ritual, and he had used everything he knew to reciprocate her advances. He had grown fond of her behaviors after a while, and then her herself. After that, it had gotten complicated. Because while Egon Spengler had spent all of his life in the pursuit of science, that pursuit had come at the cost of many sociocultural expectations.

I was inadequate.

He shook his head fiercely, denying the statement as best he was able. But it lived in the bottom of his animal brain and reared its ugly head repeatedly. It got loud whenever he saw Janine kiss Louis Tully on the lips. It got louder when the two of them walked off together, Janine's sultry hips swinging, and Louis bumbling apelike after her. It got so loud that sometimes Egon would put on music with the volume all the way up, torturing his eardrums and vibrating his head, just to shake the thought out.

I was inadequate.

He had performed all of the expected duties of dating, and had made love to Janine in his bed on the second floor. He'd had a number of intriguing and enjoyable reactions during the act, (which Janine had called 'wonderful'), and had felt confident he had performed satisfactorily for both of them. He had started to look for the definition of 'relationship', understanding that he and Janine had reached that level. And that was where everything stopped.

Even though Janine called the experience 'wonderful', she suddenly began to avoid him. This confused Egon, who understood that human females often drew closer to their mates after intimate relations. Usually this was due to a pregnancy, but Janine didn't show signs of that, (which was a good thing, since Egon had no desire for progeny). When he had broached the subject with her, she had done her best to remain as vague as possible. Egon, irritated as he wondered where he had failed in the courtship, had pressed the issue. Janine had exploded, calling him 'cold' and 'distant' and informing him that she was well aware he had viewed the entire experience as an 'experiment'. Egon, stunned by the harsh and untrue accusation, had tried to change her mind. He had tried to let her know that he had come to care about her, and that any coldness he was displaying was due to his lack of experience in the realm of human relationships. Janine had informed him that it wasn't experience he was lacking, just emotion. She had stormed out, and that had been that.

For years, Egon had wondered what he had done wrong. He knew he did not experience emotions the same way as everyone else, but he had thought that Janine knew and accepted that about him. Gradually, he had come to believe that while he had failed to communicate something to her, he had also failed to monitor his own progress in the courtship to see if he was reacting correctly to everything that happened.

I am inadequate.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Peter's voice suddenly rang out from one floor above, breaking Egon from the pain of those three words. He stood up and rolled his shoulders, sighing deeply. A distraction. Now that he was no longer alone, he would have no problem going upstairs to get the file and start his day. Thank goodness Peter's here.

**o0o**

"Honey, I'm home!"

Janine Melnitz looked up from her computer as Peter's voice, followed by his light, confident footsteps, echoed through the Firehouse. "Good morning, Doctor Venkman," she replied dryly. "There's coffee to your left and an emergency call here at the desk."

"There's always an emergency. My God, how did people survive with ghosts before we started advertising?" Peter came into view around the Ecto-1, shaking the rain out of a black umbrella, dressed casually in khakis, a white button-down shirt, and that annoying orange jacket he was so fond of. Janine hated the jacket; it made him look like the Kool-Aid Man. For a moment, she imagined splashing the freshly-made coffee all over it, just as an accident. She was in enough pain as it was from the damn ghost the previous day, she could just pretend to drop the pot when she went to refill it later...She sighed and shook her head.

Peter dropped the umbrella off near his locker and hopped casually over to the desk. Janine took a good look at him. Something was off. He was chipper and grinning, but there were bags under his eyes and he was wobbling. There was no alcohol smell when he leaned over to pick up the emergency worksheet, and the coffee cup was full almost to the point of ruining her desk. He's not sleeping. She'd seen that early on, when the Ghostbusters had just started work. Ray would stumble in, holding a trap, weaving all over the Firehouse until Janine got a hold of his arm and guided him downstairs. Egon had fallen asleep on the stairs more times than Janine could count (and more than once she'd just sat down and taken a catnap next to him). Peter would sometimes start snoring from his office, causing Janine to have to bang a drawer or slam down the phone to wake him up. Over time, the men had started regulating their sleep schedules, and eventually once they started taking on cases alone or in pairs, there had been fewer flopped bodies around the HQ. Much more professional.

As to why Peter wasn't sleeping now, however - that came as no surprise. Dana had come home last night angry, her eyes flashing and her jaw set. She'd left to try and talk to a neighbor down the hall, but had come back a few minutes later, apparently unsuccessful. Janine had left, exiting the building just as Peter came in. His face had been set and guilty and he hadn't even said thank you to her for watching Oscar despite her being thrown around like a rag doll only a few hours before. She considered throwing that in his face and then decided against it. Dana had been thankful and kind with the money. Peter was Peter and from what she'd seen of Dana, he was going to get it.

Footsteps brought Janine's gaze to the stairwell, where Egon was emerging from the basement. Her eyes lingered ever so slightly on him, the familiar sting in her eyes and shiver in her chest. He looked at her for a moment and then his eyes slid away. "Good morning, Peter."

"Look at this," Peter said, thrusting the sheet at him. "Ghost cat at the Pet Shack downtown. Funny, I figured if anything would be haunted at that place, it'd be the parrot. It's always trying to unlock the cages. And it mouths off if it catches you looking at it."

"Do you make it a habit to visit this shop?" Egon asked.

Peter blinked. "Well...no...I just...see it on my way here. And when we're cleaning up ghosts in the nearby area."

Janine hid a smile at the blustering. Who knew Doctor Venkman had a soft spot for animals? Her eyes slipped to Egon again. He was reading the worksheet, so she let herself stare for a little while, remembering (as she always did), everything, from the first to-the-point "Would you like to eat with me?" to the feeling of his body on hers in the bed upstairs. The journey in-between had been filled with so much that she could feel it pushing on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

I destroyed us.

That was it in a nutshell for her. As they had lain there in bed after making love, she'd listened to Egon breathing steadily in sleep and she'd thought about all the work she'd done for him and all the work he'd done for her. She knew he had carefully researched most or all of everything he'd done, from the restaurant he'd taken her to on their first date, to the nerve cluster behind her ear that that, if kissed, brought all of her desire raging to the front. Knowing all that, she'd found herself wondering if she was worth him. She had chosen to pursue him because she felt like she could be the one to show the cute, clueless scientist all of the amazing things the world had to offer. She hadn't counted on the man he would become because of her teachings...nor could she ever have guessed the feelings he would cement in her.

I destroyed us.

The guilt had been overwhelming. She'd fought to rationalize it, confess that she had gotten in over her head, that she hadn't expected this outcome. She'd reminded herself that she hadn't planned on finding a boyfriend or a husband, and while she felt extreme affection for Egon, she worked for him, and therefore there really couldn't be anything between them. She admitted that she needed some time away, to sort out her brain, to see what was really happening under the haze of afterglow.

But the longer she stayed away from Egon, the worse it got. She began to dread coming into work. She avoided answering the phone at home in case it was him. She treated him coolly and bolted down her lunch as she hid in corners. She was so focused on avoiding him so she could get space to think that she did nothing to help combat the guilt and confusion she felt. Eventually, her frustration with herself began to boil over.

That was when he had started asking her what he'd done wrong.

The ensuing fight had broken Janine's heart. She'd directed all of her frustration at herself to him, pinning the blame on him, pushing as much of the pain onto his narrow shoulders as she needed. She had never forgotten the stricken, shocked look on his face as she stormed out. She'd cried at home for days. Then, she'd done the opposite of what most women did when they broke up with a man. She tried to make herself unattractive, to take the guilt inside and show it on the outside for the ugly thing it was. The only thing that had done was attract Louis Tully, and she had let that happen, even pushed for it, trying to do anything to forget about how she had ruined a perfectly good thing.

I love him, and I destroyed us.

"Janine? You have anything else for us?"

Janine blinked, coming back, realizing in horror that she'd been staring at Egon, who was staring back at her. His expression was neutral, with hints of hurt confusion. He couldn't figure out why she was paying so much attention to him. She looked away and over her desk, her mind racing to catch up. Her peripheral picked up another body nearby, and she glanced over in surprise to see Winston. When did he get here? How long have I been staring?

"Maybe you ought to go home," Winston said, his voice gentle.

"I'm fine," Janine snapped. "Just have a headache."

Peter regarded her for a long moment before nodding. He patted the desk and headed for the lockers. "Let's go catch that cat."

Winston followed. After a moment, Egon did too. His hand dropped to the desk as he walked by, and something slipped out of it onto the papers, rolling towards Janine. She caught it quickly and looked after him. He didn't turn around.

Janine turned her gaze back to her hand. She was holding a small bottle of aspirin. She began to smile slightly. How sweet. She'd taken some that morning, but it was still kind of him to try and help. She slipped the bottle into her purse and began to straighten the papers on her desk. To her surprise, she saw a small, handwritten note near where Peter's hand had patted the desk. Eyebrows furrowing, she picked it up and read it.

"Janine. Thank you. We can't do this without you. I'm sorry you got hurt. Peter."

"Would it kill him to say this out loud?" Janine sighed. But she still folded up the note and put it in her purse, feeling slightly better about the day.

**o0o**

"Well, this is...different," Peter mused, staring at the scene before him.

"No wonder Janine shifted all of our appointments for this," Winston agreed.

Normally, an annoyance such as a ghost cat causing havoc in a pet store would be put on the list for removal within twenty-four hours, (businesses usually had to wait no more than a day due to their nature). But Janine had classified this as an 'emergency', bumping it to the top of the list, and Peter had no trouble understanding why. Behind him, and on the other side of a locked door, stood a crowd of maybe fifteen people, at the front of which was a crying, blonde-haired woman. He, Winston, Egon, and the store owner stood by the front register, the smells of food, rawhide bones, and various animals filling the air. Shrieks and yells and barks and hisses assaulted their ears as the animals fought their cages or hid inside of them. At the center of the mess sat a young girl, her face bright red. She was crying helplessly, Either unable or unwilling to let go of the beautiful, translucent, short-haired tabby laying in her lap. Occasionally, a violent sneeze would interrupt her sobs. Peter could tell she was allergic to the animal dander floating around, and wondered vaguely what she was even doing in the store to begin with.

"The cat just appeared out of nowhere," the store owner said. He was a jovial Irish-Italian named Kevin with a big smile and expressive eyes, just the kind of man who would be perfect handling a store full of animals. "The little girl came running in and her mother told her to wait outside but the cat appeared and she sat down and started petting it and...she hasn't stopped."

"So the ghost is compelling her to pet it?" Egon asked.

"You're the expert!" Kevin shot back.

"And no one's tried to just pick her up and take her out of the store?" It was a harsh question but it would have been Peter's first action. Get the child out of danger.

"Can't," Kevin sighed. "Everyone who gets close gets clawed. Cat won't let it happen."

"Did you try?" Peter looked at him.

Kevin nodded. "Didn't leave a mark but it hurt like it was tearin' my skin off."

"Ray would be interested in this," Egon mused.

"Right now I'm interested in getting this little girl out of here," Winston broke in. "Even if we got all the animals into one room, the hair and dust in the air would still be in her nose." He looked at Egon. "Did Janine say what we're dealing with?"

Egon looked at Peter.

Peter stared. "How should I know?"

"You had the worksheet," Egon rolled his eyes.

"You looked at it too!"

"Yes, and it's good I did," Egon looked at the store owner. "What we have here is a class six full-torso corporeal entity. While it may not look like it, these are notoriously difficult to trap. I'd like to request that you step outside."

"The hell I will, this is my shop and I'll help you get rid..."

"This ghost will fight back," Egon cut him off, "and we'd rather any potential damage be limited to structure and stock." He moved to the door and began to open it. "Please wait outside."

"Whoa, wait!" Kevin yelped. "Don't open that door, the mother will..."

He was too late. With the door cracked, the mother reached in and pulled it open the rest of the way, leaping into the store and running for the girl. The cat hissed, the girl screamed, and Peter lunged for the mother, trying to stop her. He missed, barely catching himself on a shelf. The mother grabbed her child and the cat swiped furiously, causing screams to erupt from both women. The mother charged backwards, heading for the open door, the cat running after her. Winston dove for the cat, trying to grab it, and Peter pulled the stick from the proton pack, switching it on. The cat dodged Winston but lost ground in its chase. The mother, child, and store owner got out the door, slamming it shut and locking the Ghostbusters in.

The cat turned to look at them.

"Here we go," Peter said.

The cat hissed.

Peter fired.

The proton stream tore across the floor, leaving a scorch mark in its wake. The cat leaped to the side, tearing towards Peter and then past him, forcing him to turn off the stream in an effort not to burn himself. Winston yelled and fired, the stream cutting the cat's headlong rush off but turning it sideways down an aisle. Winston followed, his proton stream slicing through the shelves, sending gerbil bedding flying in all directions. Peter sneezed as the dust filled the air.

"Kitty kitty kitty!" Egon shouted. Peter turned in time to see Egon pop open a can of cat food and set it down on the floor. There were already three other cans open. Egon frantically waved his hand over the top of the can, trying to waft the smell of the cat food into the room.

"Egon, what the hell are you doing?" Winston called.

"Venkman, look out!" Egon gasped.

The cat, who had leaped to the top of a shelf, was coming right down towards Peter, who realized at the last moment that he was between the cat and the food Egon was setting out. Wait, that's actually working? he thought before his body reacted, hurling the stick up and firing. The proton stream went right by the animal, slicing the top off of the two nearest birdcages. The birds went wild, flapping crazily out. Among them was the parrot, who buzzed Peter's head squawking: "Rrawk! Dipshit!"

Peter seriously considered firing another stream at the bird as it soared over to the cash register, now yelling: "Rrawk! Bad kitty! No treat! Bad!" Instead, he turned back to see catastrophe happening.

The cat was winding its way between Egon's feet, completely trapping the scientist. He seemed almost hypnotized by it, but Peter could tell from his wide eyes that he was both frightened and amused. He was aiming the stick at the animal but he had no shot without hitting himself – and consequently, Peter realized, none of them had a shot as long as it was that close to him. "Egon," he said, "can you..."

The cat very suddenly changed its tactic, locking its claws into Egon's leg, and climbing the scientist like a tree. Egon yelped in pain and swatted at the cat, trying to spin away from it. He fell, flipping the cans of cat food, two of which came down on him, spattering his face and chest with their contents. The cat strutted up, sniffed the food, and ignored it. It strolled up to Egon's chest, sat, and began cleaning itself. One of the birds flying around the store dive-bombed the animal, and it stood up, swinging, its back claws sinking into Egon's chest. The man yelped again.

"Hell with this!" Winston stepped forward and reached out with both hands, trying to grab the cat. Another bird cut him off, swooping between the animal and Egon's face. Egon twisted his head away as Winston, distracted, swatted at the bird instead. The bird flew away, and Winston refocused his sights on the cat, whose response was to arch its back, hiss...and then start hacking.

"Is that thing about to cough up a hairball?" Peter asked.

"Please don't make me find out!" Egon yelled.

Winston reached for the cat again, who threw itself to the side, still hacking. Seeing his shot, Peter took it. The proton stream skittered past Egon and nicked a bag of birdseed, exploding it over everyone. The cat, despite being pelted with birdseed, was too far gone, and indeed hacked up a nice-sized ghost hairball on the floor. The proton stream wrapped around the distracted animal and it howled in rage.

"Egon, the trap!" Peter shouted.

Egon hurled his thin body around, fighting the weight of the proton pack. He rolled and came to his knees, throwing the trap towards the cat. The cat seemed to recognize the trap, hurling itself furiously against the proton stream. It seemed to Peter for a moment that the creature was losing corporeality, its tail and paws becoming more difficult to see, and then it broke out of the proton stream, leaping into the air. Again? Come ON!

Winston was there, firing a confinement stream now, catching the ghost mid-leap. "I got it, Spengler, but not for long!"

"I'm opening the trap!" Egon replied. "Get ready! Three...two...one...now!"

Peter twisted away as the roar of the trap filled the room. He heard an angry screeching and felt something go flying past his face. He instinctively twitched, trying to brush whatever it was away, but his fingertips met nothing. The trap hissed and roared, pulling a firm gust of wind through the store, and then there was the familiar silence. Until...

"Cha-CHING!" the parrot squawked. Peter opened his eyes in time to see the bird riding the cash drawer of the register as it opened. The parrot dipped its head and came up with a $20. It flew over to Peter and dropped the bill at his feet. "Cash only!"

Peter shook his head and turned back to check the trap, hoping against hope that they had actually managed to stop the insane cat.

They had. The trap was smoking, the light blinking. They'd caught the ghost.

Peter's eyes slid to Egon.

Egon was standing very still, holding the trap. Five birds (including the parrot) perched on him, pecking the birdseed off of his jumpsuit and out of his hair. His gaze met Peter's, and he said in a low, tense voice: "Never...tell...anyone...about this."

Peter grinned widely, helplessly, the relief making him giddy. "Tell anyone about what, Doctor Dolittle?"