Chapter VII

The Answers, Part I

Janine lay Oscar gently on Peter's bed in the sleeping quarters, convinced the little one would sleep more peacefully surrounded by the scent of a man he knew. She wasn't used to child-rearing and had no idea if her instincts were right, but she really didn't know what else to do. She piled pillows around the whole bed in case he rolled off, and finally walked back into the main living area, looking at the people gathered.

The group had come sprinting in, carrying a wave of terrified energy that had almost made Janine sick. She immediately switched all calls to the answering machine and followed them upstairs. Oscar had been screeching and Peter had been still, dried saliva on his mouth, the occasional twitch shooting through his limbs. Egon, Winston, and Ray had put him on a bed and dragged him out to the laboratory, where Egon had swiftly started applying leads to his flushed, sweating skin. Dana and a girl Janine didn't know huddled together, both trying to soothe the sobbing baby. When Janine had asked what happened, the girl said that Peter had been screaming loud enough that they could hear him down the hall, but when they'd gotten there he'd fallen unconscious. Janine had watched in silent horror as the Ghostbusters rallied around their fallen, trying to wake him up or get any sense of what was happening to him.

That had been almost three hours ago.

Now, Ray and the unfamiliar girl (whose name, Janine had picked up, was Erica), were seated on the couch, surrounded by piles of books, nose-deep in research. Winston had just gone to pick up some takeout. The parrot, settled in its cage downstairs, was mostly silent, occasionally asking: "Dipshit?" and replying: "Ghostbusters!" Dana sat by Peter's bed in the lab, holding his hand. Egon was standing by the monitors, staring at them, hands hanging limply at his sides. Janine's heart pounded slightly in her chest, and her throat closed. She knew that stance. Egon felt lost.

Her eyes slipped to Peter on the bed and she had to swallow several times to push down her own panic. Who knew Peter Venkman could be so still, so silent? He bubbled with life most of the time, eyes dancing, feet tapping, fingers snapping. Janine had always thought him tied into whatever life force powered the world, constantly drawing energy from everyone around him, skating through life on his own supernatural ability. Seeing him like this was bizarre, unreal, and terrifying.

"He's alive," Egon said, his voice hollow and heavy. "His EEG indicates REM sleep, but his cortisol and norepinephrine levels are consistent with one who has experienced massive trauma. He also has a high fever."

"He's having a nightmare," Dana said.

"Given the consistency of these readings," Egon replied, "I think he has been having one since shortly after we left to go to the carnival. Which means he has been in REM sleep for considerably longer than the average sleep cycle."

"Is that dangerous?"

Egon blinked, swallowed, and continued. "Peter's body is flooded with residual PKE energy. I believe he was possessed, and this is a side effect of that possession."

"Is he still...possessed, I mean?" Dana whispered, horrified.

"I don't believe so," Egon said softly. "But I am not sure he can wake up, either. I just...don't...know." The words were agony for him to say.

Dana turned back to Peter, leaned over him and kissed him gently. Egon turned abruptly and walked towards the kitchen. Janine felt something cold against her side and realized she had slumped against the doorframe and was now clutching it to hold herself up. She forced herself to stand upright and dusted herself off, then walked towards the kitchen as well.

She glanced at Ray and Erica as she passed by them. Ray's hands were shaking and his breathing was slightly erratic. Erica was still, reading, absently pulling on a lock of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. Janine watched Erica for a moment, not knowing who this new person was and wondering just what kind of an effect she was having on Janine's boys. Could she be responsible for Peter's silence? Likely not; no one was demanding information from her or treating her like she was hostile. I guess she's all right for now. Janine pursed her lips and looked at Egon in the kitchen.

He was gulping a can of Tab, his head thrown back, his hand clutching the counter so tightly the knuckles were white. He suddenly stopped drinking and coughed, blindly reaching for a rag. Janine quickly grabbed one and put it in his waving hand. Egon wiped himself and the counter clean, sniffing and wiping his eyes from the effects of the carbonation. Janine stared at him, looking over the tension in his body. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see the girl reach out and touch Ray's hand. Ray looked up at her, his own face puckered in worry. She said something quiet and some of the lines eased, but as the two of them went back to reading Janine could see that the effect was temporary.

All right.

"Egon?" she asked quietly.

Egon turned to look at her. "Yes?"

As per usual, her breath caught at the intense gaze. She swallowed and then reached out to take his hand. "Come with me."

He followed her without a word, and Janine was acutely aware of every step she took towards the bedroom. She knew what this looked like and she didn't care. She hesitated only slightly as she passed Ray again, wondering if she would be able to corral both of them, and then decided against it. She moved on.

When they reached the sleeping quarters, Janine led Egon to his bed and then let go of him. She pointed at it and said: "Lie down."

Egon stared at her. "What are you doing, Janine?"

Her name. Damn it, she hated when he said her name. It brought up far too many memories and stirred up feelings that she still didn't know how to deal with. It wasn't that she was unfamiliar with love. It was just that she felt so terribly guilty about the process in which she had fallen in love. Shouldn't the process be something pure and free of selfishness? Shouldn't it be about something other than superiority and guidance?

She looked at him sternly. "You need to lie down. Your brain's not working right. Doctor Venkman's unconscious and you're scared to death and you need to just take a moment and process."

Egon shook his head. "I don't have time. I have to monitor Peter's readings."

Janine snatched his arm as he began to walk away. "No, you don't. I've spent enough time around here to know that when there's a problem, there's some kind of beep or alarm or bell. You need to stop just for a minute."

"I can't," Egon murmured.

"You can and you will," Janine said firmly. "Don't make me make you lie down."

Egon glared at her and then slowly lay down on the bed. Janine sat on the bed next to him and stared at Oscar, watching him sleep. She watched Dana through the door, holding Peter's hand, kissing him softly, murmuring things Janine couldn't hear. She saw Ray's and Erica's heads moving on the couch as they interacted with each other. The hum of the air conditioner began to fill the room, but the quiet seeped into Janine's mind as well. She could hear Egon's breathing slowing, evening out. He wasn't falling asleep and neither was she. But what was happening all around them was beginning to sink in, and she wanted to make sure she was there when it did.

Does it matter, she thought suddenly, how something happens? Isn't it more important that it did? I just wanted to be the one Egon thought about when he thought about beautiful things and feelings. I wanted to be important to him. I didn't need to be in his life, I just wanted to make him aware of more than his fungus collection and numbers and catching ghosts...

And the more I showed him, the more I fell in love with him.

That was the roadblock. That was what she couldn't get around and what she had tried to spend years dealing with. It wasn't that she denied it. It was simply that she couldn't believe she'd actually found someone she didn't ever want to stop teaching. Or learning from.

But now, so many years later, so many fights later, she was starting to get tired of herself. She was getting tired of dealing with it, of refusing to accept that no matter whose lips she kissed, there was only one face behind her closed eyelids.

"Janine?"

Janine opened her eyes, unaware that she had closed them. She looked down to see Egon looking back at her from the bed. His face was serious but soft.

"What?" she said softly.

"I don't know how to help Peter."

Janine turned to face him, resettling herself on the bed. "That's okay."

Egon frowned. "How can that be okay?"

"Because not everyone has all the answers." Janine didn't quite know where this was coming from but she stuck with it. "He's, oh what's that word I read in that book...patient zero. He's Patient Zero. Before you come up with a way to help him, you can't know what you're doing because you've never seen it before. That's not your fault. That's not anybody's fault. When you're seeing something or feeling something you've never seen or felt before, it's normal to not have any idea how to react to it. There's nothing wrong with that." Who was she talking to now?

"He's my friend."

Egon was my boyfriend. "I know."

"He was screaming."

He looked like I hit him that day. "I know."

"I don't think he's going to wake up."

I don't deserve him back. "I know."

"But I can't just do nothing."

But I want him back. "I know."

Egon was staring at her. He suddenly sat up, coming to a stop inches from her face. Janine gasped softly but didn't move.

"Janine?"

"Yes?"

"Why Louis?"

The words hit her like a punch to the stomach. She would have given anything to have the courage simply to kiss him, push him down on the bed, make him forget the question. But even if she had done it, she knew Egon Spengler. He wouldn't let it go. Not until she gave him an answer. So she gave him the most honest one, the most haunting one. "Because he's everything you aren't. And I can be everything I can't be with you."

She knew what she meant by it, and she knew he wouldn't understand. So when he got up off of the bed and left the room, she waited until he was on the other side of the Firehouse before she let herself cry.

**o0o**

Egon heard the alarm start only a moment before Peter's voice tore through the air. "Ray! Dana! No! Help! Help me!"

He spun around from the computer in time to see Peter's arm flail through the air and entangle itself in the wires stemming from his body. A frantic twist, and some of the monitors went blank. One lead ripped free. Egon swore and dove for his friend, trying to grab an arm to hold him down. "Help!" he added his shout to Peter's. "Peter? Peter, can you hear me?"

"Help!" Peter shouted again. "Mom!"

Egon's eyes widened. He knew Peter had started suffering from nightmares in the past couple of weeks, but he had never experienced his friend in the grip of one firsthand. The pain and agony in his voice was palpable. Peter was being tortured. Peter, who was barely ever affected by anything, was screaming in terror. Egon's mouth and throat went dry and his stomach twisted. He swallowed frantically. He's being tortured by the ghost, he thought. What is this creature?

Ray and Winston came sprinting over from the dining room, Ray still holding his chopsticks from the Chinese food they'd been eating. The chopsticks slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor. Ray reached for Peter, trying to free a trapped arm. The monitors flashed, more alarms going off as they continued to lose feeds, and Oscar screamed angrily from the other room. Janine brought him out and Dana, on the verge of tears, took the squalling child, trying to shush him. She backed away from the bed.

As the three men wrestled with their friend, Egon took a swift assessment of the situation. Peter was moving and vocal. His skin was hot and slick with sweat, his hair soaked to his forehead, and his eyes were glassy, the pupils dilated. But he just wasn't conscious. His body was trying to wake up and his mind was still being held in the grip of whatever...

Idea and execution happened almost simultaneously. Egon pulled back and slapped Peter once, twice, across the face.

The screams stopped. Peter blinked, his pupils contracting. He stared at Egon, emptily at first, and then with slow recognition. It took most of Egon's self-control not to embrace his friend as he watched him climb to consciousness. He let out a deep, shuddering breath, and let go of Peter.

"Wh-what...?" Peter's voice was smaller, rougher. He immediately began to cough. Egon turned to order someone to get him water but he saw Janine already on it, filling a glass. She ran it over and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed and Egon felt a stab of very real pain in his chest. Janine continued to stare at him for a moment after letting go of the glass and Egon turned away. As far as he was concerned, there was no further need for words between them. I am inadequate. We are finished.

Peter took the glass of water and gulped it. Halfway through, he stopped with a deep gasp, and started to twist back and forth. "Get these things off of me."

"We need to monitor you," Egon replied. "You've been unconscious..."

"I've been fighting for my life and your life and everyone else's life and my sanity for days. Take them off now!" Peter shouted before slipping into another coughing fit.

Erica came around the side of the bed and began quickly removing the leads. Ray followed her, shutting off each monitor as the lead came free. Dana, now bouncing the crying Oscar on her hip, came back to the bedside. Peter, regaining his breath, looked up at them and reached for Dana, touching her arm. A look passed between them and then Peter touched Oscar, who quieted almost immediately. Dana held him out and Peter took him, staring intensely into his eyes. Oscar reached up to pet his face, and then closed his eyes.

Janine returned, staggering up the stairs with the parrot. She thunked the cage down next to Peter. The parrot didn't make a sound, just roused and wagged its tail, as though sighing in relief.

"How long was I out?" Peter asked in a quieter, calmer voice.

"You were unconscious for approximately four hours," Egon filled him in. "During that time, you ran an alarmingly high fever, and your brain waves maintained REM sleep."

"Now that's four hours from when we found you," Ray chimed in. "There's no telling how much longer you were..." His voice shook on the last word and he stopped talking. Erica placed a hand on his arm.

"What do you remember?" Dana asked, her voice surprisingly steady. Her fingers were absently combing Peter's hair.

Peter continued staring at Oscar. "The nightmare."

"What about before then?" Egon asked. "Your body contains large quantities of residual PKE energy. You definitely had some sort of an encounter with a ghost or ghost-related object."

Peter took in a deep breath and wiped his face. It did little good; his skin was soaked. Egon shot a look to Janine again. "Will you get him a towel, please?"

Janine took off without a word. Egon turned back to Peter, who shrugged.

"I was playing Freeze Tag with a ghost in the apartment. I lost."

Ray laughed. It was a nervous laugh, a single: "Ha!" that was more releasing anxiety than anything else. Erica smiled slightly at it.

"What can you tell us about the ghost?" Egon pressed, frustration creeping into his voice. He knew Peter had just come from a violent experience. He knew he was shaken up. But if they didn't get answers soon, there was no telling if the ghost would come back and pick up where it left off. They needed information while it was fresh, and Peter was already trying to brush things off.

Janine returned with the towel and Dana took it, starting to wipe Peter's face. Peter turned his head to her, ignoring Egon. Dana's face drew into a worried frown. "We don't have to do this now," she said.

"No, we do," Egon argued. "We have no way of knowing what is causing these attacks, we have no idea where in the city is safe, if at all, and we have no way of knowing if that ghost is going to return at any moment. We need information and Peter's experience is the best we have." Was he the only person that understood this? "Peter, what can you tell us about the ghost?"

Peter didn't look at him. Egon felt his hand balling into a fist. He took a deep breath and relaxed his fingers. Try another question. "What did it look like?" he asked.

"It was a guy," Peter muttered. "He had on some kind of uniform. He didn't have any legs, and he talked. Sounded like he was from Texas or Georgia. Had a curly mustache like those evil villains in the movies."

"You saw details?" Ray asked, cautious wonder creeping into his voice. "That's a class-four full-torso possessor at least! And if it hit us at the bookshop and Peter at home, that means it could be free-roaming!"

There's no proof that the ghost at the bookshop is the same as the ghost in the apartment, Egon thought, but we have no answers either way. Let's rule something out. "Ray, do you remember how long it was between the start of the attack and Peter's arrival at the bookshop?"

Ray's eyebrows drew together. "Um...fifteen, twenty seconds?"

That wasn't comforting. "So he was near the bookshop."

"I was," Peter confirmed. "I saw something in the window. It turned out to be Janine's legs." He tried to give her a charming smile, but it came out as a grimace. The intent was enough, and Janine rolled her eyes. Peter continued. "But I didn't see anything when I got inside. The guy wasn't there."

This was supposed to be ruled out. Egon swallowed. "We had considered the idea that this was a personal attack on Ray and his bookshop, but is it possible that this ghost was attempting to attack Peter but couldn't reach him until he got into the store?"

"If it's free-roaming, it wouldn't matter if he was in the store or not," Winston chimed in.

"We don't know if it is free-roaming," Egon replied. "Raymond was only theorizing."

"It didn't attack me in the store," Peter added. "Its focus was on Janine."

"It didn't attack Janine until I told her to get the trap," Ray said. "It knew what we were going to do. The first thing it did was attack the bookshelves. It was like a bomb had gone off. The books just came down on me."

Egon's eyebrows lifted. "On you?"

Ray's eyes widened. "I hadn't even thought about that, but yeah. The first shelf to go was the one next to me. I thought I'd bumped something."

"Did the attack get worse when Peter got into the store?"

"No."

"So perhaps the first attack was directed at you, and the second one was at Peter." Egon didn't like where this was going at all but he forced himself to say the words aloud. "I think it's clear that we are being targeted, since we haven't heard of any other attacks like this over the past week." But we still don't know if it's the same ghost.

"Well, that's comforting," Winston muttered.

Egon nodded in agreement and turned back to Peter. "What else can you tell us? You said he sounded as though he was from Texas or Georgia. Did he speak to you?"

Peter took another deep breath and shifted on the bed. Oscar rolled around a little on his lap and cooed in his sleep. Peter gestured for Dana to take the baby. "Yeah, we had a lovely chat. He called me a couple of names, I told him that story about the guy in college, and then he came at me."

"He called you names?" Ray asked. The last word came out as an incredulous chuckle.

"Yeah. Little coot. Which is completely unnecessary. I don't even know the guy."

"He called me a fast trick," Janine spoke up, bringing several pairs of surprised eyes to her. "Right before he picked me up, I heard some Southern voice sayin' 'outta my way, ya fast trick.' I'm not too sure what that means but I don't think I like it."

Egon's stomach rolled again. A few seconds of silence filled the room before Ray murmured: "So it could be the same ghost. A class-four free-roaming possessor that's made us its target. That's bad."

"Why would it wait, though?" Winston asked. "We're not on watch twenty-four hours a day. I haven't had anything happen to me and I'm assuming Dana and Egon haven't either."

Peter looked worriedly at Dana, but she shook her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Nothing's happened to me, either," Egon agreed.

"I can understand waiting between attacks," Winston continued, "but almost a week? There's a reason it's only hit us twice."

"Could it be anchored?" Ray asked after a moment. "Winston's right. Most ghosts we know aren't shy about saying hello, and this one not only tried to drop a shelf of books on my head, but it just spent the last few hours...or days...torturing Peter. This ghost means business. It's not a slimer, it's not a cat. It's strong, and it's powerful, and it wants to hurt us. So why wait? Why isn't it blowing up the Firehouse?" He looked at Peter. "Pete, how long have you been having those nightmares?"

Peter cringed. "A week. Maybe a little longer."

"And it's the same dream every night?"

"Yeah."

"What happens?'

Peter stared, his gaze growing hard. "It's a nightmare, Ray," he said. "Just a normal nightmare."

"You spoke," Egon pushed. "You were calling for help. The death of your parents is not a secret to us." Peter whirled on him, eyes blazing, but Egon didn't stop. "I understand it was a traumatic experience. Losing a loved one is considered one of the greatest pains we have to endure as humans. But the ghost chose that memory, that nightmare, to torture you. It's possible he's been doing it this whole time, and if he has, that means there's something in that nightmare that will give us as clue as to why this is happening."

"Egon," Peter's voice was low, "if you don't stop talking, I am going to hit you."

Egon felt an explosion of rage in his chest. Damn it, Peter! He leaned in, his gaze just as hard, just as challenging as Peter's. "Then hit me," he said in a low, tight voice. "If that's what it takes to get answers. We are being targeted. It's not the city at risk, yet. It's us. We have a chance to stop this ghost before it does anything else. So go on and hit me. What is the nightmare about?"

He could see Peter's fist out of the corner of his eye and braced himself for the impact. Peter's jaw clenched and his teeth bared for a moment. The look in his eyes went from rage to something far less familiar: fear. Egon felt his own gaze soften just a little at the change, and he leaned back from Peter, giving the man a little more space.

"Don't ask me for details," Peter said, his voice just above a whisper. His body strained on the bed; he was literally having to push the words out. "Yeah, it's my parents dying. More recently, it's been all of you. Before the ghost attacked me, he said he owed my family. He said I killed him and that he owed my family."

"But you didn't recognize him," Egon asked, his voice gentler now.

"Well, it wasn't Michael J. Fox," Peter snapped.

"Peter," Erica spoke up, "you said he was wearing a uniform. Can you describe the uniform?"

Peter paused. "Old. The kind you see in history books old. One of those big coats that goes past the waist. Belt on the coat. Two rows of buttons. Collar up on the neck. I couldn't see any pants, but it looked like he had a gun strapped on his back and this weird handle thing on his belt."

Erica tilted her head. "Handle?"

"Yeah, you know, like something you grab..." Peter's eyes widened. "A hilt. It might have been a hilt."

"Of a rapier?"

"I don't know," Peter waved his hand. "It looked like a hilt or the handle of something you stab someone with!"

Ray had focused on Erica. "What are you thinking?"

Erica swallowed and shrugged. "Well, a Southern man dressed in a uniform with a gun and maybe a sword, using phrases like little coot and fast trick...it sounds like the ghost is from the 1800s. Maybe even the Civil War."

Peter pushed himself up suddenly. "He said the war was over but that wasn't worth a...something weird. Booger or something."

"Goober?"

"Or something."

Erica nodded. "Popular saying. 'Worth a goober' meant something that amounted to a lot, so if something wasn't worth a goober it meant you didn't care. And 'little coot', 'blue-belly', and of course 'Billy Yank' were all Confederate terms for Union soldiers."

Peter blinked at her. "Aren't you the space historian?"

Erica smiled. "I like history. Space is where I make my money."

"What's a fast trick?" Janine asked. "How much do I want to hurt this ghost?"

Erica blushed. "Um...the term 'trick' is still in use today, really, with a similar meaning. But back then a 'fast trick' was a...morally questionable woman. You know, um...a loose woman."

A dark and bitter thought arose in Egon's mind. Janine's face reddened now, her jaw clenching. Hurt and anger battled across her eyes, and Egon had a feeling he was the only one who knew why that phrase hit her so hard. The dark and bitter thought faded, compassion replacing it. That kind of thinking is unfair of me.

"Well," Janine hissed, "I'd say bust him."

"I completely agree!" Peter stated.

"So we have the ticked-off ghost of a Confederate soldier loose in New York City. Yeah, this is going to end well," Winston grumbled.

"Can you think of any reason why a Confederate soldier would have a personal vendetta against you, Peter?" Relief stole through Egon. He was getting the information he needed. But there was still something outstanding, something he wasn't getting yet. He could feel it.

"Well there was that whole thing he said about me killing him. And look guys, I know there's things you don't know about me, but I can promise you I'm not a murderer."

"I don't think we'll have any trouble believing that," Dana chuckled.

"How about you, Raymond?"

Ray shrugged. "Doubtful. My grandparents were Swiss. They came over in the 1900s, well after the Civil War."

"Well, the ghost did say he owed Peter's family," Erica said. "Family's not always blood relatives. Peter said he hasn't been dreaming about just his parents. Maybe Ray's shop was destroyed because he and Peter are good friends."

A heavy silence settled over the room as the idea sunk in. "Now that," Peter said, his voice growing hard with rage, "is not okay."

Egon didn't think he'd ever heard Peter's voice sound so dangerous. Even when Walter Peck had been stripping them down in front of the police and the mayor, Peter had kept calm and cracked several, albeit inappropriate, jokes. The low, furious rumble in his voice now made Egon cold.

"That still doesn't explain why the ghost hasn't hit us more," Winston said. "If it's after all of us because of Peter, there's still been far too many opportunities for it to hit us. It's got to be anchored, because it's only attacking at certain times and certain places."

"But anchored to what?" Ray asked. "I mean, I guess Peter's bought a couple of books from me, but it's been weeks...but if those are the only two places we've seen attacks, then there's clearly an object or something at both."

"Unless it's Peter," Egon mused. He'd been mulling over the idea and, like so many other thoughts going through his mind right now, he didn't like where it was going. But they needed answers. "We've already proven that Dana has a genetic predisposition towards paranormal attraction."

"Yes, and that makes me feel so much better about my life," Dana muttered.

"It's possible that Peter has it as well," Egon concluded.

"There's no way," Peter objected, his voice still filled with anger. "I've barely had any encounters or drawn any strange activity even after we went into business. Dana's a strong, beautiful, modern woman. I'm not surprised I have to beat them off with a stick."

Dana chuckled as Egon answered. "You are also the primary point of contact for a business that traps and imprisons various paranormal entities. We discussed this possibility earlier on in the week, that the ghosts are choosing to target us because we have caught enough of them to constitute a threat."

"I think we're getting off-topic here," Ray spoke up. "This ghost deliberately attacked Peter...never mind my bookshop...and told him specifically: 'You killed me. I owe your family.' It's a ghost from a specific point in history that has a personal vendetta against Peter. That's where we need to start. We need to go back through Peter's history, as much as we can, and see if we can tie what we know into what we find. Once we have that, we might be able to figure out what object is connecting the bookshop and the apartment."

A few more moments of silence passed, and then Erica suddenly put a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh no. Oh no."

"What?" Dana asked.

"The bookshop on Monday and the apartment today," Erica whispered, her voice catching. Egon's eyebrows lifted as he realized her eyes were filling with tears. "I mean, other than Peter...I know of something..." her voice was starting to break, "that's been near both of those places at the same time of the attacks."

"What is it?" Dana pressed.

Erica walked over to her purse on the couch and opened it. When she turned back around, she was holding a small book, its unreadable pages held together by a leather strap. The front cover of the book said only: 'You have a job to do.'