Chapter VIII

The Answers: Part II

"Rrawk! Ghostbusters! Whaddaya want?"

The parrot's voice floated up the stairs, breaking the spell of horrified silence. Erica reacted immediately, spinning around and hurling the book as hard as she could towards the corner of the room.

"No!" Egon lurched after the book, almost tripping over himself in a mad dash to locate its landing place. Erica was losing her balance, sinking to her knees, and Ray moved on instinct, rushing forward to catch her. He pushed her slightly forward onto the couch and then let out an 'oof' as he fell next to her. She slumped on him, little sobs shaking her body. He gave Janine a 'help me' look, but Janine just turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. Ray looked down at Erica, who was clutching at his shirt with one hand and sobbing into the other, and felt a small bit of warmth steal over him. Today has turned into a really, really bad day, he thought, and carefully reached around to pet Erica's back. He turned his head as far to the side as it would go and called calmly: "Egie? You got it?"

"Yes," Egon's tone was short, with a slight edge to it. He was thinking. Ray turned his head back to look at the others, his own mind going to work on the puzzle before him.

The book. Of course it was the book. He'd had it in the shop for months and Erica was the person it had been waiting for. The memory came to him in a sudden wave of guilt and horror: he'd made a transaction before the insurance adjuster had come to look at the property. If the receipt was found, it could nullify his claim. What could he have been thinking, doing something like that?

Well, if the book was possessed by a ghost and the ghost affected me, I wouldn't have been in control of my actions. But try using that in a court of law. It certainly hadn't helped years ago in the fallout after Gozer, and he doubted the ghost would have the timing of the Scoleri Brothers. What am I gonna do?

I can't think about this now.

Janine came back up the stairs and walked over to Ray. She handed him a box of tissues and then walked back to Peter's bedside and took Oscar.

Once the baby was off of his lap, Peter started to get up. His legs shook and he grabbed onto the bed for balance. Dana and Winston instantly came to his aid, helping him stand up. He pushed their hands away and rolled his shoulders, clearly drawing on his inner fount of strength to keep his balance. Ray knew his friend; Peter would stand and stay standing until his body couldn't hold him up anymore. He always had to be the strongest and being unconscious for the last few hours couldn't be good for his mental health. Ray wished, honestly, that he could tell Peter to lay down and heal, but he knew Peter wouldn't listen.

Ray drew a tissue out and handed it to Erica. She snatched it and sat up, pulling away from him. He let her go and held out the tissue box. She grabbed several more, then just took the whole box and started talking. "I'm sorry, I had no idea, I swear, I've been trying to read it all week and I can't. I have no idea what it says but if the ghost got out because I turned a page or something, I don't know, I don't know how these things work, I'm so sorry..." She blew her nose and took in deep breath after deep breath, valiantly trying to get herself under control.

Egon came over, his PKE meter out. He passed it in front of Ray and Erica again, and his brow furrowed. "I told you you were hot earlier today," he said. "The readings are almost identical to those given off by the book. I'll need to do a more in-depth analysis and take a blood sample from each of you to ensure they're the same."

"What about Peter?" Ray asked. "The residual PKE energy readings in his body should match the book, too."

Egon walked over and scanned Peter. His eyebrows drew together. "The readings are...similar. I will include this information in my analysis. Peter, sit down. I'll need to take a blood sample from you, too."

"I'm fine."

"I'm not asking you. Someone who has been through the kind of trauma you have runs a greater risk for shock, the symptoms of which I've no doubt you are experiencing. I will not draw blood from you unless you are sitting, and I have no way of proving that this is the same ghost without your blood. So sit down, please. Now." Egon's brown eyes were practically sparking and he was glaring at Peter with an intensity so palpable Ray forgot to breathe. He had a vague feeling that there was something else going on under all of this, something bothering Egon that was compounded by the sudden realization that all of them were vulnerable. Next to him, Erica was shaking so violently he could feel the couch cushions moving.

Peter went and sat on the bed. Egon set to drawing blood from Erica and Ray quickly and efficiently, asking: "Erica, how did you get the book?"

Erica's voice was thick with the effort of not crying, and shaking as bad as her hands. It took Egon several seconds to find a still moment to draw her blood. "I b-bought it. From Ray. I brought it home and tried to read it and couldn't. I left it next to my bed today before going to the c-carnival. I grabbed it before we came back here...I don't know why. I felt like I had to. I had t-to..."

Ray could stand it no longer. Once Egon had finished drawing Erica's blood, he shifted over and put an arm around her, offering his other arm to Egon. He had no doubt she was feeling personally responsible for the events of the week, and it wasn't her fault. They'd seen this before, usually in clients, and it never failed to fascinate Ray. People sometimes thought that they had done something to bring the ghost about when really they'd just moved into the ghost's territory. He vaguely wondered which way it was with him. He hadn't given the book back to its owner when it had arrived as a bonus with a shipment, and he had sold it to Erica, who lived just down the hall from Peter. So had the book come to him, or had he stepped into its destined path?

Either way, his arm around Erica was a comfort to them both.

Egon was musing aloud as he moved over and prepared Peter's arm. "If the book was exerting a supernatural will on you and Raymond, that would explain why you felt you had to buy it and why he felt he had to sell it. But if that is the case, then the book has been in your apartment all week and Peter has only been attacked once." He picked up the needle.

"And I've been...ow!" Peter flinched as Egon pierced his arm. "Good going, Freddy Kreuger. Shouldn't I be asleep when you do this?"

Egon rolled his eyes.

Peter continued. "I've been alone in the apartment a few times this week. No ghost."

"Well, didn't we talk about how the ghosts are adapting to us?" Ray said. "I mean, depending on the level of sentience, the ghost of a Confederate soldier could retain strategic memories. We were all far away and distracted by the carnival. It knew it would have plenty of time to attack without the risk of us coming home."

"This blood sample will assist in dispelling the mystery." Egon withdrew the needle and pressed gauze to the wound. "Hold your arm above your head." He quickly gathered up the sample, the printouts from the monitors, and the book. "I will be downstairs. Alert me if the ghost returns."

"Oh, you'll be the first to know," Peter sneered. Egon ignored him as he left the room.

Ray was powerfully compelled to take a deep, shuddering breath of relief, and felt a small shock when a sweet, soft smell accompanied that breath. He was still holding Erica, who had stopped shaking and had rested her head on his shoulder. He suspected the scent was her shampoo. He also suspected the warm, protective feeling shooting through him had little to do with solving the mystery and everything to do with the feel of Erica's skin under his fingers. Why didn't I do this in the Ferris Wheel? She was right next to me.

"At least we have some answers," he said aloud, refocusing his mind on the upcoming task but not changing his position on the couch "We can look for something specific now. This one's not going to be easy. Vendettas are one of the strongest raisons d'etre for paranormal entities. It's not just lore, it's practically academic."

Peter lowered his arm. "We're still operating under the assumption that it's after me. I'm telling you, I haven't done anything!"

"It doesn't matter," Ray sighed. "Blood feuds are common in history, even up to now. If your grandfather wronged this ghost, he'll make all future descendants pay the price. He'll probably find some way to tell you why he's after you. The only problem is, he's not likely to tell you that until he has you trapped and ready to be killed. We need history, Peter...not just information on vendetta ghosts. If you know anything from back in your family tree, anything at all, that could give us a hint..."

"My parents died in a carnival accident," Peter muttered. "Before that, I don't know. My family tree's got so many branches I couldn't even begin to guess or assume...I probably had an ancestor in the Civil War, but..."

Ray closed his eyes, trying to think. In the movies, the ghost always had to perform some task or some ritual before it could move on. More often than not, the task was killing the person that had killed it. But he believed Peter: there was no way he could be a murderer. Which meant either blood feud or mistaken identity, and neither boded well for Peter Venkman.

"I guess we're back to reading," he sighed, reluctantly lifting his arm from Erica. She sat up immediately and grabbed another tissue, blowing her nose again. She didn't look at him as she stood up and walked to the kitchen, throwing away the used tissues.

"I'll clean up the leftover food," Dana said.

"I'll help," Peter chimed in, starting to get up.

Dana put a hand on his chest. "You're staying in bed." Peter started to protest and she shook her head. "I know, but Egon's right. You've had a bad couple of days. I'll get you a beer. Just stay there for right now."

Peter glared at her as she also headed to the kitchen but Ray saw something shift in his eyes. "Fine. I guess I am a little tired."

"There's actually a call today," Winston said. "I'll handle it. It's just a little one."

"Didn't we have the day off?" Peter asked.

"We did but...the Chinese restaurant I got our lunch from had a ghost, and I told them I'd take care of it today. They gave us lunch for free."

Peter looked mildly impressed. "Okay. They still have to pay for our services but...give 'em the "Nice Guy" discount."

Winston laughed and headed downstairs to change.

Erica came back, red-faced and holding two beers. She held one out to Ray, who took it with a smile. He started digging through the books, still feeling more optimistic than he'd been a couple of hours ago. They knew something now. It was a terrifying something, but it was a something.

**o0o**

"Egon."

"Yes?"

The word was automatic, a response before his brain had even registered who was speaking. As he turned to face Janine, however, Egon felt his blood run cold. He kept his face neutral as his eyes landed on her, even as his insides twisted. She had been brilliantly clear in her response to his question earlier. She could not be Janine around him. He was too difficult for her to endure. The sooner his heart began to accept it, the better, because it was beginning to be too much to be around her now. "I'm working, can this wait?"

"No." Her hand, delicate and warm, closed around his wrist. "I need to talk to you."

"Do you mind if we talk here?" he asked. "The bedroom is two floors up and I need to stay within visual range of these readings..."

"Egon." She cut him off, her hand tightening. "You didn't understand what I was saying."

Egon stared at her, his mind racing through the last few moments. What could he possibly have not understood? She wanted to talk, he was willing to talk as long as they stayed in the basement. Unless she meant their last conversation, in which case he had no idea what he could have missed there either. "What do you mean?"

"You said: 'Why Louis?'."

She did mean the conversation from earlier. Egon pulled his wrist from her hand and turned back to the readings. "There was nothing to misunderstand," he argued. "As long as you are with me, you can't be who you want to be. I understand that on a level that you may not realize I can." His voice dipped towards the lower spectrum as hurt and frustration crept into it. He took a deep breath and willed his emotions back. There was no need to turn this into an argument. He'd had enough arguments with her in his mind over the years. He was tired of the pain fighting caused. He was tired of trying to figure out how to be the man she wanted him to be. He was tired of trying to redeem himself for a wrong he hadn't even realized he was committing.

"Louis is stupid, Egon!" Janine grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around to face her. Egon stared, surprised at her sudden passion.

"He's stupid," she continued. "He does whatever I tell him. He can barely finish sentences when he's talking to me, even after months of being together. He's boring. Do you know how many pages of tax law he can cover in an hour? Because I don't! I fell asleep after five minutes!"

Egon continued to stare.

"And he has the weirdest set of boundaries I've ever seen! He has no trouble just exercising in the middle of the living room and sitting, stinking up the sofa after. But if you walk into the kitchen while he's cooking it's like you set the place on fire on purpose or something. Don't you understand? He's everything you aren't! He's stupid, and short-sighted, and boring. He doesn't challenge me, he doesn't correct me, he doesn't notice things in life or care about things like where ghosts come from."

Egon could feel the connections forming, and the strange joy and hope that came with them caught his breath. He was beginning to see the answer Janine had given him earlier from a completely different perspective. I am everything Louis isn't. I am not stupid, or short-sighted, or boring. But seeing that also began to raise more questions. "If what he is makes you this upset, why are you with him?"

"Because he's not you!" Janine let go and put her hands to her head, groaning aloud. "Egon...when we broke up, I needed to be with anyone...anyone...who wasn't you. I needed to forget you. I needed to...well, I just...it's not important. It's not important anymore because I give up. I'm tired of closing my eyes at night and seeing your face. I'm tired of kissing Louis and wishing it was you. I'm tired of being without you."

Egon tried to think of the last time he had ever seen Janine this upset. The only thing that came to mind was their last fight. Her eyes had been glistening with tears. Her cheeks had been bright red. She hadn't been able to breathe properly. She'd been breaking up with him at the time, and so any form of comfort had been inappropriate. But there was something in her voice now, something in the words she had used, that made him wonder. Is she asking for us to resume our relationship? The idea was ludicrous and wonderful all at the same time. I am inadequate. I failed her in the past. There's no reason to think I won't do so again. But right now, she requires comfort. He stepped awkwardly towards her and lifted his arms, cringing as his mind howled at him to stop.

Janine didn't hesitate, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him to her little, lithe body. Egon's heart began to race at the contact, so warm and familiar and pleasurable. Her head rested against his chest and he let his face fall into her hair, breathing in the scents. She hadn't changed her shampoo in five years, though the ugly sting of hair color intruded on the soft smell.

"Aren't you tired, too?" she asked, her voice just higher than a whisper.

He was, though how she knew that he had no idea. Janine, as a woman, had remarkable powers of observation and intuition. It was one of the most frustrating mysteries about her, that with all those powers she hadn't been able to communicate to him that their relationship was in trouble until it was beyond saving.

"Yes," he said quietly.

She smiled against his chest, and her grip tightened a little. "Then why don't you come over? To my place, tonight? Come home with me."

Egon remained still, holding her, his brain racing at speeds that almost left him dizzy. No, he was dizzy. He couldn't seem to get enough air, and the basement was feeling small and hot. He recognized the perplexing mix of arousal and panic pumping through his veins, and struggled to gain some control. He loosened his grip around Janine and took a step back, unable to completely let go of her but aware that he wasn't going to be able to think with her pressed up against him. "Janine," he said, his voice coming out softer than he expected, "the last time I went home with you, the night ended badly. You spent most of it crying, and I spent most of it walking around New York City feeling like I failed you. I didn't like that night and I don't ever want to repeat it. I can't go home with you."

Janine's eyes filled up with tears and her hands reached to catch and hold his elbows. Egon groaned inwardly. It seemed that Janine was either going to cry now or later, and he was (or would be) the cause no matter what. He braced himself.

"I don't want anyone but you."

The words were a physical blow to his chest, and Egon rocked slightly back. He looked frantically over at the readings, willing the computer to print something, anything to take his mind off of what was happening. But while the readings were steady and true and calm, they were of no help. Not at the moment.

"I fail you," he said. He felt the words cut his throat, almost making him cough. He couldn't look back at her. "You pointed that out to me on our last night. I will not be responsible for hurting you again, and that's final."

Janine's hand slowly slid from his elbows and he felt a chill replace the warmth of her body. He stopped the sigh of relief that tried to come from his throat, and continued turning back towards the readings. The sinking sensation of grief began to close his throat, and then Janine appeared in front of him, a focus burning in her wet eyes. "I want to tell you something that I haven't told anyone."

"Janine, please..."

"There are things about myself that I don't like." Her hands caught his and held them. "There are things I don't tell anyone, ever, because I'm afraid of what people will think of me."

Egon looked at her. She seemed to draw strength from his gaze, pulling herself up, and continuing. "One of those things is that when I'm upset or scared or confused, I'll...project. You know what I mean, project?"

"The psychological defense mechanism in which you deny the existence of your own positive and negative unconscious impulses by attributing them to those around you?"

"Yeah."

"Yes, I know what you mean by project."

She chuckled. He didn't quite understand why. But it was a smile, which was more than he was expecting to see. Maybe I can keep her from becoming too sad. Her face grew serious. Maybe.

"The night we broke up...that stupid thing everyone says when they break up, you know, 'it's not you, it's me'? Well, it wasn't you. It was me. I was projecting."

Egon wasn't quite following her anymore. "I don't understand. You made such a point of telling me I was incapable of returning your feelings, of caring about you. You said I was only pretending the whole time we were together. Are you saying that all of those things you were shouting at me, you were shouting at yourself?"

"I was afraid," Janine confessed. "I was confused. I told you, there are things about myself I don't like. Most of the relationships I've had don't get too far past the bedroom." Her perfect skin turned pink and she dropped her eyes. "But you named a star after me."

He remembered that. "JM-1961."

"Exactly. You...treated me different than anyone else. Better. And after we left the bedroom, you...stayed."

"So because I treated you better and stayed with you after intercourse, you blamed me for being emotionless and pretending to care about you?"

Janine shifted and crossed her arms in front of her. She didn't say anything, but Egon recognized the stance. She was upset. Guilty. Given what she had confessed to him, that made sense. He replayed the last few sentences in his mind, trying to figure out how to move the conversation forward or at least see what she said from a different perspective.

The plan worked. A sentence stood out on the second round of replay: She'd broken up with him because he'd treated her better than others had. Why would she do that?

Because she feels as inadequate as I do. Because she feels...undeserving.

His brilliant mind ran with the idea. If she had indeed been shouting at herself instead of him, that would fit the definition of 'projection'. If she'd been shouting at herself instead of him, that led to one inevitable conclusion: maybe he wasn't inadequate. Maybe their breakup hadn't entirely been his fault. There was certainly still some concern on the words she had used, but she was standing in front of him now, asking if he was tired of being away from her. And he was. And if she was hurting, if she was trapped in the same circle he had been in for five years, who was he to let her go through it alone? Who better than he to stop it?

"I can't come home with you," he finally said. "You live with Louis and I have no desire for him to hear our conversations."

Janine looked up, hope filling her eyes. There were tears on her cheeks, tiny points of wetness that caught the light and made her face sparkle. "I'll call him. Explain. He'll be gone by the time we get there. We'll be alone."

"No." Egon shook his head. "You and I hurt each other very badly in the past. If you want to repair and resume our relationship, we need to talk first." Speaking at home would be the best option, but he knew there might be other emotions in the way, other desires that sprang up more freely in the privacy of one's living quarters. Those emotions would interfere with the repairs.

"So where do we go?" Janine pressed.

"We'll find somewhere." Egon turned back to the computer. "We'll talk. I promise you." The words came naturally, as though they'd just been sitting on the tip of his tongue waiting to be said. And they had, really, for years.

He felt her hand grab his arm, and then suddenly her lips were on his cheek. A warm rush spread through him and a helpless smile pulled at his mouth. He listened to the sound of her footsteps clicking away before refocusing on the information before him.

**o0o**

"It's not the book."

Egon's voice sounded as though it was coming from underwater. Erica blinked, disconnecting herself from the words on the page. Emerging from a book was never an easy task, even more so when the subject matter was how to kill a ghost that was after your friend. She reread the last sentence quickly to mentally mark her place, and closed the book on her finger. Next to her, Ray shifted and looked up over the top of his reading glasses. Erica felt the brush of his skin on hers and realized she'd unconsciously settled into a reading position next to him, their arms touching. She remembered his arm around her, comforting her, and she remained still, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"What?" Ray asked.

"It's not the book." Egon trotted over to them, holding a stack of papers and the book in his hands, a look on his face that Erica almost didn't recognize. His eyes were bright, and his lips were slightly parted in an excited smile. Have I seen him look happy before? She shot a look at Ray, who was putting his book aside and taking off his glasses. His face was brightening as well in response to Egon's enthusiasm.

"Here," Egon jabbed his finger at the readouts. "See?"

Ray sprang to his feet, leaving a cold void next to Erica. She stood up too, leaving the book on the couch, and peered around Egon's arm, trying to make sense of the numbers and squiggles in front of her. Nothing stood out, so she looked at the mens' faces. Ray's smile began to fade into a troubled look after a couple of moments, though Egon's didn't change.

"If it's not the book, we're back to square one," Ray said, his voice starting to sound heavy with fatigue.

"Don't be so sure. The book definitely had an effect on you and Erica," Egon confirmed. "But most importantly, the readings I took from Peter matched the readings I got from the carnival."

"What?" Peter called from the bed. "Come over here, I can't get up! Mom won't let me!"

The three moved over to the bed where Peter lay. Dana was scoffing gently at him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Erica took up residence next to her, and Ray and Egon grouped around Peter.

"I felt the PKE meter buzzing in my coat while we were at the carnival," Egon began. "When I took it out, it registered extremely strong readings in several locations. However, each of the readings indicated residual energy, not active energy. There had been a ghost there, but it wasn't there anymore. Now, we know that ghosts often leave ectoplasmic residue in their wakes when interacting with physical objects. We believe that when a person is possessed, a small amount of ectoplasmic residue is left in their bloodstream."

"We do?" Peter asked, lifting a hand to his face. "Wait, there's slime inside me?" He shuddered, his face twisting in revulsion.

"It's a theory we've been tossing around for a while," Ray said. "We just haven't had any way to prove it."

Egon looked pointedly at Oscar and Dana, and Dana shook her head. Egon sighed. "The residue may be absorbed into the person's body over time, or it may remain in their bloodstream indefinitely. We have no way of knowing yet. But we believe...we hoped...that there may have been at least a marker, of sorts, that was left behind. Peter, your blood reading confirmed a definite presence."

"Happy to help," Peter groused.

"What about ours?" Erica asked, her heart starting to pound. Did I get possessed like Dana? I didn't destroy any apartments or wake up in any strange places, but...

"No," Egon said.

"But we definitely did things we wouldn't have done," Ray spoke up. "I mean...she got the book after the attack. And after that, I remember feeling relieved the book was gone. I don't remember why, though. And that's not right either. I should know why."

"I had to buy the book," Erica added. "It was mine. It was supposed to be mine." Wait, that wasn't right, or at least that wasn't the right thing to say. She didn't recognize the book, didn't know anything about it. How could it be hers? Why did she feel so insistent on making that point?

"The book could be compelling you, like the cat in the pet store," Egon said. "The little girl was severely allergic, but she couldn't put the animal down and leave. The only way was to force the cat away from her."

"So we throw the book away?" Erica wanted nothing more than to snatch it from Egon's hands and hide it in her purse. She'd throw anything in the room at the person who tried to take it away from her. "No, that's not happening."

"I wouldn't advise it," Egon replied. He held the book out to her and she grabbed it, a sense of relief and completion washing over her. "I would, however, ask that you try to read it."

Erica stared. "What?"

Egon was silent for a few moments, looking like he was gathering his thoughts. He spoke again, slowly, likely uttering the words for the first time and hearing either how ridiculous or how believable they sounded. "Even though I believe the book is not the cause of this ghost, I also believe they are connected. Over the years of studying PKE energy, Ray and I have both discovered that certain ghosts have similar patterns. Consequently, the residue they leave also has similar patterns. The book and the ghost that possessed Peter are two separate supernatural occurrences, but their readings share a similarity I can't ignore. It's possible that this book explains the origin of the ghost and how to stop it. Ray and I have spent years trying to read it and had countless people try to buy it. We have never had the book decide for itself who it belongs to. I think that book does belong to you, and I think you're the one who can read it."

Erica looked down at the book in her hands, an immense pressure pushing on her chest and shoulders. Even if she hadn't been responsible for the ghost's attacks, it was possible she was responsible for stopping them. She longed, suddenly, to be as far away from New York City as possible, back in Oregon, blissfully and naively dreaming about the possibilities of paranormal activity. All the reading she had done had not prepared her for the reality. She was starting to understand just how afraid Alice and Dana had been.

"I've been trying to read it all week," she said quietly, her voice beginning to shake. "It's just scribbles." She opened the page and held it out. Ray came over and tilted his head at it. "It looks the same to you as it does to me."

"What does it say on the cover?" Dana asked. "That looks like it was English."

Erica closed the book and looked at the words on the cover. "It says: "You have a job to do."

The book began to glow a bright red. Ray took a couple of steps back. Egon's eyes widened and he leaned forward. Peter's eyebrows lifted. Erica gasped and tried to drop the book but couldn't open her fingers to do so. The red glow intensified, bathing her hands and arms.

And then it faded.

"That's never happened before," Erica whispered.

"You never thought to read the only bit of English on the thing out loud?" Peter laughed.

Erica looked at her skin in dismay. There were red splotches all over her hands and partially up her arms. "I never felt a need to, no," she said, not really focusing on the answer. "What is this?"

"It looks like blood," Egon said.

Now Erica could drop the book, and she did so, spitting on her fingers and frantically scrubbing the red patches. It did no good. There was no pain; she hadn't been injured. But it wouldn't come off. "Can someone get me a wet towel or something? I need to get this off of me!"

"Your saliva isn't working," Egon stated. "I don't think water will help."

"Please?" The pressure in her chest was starting to become unbearable. "Please, help me!"

Ray hurried towards the kitchen. Egon moved slowly over to her and knelt beside the book, which was laying open on the ground. He stared at it for several moments before speaking. "I still can't read it."

Ray returned with the towel and Erica set to scrubbing. But even though her unmarked skin turned pink from the friction, the red splotches didn't fade a bit. She stared at them, feeling panic close her throat. I am not crying again. I am not. I'm covered in blood that isn't mine, but I'm just fine.

"Is it a cursed item?" Ray asked Egon.

"Perhaps," Egon replied. "But if she can read it now, I'm more inclined to believe that the contents of the book were hidden by some kind of spell."

"What, you mean like witchcraft?" Peter's tone suggested exactly what he thought of the idea. "Egon, that's a whole new can of worms that I don't think any of us is qualified to open."

"Just because we have not encountered it does not mean it does not exist," Egon countered.

"I didn't say it doesn't exist," Peter said, "just that we are gonna be out of our league if it's what we're dealing with here."

"Erica, can you read the book?" Egon insisted.

Erica looked down at the book at her feet, and bent over to squint at it. The pages were filled with the same precise, small flow of letters...except now the letters formed words. In English. Plain, readable English.

"I...can," she gasped.

"You can?" A bright, joyful smile began to dawn on Ray's face. "You can!?"

Erica picked up the book, not even thinking about the possibility of it bathing her in more red. It didn't glow. But the words on the page were clear.

" 'The thoughts of Ms. Violet Sharp. 1866, April 13. Today marks a year since I discovered our victory over General Robert Lee in what they are calling the War of the Rebellion. Given this anniversary of freedom, it is only fitting that I announce my joy in finally finding a home to call my own with Independence Faire.' "

"It's a diary?" Ray burst out.

"It's post-Civil War but not by much," Egon added. "That could be of some help to us. Erica, keep reading."

Erica swallowed, looking at the next sentence. " 'The pay is very little, only a few coins a week, plus what I make from my predictions. I will have to sleep in my wagon. But at long last I can turn my energies to planning for the future, instead of experiencing the horrors of the present. I must now go inform Eugenia of my new plans. With Arthur dead, she is the best and only friend the war has left me. I am ever grateful for her counsel.' " She looked up. "The entry ends there."

"A post-Civil War diary," Ray breathed, his eyes shining. "This whole time, the legendary book was a diary. Can you imagine what it says in there?"

"Hopefully, it says why the heck I have a ghost after me," Peter said.

"And why Erica is the only one who can read it," Dana added.

"And why it left these marks on my hands," Erica murmured.

"She mentioned the names Violet, Arthur, and Eugenia. Are any of those familiar to you?" Egon asked.

Peter stared at him, the look on his face one of complete incredulity. "Spengs, I told you, I don't know my family tree. Dad's name was Charles, mom's was Margaret, and they both died right before I went to college. Dad said the Venkman name went back a long way in carnivals but I never needed to know..." his voice trailed off. "Wait, did you say Independence Faire?"

"Yes, that's what it says," Erica answered. "Why?"

"The carnival I worked at...that's what it was called before my dad took over." Peter's eyes glazed as he worked through the memory. "I mean...I think that's what it was. He got a lot of heat for changing the name because most of the people that worked there had a grandmother or great-aunt or something in the original company, but after the war he figured the whole thing needed an update."

"What did he change the name to?" Dana asked.

"King City Attractions."

Dana's eyes widened. "That's the carnival that's in town."

Peter blinked. His expression didn't change but the blood drained from his face. Dana continued. "I mean, it's called Duke Brothers Carnival now. Egon and I spoke to a woman who worked there today. She said the carnival had been changing hands and names for years since its impresario died."

"Since my dad died," Peter elaborated in a thin voice.

"So the carnival in town is the one in the diary and the one Peter worked at while growing up," Egon concluded. "I hardly believe that is a coincidence."

"It can't be," Ray agreed. "I'll bet you lunch that the ghost is coming from the carnival somehow. We just need to know how it's getting around and what happened to it and why it wants Peter." He looked at Erica. "What's on the last page of the diary?"

Erica flipped the pages tenderly. "Well, there are a few pages missing, but the last thing I can see...the entry is dated 1866, 23 December. 'Levi is dead, and nothing I do will ever give him or me rest. So now I must take the only course of action left to me.' "

"That sounds ominous," Peter muttered.

"That sounds promising," Ray grinned.

Erica sighed. "Okay. Let me see what else I can find out."

**o0o**

The city bustled with activity as the sun went down and the sky darkened to night. The blinding lights blocked out any chance of stars becoming visible, though the moon did fight for its place on the skyline. The customers trickled out of Duke Brothers Carnival, exhausted but happy, their minds filled with nonsense music and their bellies filled with cotton candy and popcorn. The carnies locked up their wares, sealing them for the night, and retired to their various sleeping locations, anywhere from a nearby hotel to within their wagons themselves.

The newly-repaired fortune teller's wagon sat quietly just inside the entrance, prepared for its grand reopening tomorrow. It had been damaged on the long haul from the Corn Belt to New York City, and had spent a few days chugging along on the back of a truck to and from repair shops within the city. Now it was ready for the crowds, its bright gold letters promising fortune and glory, its faded red exterior and spoked wheels proclaiming its age. It was one of the only remaining wagons from the creation of the carnival, and it had seen many changes...and many horrors.

A wisp of smoke slipped out from the door, forming into the legless torso of a man dressed in the uniform of a Confederate soldier. The ghost turned in the direction of Central Park, its eyes focused and narrowed in hate. It had been angry before, but now it was livid. Twice it had tried to free itself from the horror of existing. Twice it had failed. It had one more idea on how to accomplish its goal.

"Only wanted t' kill you, Venkman," it hissed. "But now, no choice."