Special Thanks to LadyAkuma20 for her ever-helpful reviews! (And yes, that parrot tho...) TrivialQueen - welcome to the story and thank you SO much for your sweet and uplifting review! I had worried about explanatory dumps (I call it front-loaded exposition) and I have had a lot of help in that area (thank you Mary and LadyAkuma20!) And yes, I am considering a sequel to this story! ;)
Chapter X
The Interview
Muriel Crane clicked purposefully around the tiny, tiled kitchen of her ranch-style home, putting away the dishes from her early lunch, and preparing to set the kettle for tea. Her gleaming grey hair was wrapped up in a neat bun, and she had an apron tied onto her blue gingham dress. It was simple fact that you put an apron on when walking into a kitchen, because anything could spill at any time, and not all stains were removable. She liked her gingham dress and was looking forward to showing it off when her friends came over for grouper and cribbage later on that evening.
She opened the refrigerator to check on the defrosting grouper. She'd cleaned and deboned the fish to the best of her abilities after it had been caught, and put the fillets on ice for later. 'Later' was going to be around 7 p.m. tonight, and she had a full afternoon before then. Which meant the next half an hour was going to be her only remaining relax time. And that meant tea.
Lila, her tortoise-shell cat, meowed impatiently to be let in from the porch. Muriel exited the kitchen and headed into the sun room addition to her home. It was fairly new but impeccably beautiful; bright wooden walls, ivory carpet and davenport, a gas fireplace, and a lovely wooden dining table set. The fireplace mantle held several pictures, including a high school photo of Erica, and a tintype of a beautiful, elderly woman with bright eyes. She was dressed in long, flowing robes and looked world-weary. A little placard under the tintype read: "Gramma Violet Crane."
Muriel paused to turn on the television before heading over to open the door for Lila. The cat pranced in, tail high, and headed for her water bowl. Muriel turned back to the television.
A handsome man in a suit filled the screen, the curved white background behind him dancing with letters and planets. "Hello, everyone," he said, "and welcome back to World of the Psychic! I'm Doctor Peter Venkman and I want to let you all know that today's program is going to be a special one. I'm here with a colleague and friend, Miss Erica Crane, who is going to be asking for your help in solving a terrible ghost problem!"
What? Muriel's mouth dropped open as Venkman continued to talk. She slowly sank down into one of the chairs at the dining table. What pickle have you gotten yourself into now, Erica?
Venkman...(Muriel refused to call him 'Doctor.' . Ghostbuster or not, he was clearly a fraud when it came to psychic phenomenons)...was gesturing to the side now, and the camera moved to reveal Erica Crane stepping up onto the pale violet platform. She looked healthy and attractive in a dark green scoop-neck shirt and black leggings, though as the camera zoomed in on her face Muriel could see the panic in her eyes. What did you do, she thought viciously at Venkman, to make her appear on national television? Erica hadn't been able to do a book report in second grade without reading it from a piece of paper at her desk. Now she was on national television? This better not be the Ghostbuster she likes, because if he forced her onto national television...
"So, a little introduction." It was Venkman's voice but Erica's face on the screen. She was visibly pale but trying to buck up for the camera. She clearly didn't realize the camera was already on her. "Erica is an archivist at the Museum of Natural History. She's new to New York City from Eugene, Oregon. And a couple of weeks ago, she came into possession of an object..." Peter shifted his focus to Erica, "that you believe is responsible for some...spooky activity that's been going on in your life? Sure it's not an ex from Oregon?"
Erica laughed, an awkward and nervous-filled: "Ha!" followed by her covering her mouth with one hand and trying not to continue into hysterics. "Um...no. I mean yes. No it's..not an ex, yes I'm...sure...I..." She trailed off, uncertainty filling her eyes, and then coughed and reached for a small glass of water on the table next to her. She gulped down almost half of it before putting it down to continue. "I came across this little bookshop a couple of weeks ago. I can't explain why, but I felt like I had to go in. Like something was calling me, you know? And when I came out of the bookshop...I wasn't alone anymore."
The words chilled Muriel to the bone. Erica, what did you do? What did you...
"So you went into the bookshop and came out with...?" Venkman pressed expectantly.
Erica reached down next to her and brought up a small, leather-bound tome into the frame. The cover read: 'You have a job to do.'
Lila yowled. The teakettle whistled. But Muriel sat frozen, staring in horror at the screen.
**o0o**
Surreal.
Erica sat in an unattractive red chair that either forced her knees up way too high, or put a solid bar right where her rear rested. The floor under her was a pale purple, and so shiny that it practically reflected the ceiling of the studio. Over to her left was the back wall of the set, a curved piece of white material...could have been plastic, drywall, she had no idea...marked with silly colored balls and big white letters announcing 'WORLD OF THE PSYCHIC with Doctor Peter Venkman.' To her right sat a mess of cords, cameras, and people. Two cameras were trained on her and Peter and several huge overhead lights burned down on them both, raising the temperature to what felt like over a hundred degrees. One guy on a ladder held what looked like a huge lambswool duster over the two of them, shifting it in time with the questions and answers. A woman with a clipboard stood off to the side, directing everyone with silent movements. And beyond them, empty space and a hallway leading to the bright entryway of the studio.
There was no audience, no sensation of being watched by a million eyes. There was only her, Peter, and the camera, the window to the world. Erica knew intellectually that her face, with her too-thick eyebrows and pale, sweating skin, was on every television screen tuned to this channel in America. But it sure didn't feel like it. She felt like she was in a huge, overheated room with poor acoustics, chatting about her life story with Peter Venkman.
This was national television?
Surreal.
She and Peter had worked out the details of what they were going to say only a few moments before going on stage. He'd told her that he usually kept things pretty loose on the show, flowing from one question to the next, building off of the interviewee's answers. But they'd both agreed that sticking to the topic at hand would be the best and most efficient way to go. Erica needed to get as much information out as she deemed necessary, and so Peter was letting her do most of the talking. It didn't help with the nerves at all. In fact, she nearly cracked when Peter quipped about the 'haunting' she was 'experiencing' actually being caused by an ex. A good, solid gulp of water refocused her mind.
And then, she began to speak.
"I came across this little bookshop a couple of weeks ago. I can't explain why, but I felt like I had to go in. Like something was calling me, you know? And when I came out of the bookshop...I wasn't alone anymore." It wasn't completely a lie...just enough distortion to keep Peter and Ray out of the line of fire.
"So you went into the bookshop and came out with...?" Peter was cuing her. Erica didn't hesitate. She reached down and lifted the little leather-bound book, bringing it up so the camera...and the nation...could see it. She held her breath for a moment, convinced that the ghost was about to come tearing into the room and attack her and Peter both.
There was only silence.
Surreal.
Peter's chuckle echoed in the room. "A book? That seems a little anti-climactic. I mean, what else would you leave a bookshop with?"
Erica fixed her gaze on him. "A ghost? I mean, that's why I'm here. First it was the dreams. War. Cannon fire. Horses screaming and hooves pounding. I thought maybe I just had an overactive imagination. But then I started hearing sounds when I was awake. Hoofbeats and creaking sounds, like wagon wheels. In my apartment. At night, I can see candlelight flickering on my walls. I even drew all my curtains once and turned out all my lights and something...was still glowing." It took all of her effort not to cringe. It just sounded like she was reading a standard haunting list with nothing to really back it up. She was convinced everyone could tell she was lying. God, it's hot in here.
She opened the diary and Peter jumped a little, the look in his eyes one of fear. "Well," he said, his voice a little thinner than usual, "it sounds like something is happening in that apartment of yours. Have you called anyone for help?"
"I called the Ghostbusters, but...they haven't been able to trap it. They said there's something there but it seems to be...transient. And it keeps coming back!"
This was a huge risk for Peter and the Ghostbusters, admitting on national television that there was a ghost they couldn't trap immediately. Of course, Peter already had damage control planned...or at least he'd said he had damage control ideas. Erica dearly hoped she had not just destroyed the business.
Peter looked directly at the camera now. "That's right," he said, his voice steady and now all business. "The Ghostbusters need your help, America. This beautiful girl moved across the country to New York with the intention of helping make history, and history has come to haunt her instead. Help us help her." He looked back to Erica. "Tell us more about the book."
Here we go. Erica held it out, letting the camera get a good look. "There was something strange about it when I opened it. The words inside of it couldn't be read." She opened the book, revealing the chickenscratch on the pages.
Peter inspected it. His face was troubled when he looked up. "I can't read that."
"I know. I couldn't either. The only part I could read was the front." Erica flipped the book closed. "You have a job to do." She reopened it and held it out. The camera zoomed in, proving Erica's point of the unreadable text...or so she hoped. Peter leaned over and looked at it, then leaned back, shaking his head.
"So what's the job?" he asked.
Erica shook her head. "I don't know. That's why I'm here. After I read the phrase on the front, I could read the book. It's written by Violet Sharp, a fortune teller in the late 1800s. She traveled with a carnival called Independence Faire. Most of her entries are about life on the road and the various people she meets. The names that keep appearing are Hugh and Eugenia Carlisle and Levi Spencer." She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "I started having the dreams the same night I started reading the book. The next night was when the noises started. I...I feel like the book is trying to tell me something. It came into my life and gave me a job. But...I can't do it!" She revealed the torn-out pages. "It's not a complete book. And there isn't enough revealed in the pages to tell me what to do. I think the rest of it is in the missing pages, but I have no idea where they are!" Her voice shook and tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she drew on her emotions from the past week. She'd been up for days trying to decipher Violet's writings. And she'd watched Peter spiral down into a sleep-deprived panic attack. "And worst of all, the last words I can read clearly tell me Levi is dead. Levi Spencer was killed or murdered or died in some way that I don't know about, and I think I need to know because I think he came to me." He had come – not to her, but to Peter, and none of them were any closer to a solution other than having the ghost show up and scream the answers at them. Which Ray had said he'd probably do...right before he killed Peter.
"Before the ghost attacked me, he said he owed my family. He said I killed him and that he owed my family."
Her speech had given Peter time to recover. "Hold on, you said you think Levi came to you?"
Erica bought some time by draining the glass of water next to her. As she set the glass down, she fought to remember what Peter had told her. "Yes. Two nights ago and last night. He's young. Handsome. He was wearing a uniform that looked like it was from the Civil War. But that's where the beauty ended. He started accusing me of..." Her throat closed in horror, thinking about what Peter must have felt as he stared at the ghost in his apartment.
Oh God, Peter, what if this doesn't work?
"Of what?" Peter asked. His eyes scanned hers, worriedly. "He accused you of what?"
She knew he could see her losing her grip. She forced one foot onto the other and stepped on herself, trying to use the pain to keep herself focused for just a few more seconds. "Of killing him," she choked out. "But I swear I didn't. I couldn't have. I mean, he's in a Civil War uniform! That was like a hundred and twenty-four years ago at least! And if I had family involved or something, they're long dead. There's nothing he can do to them and they can't apologize!" The tears brimming in her eyes worked free, sliding down her cheeks. She stared at Peter through blurring vision as the panic began to overwhelm her. "Why would he be coming after me? I didn't do anything to him! All I did was read the cover of the stupid book!"
"Of course you didn't do anything to him." Peter's voice was soothing, but his gaze was far away. She'd gotten to him. "But he thinks you did. He thinks you did and that you should pay for it." He looked up at the camera. "This is something completely new. We've never seen this before. We're asking for your help. This ghost has evaded the traps of the Ghostbusters. If you can help us catch it, you'll not only have saved this young woman, but you'll have all visitations from the Ghostbusters in future for free. Violet Sharp. Levi Spencer. A diary from the late 1800s. Help us help her. Call 555-0126. We'll be right back."
"And we're out." A lady with a clipboard trotted over, making eye contact with Erica. "Sure you can do this?"
Erica was shaking all over now, half in hysterics from the fear she'd worked up, half unable to believe that the hard part was still to come. Somewhere in the studio, the lines were ringing. People were answering the phones and listening to what the callers had to say. Some of them would be cranks, just trying to get a moment of fame or cash in on Peter's unbelievable offer. But hopefully...some of them would be serious. Some might even have answers.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice shaking as bad as her hands. "I know...I know I don't look fine but I promise, I'm fine. Can we get a fan in here or something, though?"
"She's a little champ, Loreen," Peter said.
The woman gave him a shocked look and then yelled: "Mike! Get Nona over here!"
Peter stood up. "I'll be right back. Take a little walk yourself. These lights are brutal." He headed for the hallway, leaving Erica alone on set.
Well, relatively alone. The little place had become a blur of activity. Cameras were being shifted and moved, lights adjusted, the boom mike floating from one side of the room to the other. People darted this way and that, seemingly coming out of the woodwork as they readied the room for the next part of the show. Erica did as Peter suggested, sliding off of the chair and stumbling to the side, trying to stay out of the way without tripping on the myriad of cords on the floor. Once she was out of the line of fire of the lights, she felt the temperature considerably drop. Are all sets like this? Or is it just uncomfortably hot to make his guests off-balance?
A lady with kind eyes and puffy hair materialized next to Erica, dabbing at her face with a tissue. Erica had a feeling this was the aforementioned Nona, and muttered: "Sorry."
"For what?" Nona's kind eyes didn't quite translate to her quick and professional voice.
"Oh, um...just..."
"Sweating?" Nona looked at her with an 'are you kidding' expression. After a moment of staring, her face began to soften a little. "Scared?"
Erica nodded. "Oh, but not...because of this. I mean...because of this but not because of...I'm scared of the ghost."
Nona nodded. "You don't gotta keep up the act off-camera."
Erica stared. "I'm not. I'm really not. Peter...I'm telling the truth. I know Peter's bag is debunking people but..."
"Well, he didn't attack you," Nona agreed, going in to dab near her eye. "And he let you talk. That's the longest he's ever let someone go on without stopping them. He must like you." She leaned back, eyeing Erica's skin. "You're lucky."
She didn't believe her. The kindness in her eyes had reached her voice now, and there was a tinge of uncertainty in it. But this woman was too cool, too used to her job, to notice that someone different was sitting in the seat. Someone who was telling the truth was sitting in the seat. Erica longed, for a moment, for a little of the magic to happen. She'd seen it several times in the previous couple of weeks. Someone...Ray, Winston, Dana...had echoed her very thoughts out loud the moment after she'd thought them. And her intuitions, the ones that told her how someone felt, had been spot on. She'd felt Violet's pain and panic as she read the book, identifying so strongly with the woman and her intuitions. She wished now that she could convince Nona she wasn't just another target. If she could convince Nona, maybe someone else out there would believe them and call in.
"Need a tissue?" Nona's voice caught her attention. Erica realized she'd been staring at her hard enough to burn a hole in her skull, and her eyes were now watering and starting to spill over. The woman now looked vaguely uncomfortable.
"N-no," she stuttered. "I just wish I could convince you I'm not lying. If I can't convince you, how can I convince anyone to believe...or to help me?"
Nona looked at her for a long moment. But before she could say anything, Peter came bouncing back in. Nona immediately turned and walked away, and Peter reached over and touched Erica's hand. She immediately looked at him, noticing water droplets caught in his hair and a tired, stressed droop to his mouth. He's having as much trouble...probably more trouble...as I am. She turned her hand in his and squeezed.
"Thirty seconds to air!" Loreen yelled.
"How're ya holding up?" Peter asked her softly.
"Forget me," she replied. "How about you?"
"You know me," he grinned. But the grin was forced, the lie behind it all too clear.
"Ten seconds!"
"We'll get our answers," she whispered. "This will work, Peter. It will."
The lights came up, the temperature leaping, and Erica pinned her lips shut. The cameraman signaled the last two seconds and then the music swelled. At the last second, Erica realized she had forgotten to let someone know her water glass was empty. Oh no!
"Welcome back to World of the Psychic!" Peter beamed at the camera. "I'm Doctor Peter Venkman, sitting here with my fine colleague, Miss Erica Crane. A few minutes ago, she told us the story of a haunting in her own home and I...on behalf of the Ghostbusters...asked America for help in identifying the ghost causing all the trouble. The phone lines are open, 555-0126. Please give us a call!"
Silence.
Erica's heart dropped into her shoes. She shifted her weight, and looked longingly at her water glass. To her shock, it was full. Did I...? No, someone must have refilled it. In great relief, she grabbed it and took a gulp.
The sound of a ringing phone cut through the air. Erica jumped and looked up reflexively, seeing the huge speakers set into the ceiling of the room. There's a caller. Someone...is calling?!
The line picked up and a horrendous squeal tore through the room. Erica yelped, slapping her hands over her ears, cringing away from the noise. Her adrenaline pounded through her veins as her mind began to shoot into order. Fight or flight. The ghost was here. It was screaming. Its voice was distorted and enraged and cutting past her fingers into her ears. Across from her Peter was waving his arms, screaming something. Was he in pain? Was it attacking him? She had to stop it!
"...off, shut it off, shut it...!" The sound stopped suddenly, Peter's voice filling the air and echoing off of the walls. He stopped, staring in surprise for a moment, then said: "Due to technical difficulties and the warning of the surgeon general, we had to cut off that call. We invite the caller to call back. Your call will be pushed to the front of the line."
Back to silence. Erica, her ears still ringing from the sound, tried to push her shaking hands into her lap. It must have been some kind of feedback. She hoped they'd figure it out before the next call came. Assuming one did.
The phone rang again, and Peter gave a nod. The phone cycled through two more rings before it picked up, and a high, somewhat whiny voice echoed into the room. "Hello? Hello?"
"Hello!" Peter said, trying to keep his tone jovial. "I'm Doctor Peter Venkman and you're on the air!"
"Cool! I don't get to be on the air as much as you guys so, so this is a new experience!"
Erica didn't recognize the voice, but Peter suddenly sat back in his chair. His eyes narrowed slightly, and sparkled. He knew the caller, clearly, and wasn't eager to reveal the fact. What's he going to do?
"So, what information do you have that could help Miss Crane here?"
"W-Well, well, I've only been a Ghostbuster for a couple of months, you know, and I'm really more of a backup since I'm a tax lawyer, and I got a lot of big cases going on now. But I was thinking that the ghost sounded a lot like one of the ones we caught that time in the courtroom. You remember?"
"No. Tell me about it." The glint in Peter's eyes was growing, as was Erica's glee. She remembered when they met outside the subway, his exaggerated bow at the man he'd almost knocked over. It was wonderful to see a little playfulness from him after the past week...even if it was at someone's expense and during what should have been a serious segment of the show. Barely hiding her smile, Erica looked over in time to see Loreen rolling her eyes. Oh...maybe this isn't such a good idea...
"Well it was that time that you guys made that big hole in First Avenue and the judge got really mad and started yelling and then he made all that slime blow up and there were those two ghosts. The ones that you caught that made you get the misstrangement order taken away. The criminals."
"So you're saying it sounds like the ghost in Miss Crane's apartment is a criminal."
"No, no, not really, I just thought it sounded like the ones in the courtroom, you know, maybe she read the book and the ghost in the book got mad because she disturbed it and now it's haunting her. Maybe she can throw the book into the trap and that'll make it go away."
It was a valid thought...if it had been proven that the book was the source of the ghost. Erica kicked herself mentally for not bringing that up, but at the same time she knew she couldn't have said everything. Too much information would overwhelm people, confuse them. Still, she leaned forward, trying to interject into the conversation, bring it back around to the point. "Thanks for the thought, Mr..."
"Oh, m-my name's Louis. Louis Tully. And if you ever need your taxes done, I'm at Madison and 58th. It's a very beautiful corner, architecturally speaking, and there's a barber shop nearby because I think your hair could use a trim. It's very pretty but your face would look better if..."
Louis's voice suddenly cut off and Peter spoke up again. "You look beautiful as you are, Miss Crane. Haunted apartment and all."
Erica couldn't help but giggle a little. Peter's eyes sparkled, and the phone rang again.
"Hello! I'm Doctor Peter Venkman, and you're on the air!"
"Hello?"
The familiar, sand-papery voice cut the relaxing atmosphere and widened Erica's eyes. Her gaze flew to Peter. "Hello there!" he said, his voice still tinged with laughter. "Who's this?"
"This is Muriel Crane."
Muriel? Erica thought. Muriel? What's she calling for?
"I'm calling for you, Erica."
Erica blinked. Had Muriel heard her?
"Of course I can hear you," Muriel chuckled. "And I must say, it's awfully brave of you to put yourself on national television to get help with your problem. But you should have come to me first!"
Erica's mind was reeling. Only a few moments before, she'd been wishing people could hear her thoughts and remembering that it seemed like people had at times. But to have Muriel respond to her twice in a row had completely distracted her from everything that was going on. She knew Peter was speaking, his eyes darting around from the camera to her to various locations in the room as he had a conversation with a disembodied voice, but she couldn't understand a word he was saying. There was a ringing in her ears and her brain felt like someone was sitting on it, squishing it. The heat from the lights wrapped around her in a suffocating cocoon. She didn't have room to think, much less breathe.
"Erica? Erica, honey, are you all right?"
"Miss Crane?"
Muriel and Peter were both speaking now...to her. Erica blinked and looked up, not realizing she'd been staring at the book the whole time. Her face flushed a deep red. "Y-yes? Yes...what?"
"Erica, what did you do?" Muriel's voice was worried, thin. The earlier levity of her greeting had faded. "Hold up the book. I want to see it."
Erica held the book up, its front cover plain to see.
"You have a job to do," Muriel murmured over the line, evidently inspecting the cover. Another moment, then: "Where did you get that book?"
"An occult bookshop here in the city."
"And you've been having dreams...?"
"And paranormal occurrences," Peter chimed in.
"Wait your turn, Mr. Venkman," Muriel said. "Erica's the one with the problem."
Peter grinned slightly and sat back in his chair.
"Yes," Erica answered, "...and p-paranormal occurrences. And a ghost. I think he was a soldier." She had locked her eyes on Peter, but now she managed to wrench them free. She found herself staring into the camera, imagining Muriel on the other side of it. They were in the sun room on Muriel's ranch, sipping coffee, the smell of incense filling the air and mixing with the dying scents of breakfast, the sunlight glinting off of the pictures on the mantle above the fireplace.
"Levi Spencer."
The name fell heavily through the air, shattering the illusion. Erica blinked, and saw Loreen waving her hand. She was pointing at Peter, mouthing "Look at him! Look at him!" She did so.
"You saw Levi?" Muriel was saying. Even though the phone, Erica could hear the tone in her voice. It was one of wonder. Surprise. Not curiosity. Not repeating information. It was one of familiarity.
Reality hit her like a ton of bricks. The next question came so fast Erica tripped over the words. "Did him kn...did...did you...know him?"
"No," Muriel said, "but I knew Gramma Violet. And she knew Levi Spencer. I must say, this is extraordinary. I never thought I would ever know who he was, but now...you have Violet's diary, and Levi is mentioned in it?"
Erica was still back on the first sentence. Gramma Violet? Her thoughts were on fire, blazing through every memory she had, trying to recall a time when she had heard the names 'Violet' or 'Levi' come out of anyone's mouth. We'd suspected I had a connection to the book, but...family? If Violet was Muriel's grandmother, she was Erica's great-great-grandmother, which certainly put that mystery to rest. But what about the elusive Levi? Who was Levi Spencer?
"Who was Levi Spencer?" Peter asked. "And why are you so intrigued by him?"
Muriel was silent on the line long enough that Erica's heart began to race. "Muriel?" she asked worriedly. "Are you still there?"
"I am," Muriel said, her voice trembling with an emotion Erica couldn't quite name. Was she happy? Sad? Scared?
"Who was Levi Spencer?" Peter pushed.
"I don't know, Mr. Venkman!" Muriel snapped. "Gramma Violet mentioned him from time to time. She was always upset, always begging forgiveness from him and Hugh. But I could never get her to tell me why she wanted that forgiveness. There was never any doubt in my mind that something terrible passed between them, something Violet felt responsible for, and she couldn't ever let go of it. His name was the last word she ever said. I never knew what happened, only that he haunted her until she died."
Haunted her. Erica and Peter exchanged looks at the word usage. Erica opened the diary. "Muriel...the last two sentences in this diary that I can read say: " '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.' " But the entry is in 1866...years before she died. The pages are ripped out after that. Do you...have any idea where the pages are?"
Muriel didn't say anything for a long moment, though an impatient meow over the line revealed they were still connected. When she did speak again, her voice was thin and tired. "You've stumbled upon the most frustrating mystery of my life and somehow, you've awoken something that ought not be awake. Based on what you've told me, I don't doubt for one second that Levi Spencer is your ghost. I only wish I knew more about him so I could help you. As to the pages...I can only guess."
"What's your guess?" Something was better than nothing. The ghost had called Peter by name. Had threatened Peter by name. Even if Violet had a violent past with Levi, the ghost was still attacking Peter. There was still something missing, and the answer had to be in the missing pages.
"Violet died outside the fortune teller's wagon of Independence Faire somewhere in Missouri." Muriel's voice was halting, likely uncomfortable revealing this information on national television. Funny...Erica had completely forgotten about the camera, about the heat, about the fact that everyone was watching her. It felt unimportant now. There were clues...actual clues. They had an ally.
"If you know where that wagon is," Muriel continued, "or even if it exists, I guess you could start there."
"I do."
The words came from Peter, and Erica knew the camera would be looking at him now. She almost wished it wasn't. The look on his face was one she had never seen before and hoped she would never, ever see again. It was the private look of a man putting the puzzle pieces together, only for them to show him a dreadful, horrific image. Don't say it, she thought desperately. Don't say it on national television. She tried to look over at the cameraman, trying to figure out a way to signal him to go to commercial, or cut them off somehow. To her relief, she saw Loreen waving her hand. While she wasn't familiar with entertainment shorthand, she had a feeling the frantic circular motion meant either 'hurry up' or 'wrap it up'. Either way, this was almost over.
"Muriel, you said Violet was begging for forgiveness from Hugh Carlisle," she burst out, trying to get one more piece of information. "Do you know anything about him?"
"Oh, Violet was obsessively protective of the Carlisles. Aside from my grandfather Edward, Hugh and Eugenia were her only close friends and she kept in touch with them and their children and grandchildren for as long as she could. She lost touch with them when Hugh's grandson changed his last name. It drove her into a panic. She died shortly after."
"Changed his name?"
"To Venkman." Muriel's voice was simultaneously accusatory and smug. "I helped Violet search for James for the last year or so of her life. I only found him after she died. He'd changed his name to 'Venkman'. So now it's more than possible, Mr. Venkman, that Hugh is as much your ancestor as Violet is Erica's. Perhaps you should search your own family tree to try and help her."
"Perhaps I should," Peter said, his voice thoughtful and far away. "Thank you very much for your call, Mrs. Crane. And thank you for the help you've given us."
"Erica, you take care of yourself," Muriel said. "I know you'll find the answers. And you're welcome, Mr. Venkman."
The line went dead. The odd buzzing sound of a volume turned up way too high faded away. The large room was silent, the air heavy. The music for the exit of the show was playing but Peter was staring, frozen, into the camera. Erica gave him a count of three before she stood up. "Thank you for your time, Doctor Venkman," she said, as clearly as she could. She was horrified to find her voice shaking.
But it worked. Peter jerked, darting to his feet, and shook her hand. "I think we have some answers now, Erica. We are gonna get this taken care of." Still holding her hand, he turned his head to look at the camera again. "I'm Peter Venkman. Thank you for tuning into this episode of World of the Psychic. And don't forget..." He pressed a finger to the side of his head, trying to smirk into the camera, but Erica could see the smirk didn't reach his eyes. It was his traditional signoff – but he was not there as he gave it.
"We're out," Loreen said.