This chapter is a little longer than the others because I just didn't want to break up the final showdown into two chapters!
Chapter XI
The Wagon and the Dagger
"The wagon."
Peter Venkman paced relentlessly around the first floor of the Firehouse. Adrenaline pumped through his body, causing his nervous system to sing in his ears, drowning out most other noises. His eyes darted everywhere at once, but he saw nothing in front of it. Nothing, that is, except for a boxy, faded, red wagon, spoked wheels glinting gold in the sun, purple curtains fluttering, revealing glimpses of the word 'FORTUNE TELLER'. He could see it now, clear as day, driving past Ray's Occult Books, just moments before he'd seen Janine in the window. He could see it then, too...flashes of it from his dreams, just sitting there quietly as the world raged around it. And farther back, in the past. When he'd been younger. Moments of it around the corner as he walked by it on his way to the next booth, the next job. It had been right there the whole time.
How did I miss it? How?
The Ghostbusters, Dana, Oscar, Erica, and Janine, were all scattered about the room. No one had said a word from the moment Peter and Erica emerged from the studio to the moment they hit the Firehouse. Now, Ray was on the phone, deep in discussion with either R or M Duke, impressing upon them the need for a small inspection of their fortune teller's wagon. Peter had broken the silence, unable in some ways to handle it any longer, and purely livid at not seeing the clues beforehand.
"The wagon," he repeated.
"I never saw it," Janine said. "Neither did Doctor Stantz."
"But it was outside of our apartment when Peter was attacked," Dana chimed in. "I remember seeing it in traffic as I got out of the car."
"Red, with swirling designs," Egon described.
"Gold wheels," Winston agreed.
"And there was a sign at the carnival: "Fortune Teller Coming Soon."," Erica finished. "The wagon must have needed repair or something when it reached New York. If it was on a truck being driven around the city, all it would have needed to do was drive by the apartment and Ray's bookshop."
"The two places aren't even close to each other!" Winston argued.
"Why it was at both places is irrelevant," Egon said. "What is significant is that fact that it is the only other link between the bookshop and the apartment. We need to investigate. Without Peter."
Peter spun around. "Excuse me?"
"If the wagon is the anchor for the ghost..."
"...then we go in there and blast him!" Peter strode across the room, glaring at Egon. "Why are we even discussing this? I'm not going to spend another night watching everyone die because we figured out where the ghost is and we didn't bust it!"
"But we don't know," Erica spoke up. "Look, yes, the wagon being at both attack sites is pretty much the certainty you need. But you still don't know how to kill the ghost. You said it ignored the trap at the bookshop. Do you really want to take the chance of opening up your proton packs and traps on a ghost that can't be caught that way? We're not going in to bust Levi. We're going in looking for clues on what happened."
"We've been doing nothing but research all week!" Peter snapped. "The carnival packs up and leaves Sunday morning. We have today and tomorrow to figure this out."
"Then give us today and most of tomorrow," Erica countered. "Tomorrow night, if we don't have the answers, you go all out on the carnival. Levi's not going to leave New York without at least knowing we're on to him."
Peter pursed his lips and resumed pacing. "I shouldn't have let you on national television. It's made you stubborn."
Erica smiled. "Spending time with you has made me stubborn, Peter. I think you are the dictionary definition of the word."
"All right," Ray said, clicking the phone into the receiver. "They've cleared two of us to inspect the fortune teller's wagon tomorrow between noon and one o'clock."
"That's...precise," Peter grumbled.
"That's when the fortune teller is on break." Ray rubbed the back of his neck. "I've never heard of R or M Duke but they don't sound or act like they're from New York. Much, much too formal. And dismissive. I don't think they're taking us seriously. No proton packs, traps, or uniforms either."
"Well, no one takes us seriously until the ghosts show up," Peter muttered. Then: "Wait, no traps or proton packs?"
"The Dukes think that seeing a Ghostbuster at the carnival might frighten the children," Ray shrugged.
"New Yorkers are more than accustomed to seeing us," Egon said, surprisingly taking offense with the Dukes' restrictions. "Children have a higher tolerance for the paranormal than adults."
"Maybe it's the Dukes who are afraid," Erica mused.
Peter felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked to see Dana. Her face was concerned, but her eyes were warm and gentle and strong as always. She gave him a little push and he reluctantly followed, letting her sit him down on the couch beside Oscar. Oscar immediately crawled into his lap and got comfortable, looking wide-eyed at the gathered group.
Erica stood up and stretched before looking at Egon. "It's you and me heading down there tomorrow, right?"
"I'm driving," Winston said. "In case you need backup, or someone to go get help."
"The rest of us will stay here," Ray affirmed. "I'll have a proton pack and a trap nearby in case we're all completely wrong in this situation. Until then, I guess we all better get some sleep. This one's gonna be tough."
Everyone looked at each other for a few moments before Peter clapped his hands. "Well. I love it when a plan comes together."
**o0o**
At Dana's request, Ray carpooled her, Peter, Oscar, Erica, and himself back to the apartment on E 77th. Peter didn't say a word the whole way. Erica stared out of the window for most of the ride, the tension in the car giving her a powerful headache. It thankfully began to ease off once Peter, Oscar, and Dana got into their apartment, though as the door closed she found herself rooted to the spot, unable or unwilling to move the few steps to her apartment. She would sit outside their door like a guard dog all night if she had to, headache or not.
"Come on, Erica," Ray's voice was soft, and his hand took a gentle hold of hers. "They're going to be okay here." He tugged on her. "You need sleep."
It took most of Erica's strength to turn away and follow Ray to her door. "I think we have it right," she said. "Levi is at the wagon. Egon said he was getting readings from all over the carnival. That means if the ghost's radius was at least the size of the carnival, slow-moving traffic would definitely give enough time for a prolonged attack."
She paused outside her door and looked Ray in the eye. "Are we sure we can't just go to the carnival right now and have a look? I mean, you guys are Ghostbusters. Don't you have some kind of city pull?"
Ray chuckled. "Peter had it right. National television's had an effect on you." He leaned against the wall. "We could have gone in in full uniform, but we weren't called or invited, and if we get attacked and destroy parts of the carnival and the owners told us not to come...it could be bad. And we could go incognito, but if something happened we wouldn't have the tools to protect ourselves. Much as I hate to admit it, we had to play by the rules on this one."
Erica sighed and nodded. "I just..." She looked back at Peter's door. "I just want him to be safe. Dana's my best friend, and he's her family. You all are. I know busting ghosts is what you do but this one is so personal."
Ray nodded. "This is definitely the meanest one we've ever seen. But like Egie said, it was only a matter of time before we started getting some of the more intense ghosts. New York nuisances are easy to clean up, but the world of the paranormal isn't a gentle one."
Erica felt a twinge of fear in her stomach, and the impulse to ask Ray to come in and stay with her almost reached her lips. The subtext of what that could mean pounded through her head and she felt a blush climbing up her neck and into her face. She suddenly couldn't just open her door and walk in, so she quickly stepped up and embraced him, squeezing him so tightly he coughed. His arms tightened around her, no words coming from his mouth. Erica held on for a moment, reveling in a dream of hers coming true. His body was solid and strong, just like she'd thought, and warm sensations of safety slid through her. We are going to make it through this, she thought.
"We are going to make it through this," Ray murmured. "By this time tomorrow, Erica, we'll have our answers."
Erica nodded against his shoulder and released him slowly, stepping back. She unlocked her door, opening it slowly. She didn't open it all the way, strangely shy about letting him see her apartment, and looked back at him. "Good night, Raymond," she said, trying out his full name. It felt possessive and wonderful and beautiful all at once.
Ray reached out for her suddenly, catching her arm. Her eyes flicked to his face and froze. Her heart rate skyrocketed as she read the look in his eyes, the look that traveled slowly across his face and down his body. She didn't resist at all as he gently pulled her back to him, and it was only natural that her face tilted up and her mouth met his as it fell towards hers.
She'd thought for sure that this moment would destroy her, would overwrite everything in an explosion of white noise and sensory overload. But instead it felt like everything inside her was waking up and focusing down on one simple thought. I don't want this to end. Don't let it end now. Not now. She freed her arm from his grasp and wrapped herself around him in an embrace. And Ray, childlike, bubbly Ray, let his hand slide softly down her body to anchor around the small of her back, holding her firmly against him. Closer. Closer. His lips caught hers over and over, as though he was experimenting with what positions they could be in, with how much pressure they could take, with how much he could make her try to pull him even closer just by teasing contact.
Somehow she wound up gripping his hair and he shivered against her. The sound that came out of his mouth was a simultaneous moan and giggle. "Ow! Hey!"
Erica pulled back, her eyes wide, her head spinning. She gasped, not realizing she had been holding her breath, and stuttered. "I...I...I'm..."
Ray immediately put his fingers on her mouth. "If the next word out of your mouth is 'sorry', I'm going to forbid you from speaking for a week. Which isn't going to help us out at all tomorrow."
Erica worked the words around his fingers. "I'm...um...thinking...that...I've...wanted to do that since I saw you on TV six months ago." It wasn't a secret and she cringed inside at the words. Every teen movie has that line. Nice move, McFly.
Ray chuckled. "I'm thinking that I should wear a hat next time we do that."
"I'll just pull it off," Erica shot back, and then her mouth dropped open. Did I just...?
Ray laughed out loud and pulled her to him again, this time in a bear hug. He lifted her off of the ground, bringing an uncharacteristic squeal from her lips, and she dissolved into giggles. "Ray! Someone might have heard that!"
"Yeah," Ray agreed. "Who cares?"
Erica couldn't stop her smile and he leaned in to kiss her again. This time, white noise did intrude on her mind, but it was a quiet white noise, one made of pleasure and security. When he pulled away this time, she wasn't able to speak above a whisper. "You still want to...go out, right? When this is over?"
Ray's eyebrows drew together. "Yeah. Don't you?"
"Yes." She'd said something wrong. "Yes, of course, I just..."
"You thought that just because I kissed you, that was it?" Ray shook his head. "No. That's not it. Not by a long shot. I have a lot of plans for you and me and a kiss is just the start of them."
Erica felt a thrill of excitement shoot through her and she smiled. "Oh...okay. Groovy."
"My first plan," Ray continued, "is for you and me to get a lot of rest tonight so we can save Peter's life tomorrow. After that, I'll get more creative."
Erica laughed and let go of him. "I can go along with that."
Ray winked at her. "Good night, Erica."
"Good night."
**o0o**
The phone rang early in the morning, shredding the silence in the Firehouse. Janine wasn't in. She was at her place, holding Egon in her arms. Ray was up, but he was getting an early morning coffee before heading to his shop to check on repairs. The parrot was awoken by the ringing, and he wasn't pleased at all. Screeching in rage, he opened his cage and flew over, knocking the handset off of the receiver. "Ghostbusters!" he said in his best imitation of Janine. "Whaddaya want?"
A voice, recognizable by its scratchiness, filled the air.
"I heard you, Mr. Venkman," Muriel said. "I heard you say you knew where the wagon was. I'm in Chicago on a layover. I'm boarding a flight to New York right now. Don't do anything until I get there. If you do, he'll kill you. Do you understand me? Levi will kill you." A final boarding call sounded behind her. "Don't look for the wagon."
The line disconnected.
The parrot hopped around the desk, inspecting the handset, not quite sure how to put it back. Finally, he just returned to his cage, taking care to close the door. The humans were getting creative in keeping him locked up and he didn't want them to know he'd solved their latest trap. He began to eat breakfast nonchalantly.
When Janine walked in, she gave the uncradled phone a glare. "Again? I swear, if there's a ghost in here..." She slammed the phone down on the receiver with a sigh.
**o0o**
The first time Erica had come to Duke Brothers Carnival, the gathering of tents had been a bright and joyous creation, sitting on the banks of the sparkling East River under the warm sunlight. A week later, she stood at the entrance now, the noonday sun beating down on her and her heart pounding in her ears, having a truly difficult time stepping up to the booth and asking to be let in with permission of R and M Duke. The rollicking music turned her stomach, the pops of the balloons echoed like gunshots, and the ecstatic screaming of the kids had notes of terror and abandon to them.
She cast a desperate look to Egon, whose brow furrowed as he stared back. "What's wrong?"
Erica struggled to voice her discomfort. "It's just...wrong. The place is wrong."
Egon sighed and slipped his PKE meter into his pocket. To Erica's surprise, he reached over and put a hand on her shoulder, locking his eyes onto her own. She wobbled a little under the intensity of his gaze. There was something comforting about it, and something...otherwordly. Not for the first time, she was taken aback by him. You're so different than everyone else.
She finally realized he was talking. "...the past week. The carnival is no more or less wrong than it was the last time you were here. Your perception is what has changed, not the carnival."
And of course, he was right. She swallowed and nodded. "Thank you."
Egon let go, his face softening a little. "Don't be afraid, Erica. We may be on the front lines of something very dangerous, but I trust Raymond and Venkman. And Winston." He nodded to the booth. "Are you going to announce our presence here?"
Erica looked over at the booth again. Compared to what was possibly in the carnival, talking to the carny letting everyone in seemed like child's play. Surprised to find her confidence surging, she walked over. "Good evening. I'm Erica Crane and this is Doctor Egon Spengler. We've been given permission by Mr. R and M Duke to enter the carnival."
The carny blinked and picked up a walkie. She toggled it and spoke: "Mr. Duke? I have a Miss Erica Crane and Doctor Egon Spengler at the entrance. They say they're expected?"
A jovial, grandfatherly voice came back over the walkie. "Yes, let them in." The transmission was garbled for a moment, and then suddenly the voice spoke again, sounding a little rushed: "Have they been made aware of the rules?"
"Very aware," Erica said immediately.
"Then you may enter."
Oh. The carny had been holding down the talk button. Erica hadn't anticipated speaking to one of the Dukes directly. She tried to shake off the sudden tension that seized her body, and she and Egon walked in.
The first time they had been here, the space for the fortune teller's wagon had been just inside the door. Now it was back near the magician's tent and sandbox. Erica swallowed anxiously as they entered the area. Something is wrong. The magician's tent was still empty. Only a couple of children played in the sandbox. This corner of the carnival was just as quiet as it had been a week ago. That can't be a coincidence. But why would it be set up if it wasn't used or if it was dangerous? She glanced over at Egon, who looked at her when he detected her motion. There were plenty of questions in his eyes as well.
A uniformed guard stood outside the fortune teller's wagon. Erica didn't question what he was doing there and in fact was thankful to see him. She walked up and gave him a smile. "Erica Crane. Doctor Egon Spengler. We're here on permission from R and M Duke."
"I know," the guard said. "Go on."
Erica turned her attention to the wagon, her eyes taking in the Bohemian swirls and red and purple coloring of the exterior. The purple curtains hanging over the windows were bleached from the sunlight, but the letters that said 'FORTUNE TELLER' glittered as bright as ever. The door in the side of the wagon was open, revealing a dark and intricate interior.
Erica climbed the steps slowly, a feeling of reverence stealing over her. This was Violet Sharp's wagon. She looked behind her, down at the ground, believing for a moment that she could see the figure of her great-great-grandmother laying there, her hand outstretched to the door.
"Levi," Violet whispered, and closed her eyes.
Erica turned away and walked in, the wagon creaking thematically as it took her weight.
The dark, close interior of the wagon accentuated its very nature. Incense soaked the air, making her dizzy. The dim light of oil lamps fought with the sunbeams pouring in through the open door. Curtains of various thin fabrics covered the walls, busily patterned designs dancing over them. Statues of religious figures and pagan symbols lay scattered about. A small table adorned with a thin, blue cloth showcased a crystal ball. Two chairs sat around the table. Nearby, a small counter held scatterings of tea leaves, bones, cards, and other trappings. Pieces of fabric barely hid the cupboard doors under the counter. Erica's eyebrows climbed and her stomach turned as she recognized hints of voodooism and witchcraft. The question was, was this the current fortune teller's own personal style, or remnants from Violet's life? How much of this wagon still belonged to Violet Sharp?
She pushed aside a thin, nylon curtain, and was stunned to see a whole other section of the wagon, including tools, a stove, a cupboard stuffed with linens and cooking pots, and a bed. Well if this was a person's whole life, they would have needed things like a cooking pot, a place to sleep, an extra...wagon wheel. There was one just poking out from under the bed. This is historically fascinating! Her mind began to slip sideways from their mission, cataloging the items she saw and painting a picture of the time and place of origin for the wagon.
"There's definitely something here."
Erica jumped, spinning around with a gasp. She had neither heard Egon come in, nor had she heard him activate the PKE meter, which was all but screaming with readings. His voice had been quiet, too, but enough to startle her. She stared at the little machine in his hands, trying to figure out how to read it, and realized that all she probably needed to know was that if the needle was in the red, it was bad. Or...active. Or...there was something there, like he'd said. Why didn't I learn how to read one of these things before coming here? Stupid!
"Can you tell what?" she whispered, looking back towards the bed. "Or maybe...where?"
"I'm here."
Erica had enough time to think what? before something hit her head. Her vision swam into nothing as she fell forward onto the bed.
**o0o**
He didn't quite know what to do next.
Levi Spencer had spent years learning how to possess people and get it right. It was a complicated thing for a ghost. The first few times he'd tried it, the body had simply evacuated itself as the brain that controlled it ceased to function. The mess...and the smell...had been just embarrassing. He'd started to learn that it was better to ease into the motor functions than go straight for the brain, grab control of the body before attacking the mind. Even that was difficult to achieve, because if he didn't get the correct control in time, the body fell to the ground and injured itself, and he was already weakened. He'd taken his time with the process, wanting to get it perfect for the ultimate possession.
Peter Venkman.
Even the name filled him with such blind hate that his hand contracted into a fist. The little machine in it cracked and broke under the new strength, and a growl eased out of his throat. He dropped the machine and whirled around, ready to stomp out of the wagon and head straight for the building at 110 North Moore Street. He could feel Venkman's presence there.
The girl.
He hadn't even quite realized he'd successfully possessed the tall man who had come in. Now, as the man's thoughts and memories filled his own mind, he paused and took a deep breath. It was time for strategy, not action. The chance he'd had to possess Venkman had been fortuitous, and though he'd put enough energy into it to torture the man, he'd been pulled out before actually killing him. That wouldn't happen again. He had control of one of Venkman's friends. He didn't need to possess him. He could just stab him in the back.
The way Hugh had stabbed him.
Levi moved the tall man to the bed, reaching over and lifting the girl onto it. He was still working at the possession: all of his motions were a second or two behind the order to carry them out. He would have to be careful of that.
He dropped to his knees and reached under the bed for the latch on the floor. Prying it open, he wormed his way close enough to withdraw a rusted iron box from the hidden compartment. The box was open, but Levi squeaked the lid a couple more inches back, enough to get his hand in there and pull out the old dagger.
The dagger was simple: a sharp blade and a wooden handle wrapped in leather. But to Levi, it was everything. It was the reason he was dead and the reason he was alive. As his soul had started to soar towards the doors of heaven, Violet's sweet voice had filled his existence. To his horror, she had pulled him back to the world of the living, compelling and binding him to the instrument of his death. He'd never understood why and she'd buried him in an iron box before he got his answers.
He wanted to kill her as much as Hugh for that. The damned church bell couldn't leave well enough alone. His lips twisted in anger as he stood up and looked down at the form of the girl on the bed. He roughly flipped her onto her back. Her long hair sprayed across the ornate covers and her full lips were closed. 'Least she ain't ringin' now. Did he mean Violet or her descendant? He wasn't sure...it was hard to think past the hate sometimes.
But what to do now? According to the man...named Spengler, an odd name if Levi had ever heard one, and he'd worked in a damn carnival...she would be expected home. And there was a driver sitting at the wheel of a car, prepared to take her there. Now that he had the dagger and the right person possessed, he knew he could go. He could find his way to the Firehouse, or possibly even infiltrate Venkman's home and kill his wife and son in front of his eyes before finally, truly, exacting his revenge. But the world had changed, and though Levi had seen the changes, he hadn't been able to truly escape the carnival. It would be unfamiliar territory. He'd been just barely a man when he died. He'd learned enough since then to know that giving up familiar territory could make or break a fight.
He was ready to kill. He wanted to kill. Which meant he had to get it exactly right. If he failed and was trapped in this world forever with no peace and no absolution...
It was unthinkable.
He grabbed a lighter from the counter of statuettes and stepped out of the wagon, blinking at the bright sunlight. Sounds and smells and sensations assaulted him and he wobbled for only a moment before regaining himself. Almost nothing affected him as a ghost, so the feeling of corporeality came as an occasional shock.
"She's fainted," he said to the guard. "The smell."
The guard immediately came in. "Let's get her to the nurse." He pushed past Levi and moved for the bed to pick up the swooning woman.
Levi smirked and picked up the bronze statue he'd used to knock out the girl. He swung with all of his might, cracking it against the guard's head. It was enough; the guard groaned and dropped bonelessly, half on the girl, half on the bed. Levi shoved the statue into his pocket and reached into the cupboard under the shelf. He pulled out three large jugs of lamp oil, and turned to exit the wagon, malicious glee filling him as his plan began to come together. His eagerness worked against him; he tripped going down the stairs, and fell flat on his face. The statue fell out of his pocket but he didn't notice. He scrambled to pick up the lamp oil and looked around quickly.
A carny stood near him. The name on her shirt read: "Sunny". She had a somewhat shocked look on her face. "Hey, you were here last week."
"I've been here a lot longer than that," Levi said. He unscrewed the jug of lamp oil and began to toss its contents on the wooden frame of the wagon and on the nylon curtains hanging from the roof.
"What are you doing?" Sunny's hands came into view, scrabbling at the jug. Levi effortlessly shoved her away. He shot a look at the door, which swung shut, locking at his supernatural command. He turned to look at Sunny, who was grabbing her walkie.
"Security! I need security at Sophie's wagon!" She stared at him, half-terrified he would come for her, half-daring him to do so. He didn't. He waited until she finished the call, unscrewing the second jug of lamp oil, the mad smile never leaving his face. When she was done, he ignited the lighter, touching it to the curtains. Aided by the oil and light cloth, the flame hungrily shot over the curtains and onto the wagon.
"Are you mad?" Sunny yelled.
"Find me Peter Venkman," Levi said, and tossed some lamp oil at her. She scrambled to get out of the way, shrieking in terror. Levi held out the lighter, advancing on her. "Bring him here. I'll be waiting."
Sunny ran. Levi followed her, spilling the contents of the next jug on random cloth targets, piece by piece setting the carnival ablaze.
"Find me Venkman!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, moving towards the center of the carnival, randomly splashing and igniting lamp oil on any cloth he could find. "Find me Venkman!"
**o0o**
The phone rang, the sound echoing in the Firehouse. The inhabitants looked at each other with mixtures of worry and horror before their eyes slid to Janine, who reached over and picked up the phone. "Ghostbusters," she said.
"It's Winston!" The voice on the line was tense. "I need the guys here. Full gear. You're probably going to get a call from the Dukes any moment."
Janine's heart dropped into her shoes and her hand tightened on the receiver. "What happened?" Peter and Ray were already in motion, having read the look on her face.
"I don't know," Winston said, "but something in there caught on fire and everyone's screaming and talking about some madman with a lighter and jug of lamp oil."
Janine's brow furrowed. "Doesn't that sound like something for the police?"
Winston was silent for a moment before continuing. "Not when the madman is Spengler. And he's yelling for Venkman."
Janine felt the phone slip out of her hand.
**o0o**
"Can't this thing go any faster?" Muriel glared at the driver of the cab through the rearview mirror as he expertly wove through the Brooklyn streets.
"It can," the cabbie shot back, "if you want to pay for my speeding ticket."
Muriel pondered the thought. The chances of them getting caught by the cops, the length of time the stop would make, and the amount of the ticket she would have to pay for...plus if they got stopped more than once... "I'm an 89 year old woman and I can run faster than this car." It was a frustrated pout but she sat back. "Don't think I didn't consider that offer, young man," she added. "But a traffic stop will just cost us more time."
"What are you late for?" the cabbie asked.
Muriel didn't even pause. "My grand-niece's life."
"Oh, she's bein' born?"
"No," Muriel looked out the window, adrenaline causing her hands to shake as the images shot through her mind. Fire. Smoke. "She's dying."
The cabbie didn't say anything else, but the car began to speed up.
**o0o**
Winston was already suited up by the time Peter and Ray arrived.
"What happened?" Ray yelled, hauling on a proton pack.
"And whose idea was it for you to take the car?" Peter added,. "Do you know how bad traffic was getting here?"
"The girl I spoke to said the fire started at the fortune teller's wagon," Winston rattled off the information, ignoring Peter. "She said Spengler walked out, closed the door, set the place on fire, and started yelling for Venkman."
"What about Erica?" Ray asked.
"No idea," Winston replied. "There's a security guard missing, too."
"Mr. Venkman!"
The voice cut through the air, startling Peter. A look of disbelief crossed his face as he whirled around. Is that...?
Muriel Crane was a tiny woman who pushed a shock wave of iron strength in front of her. Her grey hair was neatly styled on her head and her eyes had a determined spark in them that Peter had only seen in one other woman. Dana.
"Ma'am, you have to move back!" Ray said, moving to intercept her.
Muriel stopped and took a look at him. A knowing smile crossed her face. "Ah, it's you. Thank goodness."
Ray looked confused. Muriel patted his arm and returned her attention to Peter. "You ignored my message!"
"What message? We get like a thousand a day!" How did she get here so fast? They'd just been talking to her on the phone yesterday!
"Don't play coy, Mr. Venkman. I told you not to look for the wagon! I called you this morning!"
Peter looked at Ray and Winston. Both shook their heads. Winston was the one who spoke. "Janine said the phone was off the hook this morning. She thought it was a ghost."
Peter had a feeling he knew what it was. "Or that damn bird!"
"Language!" Muriel scolded.
"That...darned bird! I swear, when I get my hands on that thing..."
"I have the pages."
Muriel's interjection stopped Peter cold, and he looked back at her, shock and rage and fear all beginning to mix in a potent cocktail in his blood. Sound ceased to exist for a moment. "What?" It was a mixed cry of agony and anger.
Muriel reached in her bag and withdrew a number of pieces of ripped paper, all bearing the same chickenscratch as the diary. "I have the pages. I couldn't read them until yesterday, when I read the words on the front of Violet's diary."
The Ghostbusters stared at her for a few seconds, but it was Ray who spoke first. Or rather, shouted first. "Why would you tell us to go looking for the wagon when you had the answers the whole time?" His voice cracked on the first word and his glare at Muriel would have melted steel.
But Muriel didn't flinch. "I had been searching for that wagon for years. I had no idea where it was and I certainly didn't think you would know! And...national television?" She shook her head. "I wasn't going to show my family business to the whole nation! And by the way," she shot Peter a poisonous look, "you and I are going to have a talk about what you did to get Erica on television. Do you know how scared she was?"
"She wasn't the one being haunted!" Peter fired back, his temper beginning to fray as the panic built. We have to get in there. "It was me!"
It was Muriel's turn to look confused. "Wh-What?"
"The ghost has been tormenting Peter for weeks!" Ray said. "It destroyed my bookshop and it tried to kill him. Erica's been helping us track it down and we thought she'd be more sympathetic to the audience..."
"...thanks, Ray..." Peter muttered.
"...and she agreed to go on television to help us!" Ray finished.
"And she got paid!" Peter added. It seemed like an important thing to say.
The confusion on Muriel's face turned to pure horror. She shoved the pages at Peter. "She's still alive," she said. "But you have to find her. Find her and give her these. She'll know what to do."
"How do you know she's alive?" Ray asked.
Muriel looked at him and Ray's body jerked. A look of wonder and surprise crossed his face. "You're..."
"Go save her if you ever want to go on your date!" Muriel cut him off. She looked at Peter, her face revealing grief and compassion. "Mr. Venkman," she said in a gentler voice, "I'm so sorry all of this even happened to you. It isn't your fault. None of it is."
"What do you...of course it's not...what do you mean?"
Muriel pointed. "You'll understand. Get in there. Now! I'll get the paramedics!"
**o0o**
Erica thought for a moment that she had imagined the last twenty-four hours. The boiling lights from the set were still burning down on her, baking her brain to the point of a throbbing headache. Something heavy was pushing her into the seat. There was an angry roar as well, a crackling rumble that had to be feedback from the telephone. Hang it up, she thought, trying to move. Hang it up, we can take another call.
Then, her memory caught up. "Egon?" she asked. Her voice sounded muffled, and speaking made her head hurt worse. Was Egon pressing her into the floor...or...the bed in the fortune teller's wagon? He wasn't moving, and the heat was just as crushing. We have to move. Something is very, very wrong. "Egon, get off of me!" She twisted and wrestled, grabbing frantically at the bedsheets, pulling herself out from under him.
Searing heat scored her cheek and she howled in pain, her arm reflexively trying to touch the area. She couldn't reach it; her hand impacted something solid and large. She inhaled, and something thick and ticklish poured into her throat, making her cough uncontrollably. Memories of movies and her own imagination filled in the blanks, and dread pulsed through her. I'm trapped and the wagon is on fire. There are bits of it on me. Egon must have thrown himself on me to protect me. Oh God, he might be...
The thought was too awful to finish.
"Help!" she tried to scream, but only managed to make herself cough more. I have to get up and out. I have to get up and out.
"Peter Venkman!"
The voice was Egon's, close by. Outside the wagon. But it didn't sound like Egon's. It sounded furious and dangerous and...
If Egon's outside, who is on me?
She doubled her efforts, now trying to wrap the bedsheet around her as she fought herself free.
**o0o**
The carnival was emptying, policemen helping the innocents exit in every direction. They parted to let the Ghostbusters through, hardly saying a word. Peter could feel the fear beginning to grip him as the oh-so-familiar tents surrounded his vision. The smell of the funnel cakes slid into his nose, sweet and cloying. They passed the Whac-a-Mole, the climbing wall, the duck race. He could hear the barkers in his mind, clear as day and several years ago. "Step up and shoot!" "Let us guess your age!" "Come see how much a human body can twist!" "Are you stronger than a god?"
Are you stronger than a god?
If someone asks you if you're a god...
Am I stronger than my past?
Something was filling his nose and mouth, piercing at his eyes. He blinked, coming back to himself, and pulled in a sharp breath. Hot, ashy air assaulted his lungs and he doubled over, coughing. The sunlight overhead was thin, as though obscured by clouds. But there were no clouds in the sky.
The carnival is on fire.
The tents around him were all burning, releasing waves of oppressive heat and clouds of choking smoke. Ray and Winston were right beside him, covering their mouths and noses, trying to get some oxygen through the thickness. A sudden wind blew, and another tent nearby caught light, smoke whirling out of it. Peter ducked away from it and pushed forward.
The fortune teller's wagon loomed up out of the smoke. It was almost destroyed, huge holes where the fire had burned through and the roof caved in. Peter felt his stomach sink. Don't let Erica be in there. She doesn't deserve this. She didn't ask for this. And I really don't want to tell Muriel I got her great-niece killed.
She said none of this is your fault, said a little voice in his head. Remember?
My dreams. My parents. My carnival. My haunting. How is it not?
"Peter Venkman!"
The roar belonged to Egon Spengler. Peter peered through the smoke. "Egon?" he yelled in response. "Spengs?" He didn't sound like he was possessed.
Egon emerged from the smoke, which wrapped possessively around his body. He was dressed head to toe in the uniform of a Confederate soldier, His face was distorted, his glasses gone, his wide mouth almost shrunken down to a full-lipped pout. His eyes were sharp, like a hawk's, and a shadow of a beard and mustache circled his mouth and jaw. Wispy strands of long brown hair appeared and disappeared around his shoulders.
Egon. Peter's heart wrenched in his chest as the reality took shape in front of him. No, not Egon. No more. No more!
He had to distract him. "If you wanted to make an appointment, you'll have to call and speak to our receptionist!" Peter advanced towards him, gesturing subtly with his hands for Winston and Ray to stay back. "And this..." he gestured to the fire all around them, "...is all going on your bill."
"I already burned up Violet's family," Egon growled back, his eyes blazing. "Now I got to finish yours." The Southern accent altering his voice would have been hysterical if the hatred in it hadn't been so dire.
Looking at Egon now, Peter felt the fear and horror drain away, to be replaced with something he rarely felt. Hatred. My parents died in a carnival accident. And you were the one that caused it. He whirled around and thrust the pages at Ray, who took them without hesitation. Peter wasn't surprised to see the other man's eyes were wet. I don't blame him. Between Erica and Egon, we're already having a hazard pay kind of day. "Get her," he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion, his protectiveness of Ray swelling in his chest. "I'll get Egon back. We're gonna get through this."
Ray nodded.
Peter turned back to the ghost and took a step forward. Ray made for the wagon, and it came as a small comfort that Egon paid him no mind. I have no idea how to get him out of Egon. "You killed my parents," he said, gritting the words out through a clenched jaw. The hatred reddened his vision as memories of the grief washed over him. "You left me alone in the world." He had Ray and Egon, and later on Winston and Dana. But for a few brief moments, as he went from one phase of his life to another, he had had no one. No idea. No path. No hope. He had been broken, and he could feel the sharp edges still poking into every aspect of his life. Dana. "You wanted me to suffer, for what? I didn't do anything to you!" It came out as a scream.
Egon smiled horribly and drew a dagger from his belt. "Remember this? You put it in my back, you yellow-belly Yank. " He drew himself up, preparing to charge, his face settling into a mask of bloodlust and eagerness. "And I changed my mind. I ain't gonna kill any more of your family. I'm just gonna do you the same way you did me."
Peter charged, a howl exploding from his throat.
**o0o**
The fire licked at Ray's clothing as he fought with the door to the wagon. It had been bolted shut from the inside, though how he had no idea. Unfortunately, even if he tried to get it open, the fact remained that the fire had melted the door to the frame. His only way into the wagon was going to be manmade.
"Erica?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Can you hear me?"
No answer. God, no. Not her and Egie both. The smoke burned his eyes, bringing the tears welling in them down his cheeks. A sharp intake of breath cut at his throat, and he coughed, pushing away the urge to cry. He held on to Muriel's words. She's still alive. Erica's smiling face floated in front of his eyes for a moment, and he thought he felt her hand yanking his hair again. She can pull all of my hair out if she's still alive. I don't care.
He drew the stick from the proton pack and aimed it at the wagon. If I can score the top of the door, I might be able to free it...
...as long as she isn't standing inside the door.
The risk was too great. But he had no idea what else to do! He cast another look around...
….and saw a heavy bronze statue laying on the ground.
Ray's mind raced. He had no idea what the statue was doing there, but his mind put two and two together quickly.
A battle cry filled the air behind him, and he turned to see Peter, proton pack and all, charging Egon. The impact took both men off their feet, smashing to the ground with heavy, metallic thuds. Egie's going to kill him if he breaks that equipment...
Ray grabbed the statue from the ground. "Erica, duck!" he roared as he hurled it at one of the windows. It would still hurt if it hit Erica, but at least it wouldn't kill her instantly.
The statue smashed through the window and Ray leaped at it, grabbing at the wheel and scrabbling for the window ledge. The heat from the fire scored him, and a blast roared out over his head as new oxygen fueled the burning inside. He yelped in pain as splinters from the wood cut his fingers, and then he hauled himself up and inside.
Smashing and curses filled the tiny space as Ray writhed around, trying to get his feet under him and get away from the blaze still filling the area. Coughing caught his attention as well, and he moved his watering eyes to the bed, where a figure was struggling to get out from under a heavy piece of burning wood. "Erica!" he shouted, dissolving into coughs. He moved over and grabbed the wood, hauling it sideways. The body of the security guard lay under the wood, and Erica was struggling to get out from under it. She was coughing, but a smile broke out over her face as she looked up to see him.
"Ray!"
The wagon rocked suddenly, statues and lamps falling over, adding oil and fuel to the fire. Ray grabbed Erica and pulled her free. He looked at the line of fire between them and the door and gritted his teeth. Out. It's right there. Just...out.
He hurled himself through the flames, smashing into the door with all of his weight. The fire bit at them, and Erica screamed. Ray reared back and hit the door again. "Come on!" he yelled.
The third hit forced the door open. Ray and Erica flew out, crashing down the stairs. Forget Peter. Egon's going to kill me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pages. True to the legend, they were unmarked and unreadable. He shoved them at Erica. "It's the missing pages. Muriel had them. She says you'll know what they say!"
He turned and headed back for the security guard.
**o0o**
Erica watched Ray go, clutching the pages, half-sobbing in panic and shock. The pain from the burns radiated around her body, and the world around her was comprised of screaming and flames. She barely even registered what he said, and screamed: "Don't go!" at him.
Either he didn't hear her or he ignored her, but he was back inside the burning wagon, trying to free the man who had likely saved her from the initial impact of the fire.
A crashing sound brought her around. Winston was darting back and forth, aiming the wand from the proton pack, seemingly trying to get a shot in on two wrestling figures. As Erica watched, one of them...Peter...stood up and shrugged off his proton pack, letting it crash to the ground.
The other figure was Egon, and yet it wasn't. He wore a Confederate uniform, and looked like bad special effects. As he moved, he seemed to leave a trail behind him, as though two bodies were trying to occupy the same space.
Levi possessed Egon and knocked me out. He tried to kill me. He almost succeeded.
"I'm glad you're all right, but I could use a little help!" Winston shouted, spotting her.
Peter looked over to her as well, and relief flooded his face. It was short-lived, because Levi took advantage of the pause to land a solid punch.
Erica knew she likely had seconds before Levi got curious about why Peter had gotten distracted. She looked down at the pages in her hand.
The first line stopped her breath.
" 'I could never tell Levi that I was the spy for Shaw's Mill,' " Violet wrote. " 'Now, Hugh is in danger because of my cowardice. Levi is going to try to kill him tonight. If he succeeds, I am responsible for Hugh's death. If he fails, at least he knows he will have done his best to avenge his family.
"I have to do everything possible to make sure he fails.' "
Erica flipped the page over. The back of it was empty. She went to the next one. It was continued from a previous page. " '...undo what I have done is to repeat it. I knew going down the occult path would curse me forever. But I had hoped I could free Levi and Hugh of my cowardice. With James gone, I have no way to give Levi's soul rest now. I can only hope that if I go to him, he will hear me. And he will stop. He will stop until I reach Hell, and then I can fight him forever.
"Hugh, Eugenia, forgive me.
"My children, forgive me.
"Levi, forgive me.' "
Erica looked up at the fighting men, not even realizing tears were streaming down her cheeks. Violet's agony washed over her and through her.
And she knew.
**o0o**
Peter didn't think he'd ever hurt this much. He'd walked up countless flights of stairs. He'd run through the city streets. He'd fought the proton streams as they curled and screamed through the air, trapping ghosts that fought back.
But damn, Levi was kicking his ass.
He hadn't thought Egon was that strong, but he figured having a little supernatural help was probably giving an extra boost. That being said, Egon's sharp elbows were great for finding little places in his ribs and kidneys, and his long arms and legs helped with distance. Levi may have been a Confederate soldier, but he knew exactly where to hit someone to hurt them, and he had definitely adapted to Egon's slender body. Peter was feeling the first twinges of fear. He was running out of ideas on how to attack Levi...and Levi wasn't slowing down.
Am I stronger than my past?
The answer was beginning to be no. How could he keep this up? Levi wasn't listening to him; he was too driven by his hatred. Nothing was going to change his mind, and he had the advantage in far too many ways, from inhabiting the body of one of Peter's best friends to...well, being a ghost that could dodge their proton streams.
He spat blood on the ground and glared at the ghost across from him. Levi still had that maniacal grin on his face, even though Egon's blood was now staining his uniform. He crooked a finger at Peter, who shook his head. "Naw, I'm good. How about we call it a draw and go get a beer?"
Levi snorted and flicked his hand. A wave of fire roared across the ground towards Peter, who dove out of the way. "Whoa-oh-oh, hey!" To his shock, he saw a proton beam skitter across the ground towards Egon, and bellowed: "Turn that damn thing off!"
"Thought I had a shot!" Winston shouted. "I saw him loose for a moment!"
Peter looked back to Levi and realized he saw it too. The strange special effect of Egon being half-ghost, half-human was clearer now. The man was wavering on his feet, but Peter could swear he saw something in his eyes, something that was more fear and determination than blind hate. Egon's trying to push him out. He knows he's possessed?
"He's right," Levi said. "I think I'll change my tactics."
He separated from Egon, a mass of thick, grey, formless smoke. Egon's body crumpled to the ground, the dagger falling from his hand. Winston fired a proton stream at the smoke and another stream joined his from somewhere behind Peter.
Peter spun to see Ray standing firm on the ground, Erica on one side of him, the body of a security guard on the other. He was covered in soot and ash, his skin shiny with sweat and red with burns. He was shooting a proton stream at Levi while Erica flipped through the pages in her hands.
"Peter, watch out!"
The cry came from Winston, but it was too late. Peter felt the impact, and had just enough time to realize what was happening before everything went dark.
He cried out in denial, expecting to smell the funnel cakes and hear the horse neighing as always. But instead, something cool and refreshing touched his face.
Rain?
He opened his eyes.
The world around him was in black and white. The soothing sound and sweet smell of rain filled the air. The air itself felt richer, fuller. It was cooler, too, and the ground was muddy. There was no fire, no smoke, no damage anywhere. The carnival was packed differently, closer together. He was on the edge of it.
He looked at himself. His clothes were different too...a loose shirt and pants. Pajamas. It was night. He could feel the tickle of hair on the back of his neck.
What the hell is happening?
"Hugh!"
The shout came from behind him and he whirled around.
Levi stood there. He wore his uniform, and despite the rain it was spotless. Peter could see him clearly now, and he gasped. He's just a kid.
Indeed, Levi Spencer was twenty if he was a day. He was strikingly handsome, with slightly pouted lips, an angular face, and a smattering of hair on his upper lip and over his jaw. His hair was long and wet from the rain. His eyes were intense, dark, entirely focused on Peter. He had a feeling Levi could see straight through him, and his stomach curled in revulsion. "Are we in your head now? I think this relationship is moving too fast for me."
"Tonight is the night you killed me," Levi said.
"Tonight is the night my ancestor killed you!" Peter shot back. "I never did a thing. For goodness' sake, man, why would you spend every moment of your...undead...life thinking about how you died? I'd be grabbing Dana a couple things from Tiffany's! I'd be winning at hide and seek with Oscar, for once! I'd haunt some cake-eating bigwig and get my guys some money! Don't you have anyone you could help, instead of ruining someone's life?" He was heaving for breath, the adrenaline from the fight coming down. If he let it come down too far, he wasn't going to be able to fight.
Levi's handsome face twisted. "No. Because you killed them all. Shaw's Mill, Missouri. My friends. My family. Massacred. It's only fair, Hugh. It's only fair that I get your family for them."
He came at Peter. Oh no... Peter braced himself, trying to feel an adrenaline surge. He had nothing. I'm in trouble.
Then, somewhere, far away, there was a scream. "What are you doing? Erica, stop!"
Levi's body struck Peter, and a new level of pain exploded inside of him, radiating out from a point somewhere in his upper back. He screamed, the world around him skipping and jumping like a bad signal on a television set. He tried to lift his arms to push away from Levi, but somehow he found himself pushed away, pushed back into a corner of his own mind. The world came into focus, and he found himself staring at Erica, the fire burning behind her, everything in color again. He was staring through his own eyes...but he still had no control over his body. Get out of me! he howled at Levi.
Levi, however, wasn't paying attention. He seemed to be in shock, staring at Erica. "Violet?"
Peter tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Erica was there but, like Egon, she had distorted features. She seemed to be older and taller, her eyes the same but her mouth smaller, fuller and her cheekbones higher. When did she get possessed?
"I'm so sorry, Levi," Erica choked.
Sensation was beginning to return. Is Levi losing control? He tried to move an arm. Still nothing. But he could feel Erica. Her body was pressed against his, her arms wrapped securely around his back. They ended in pain. Her beautiful eyes had tears streaming out of them. Peter longed to wipe the tears away and hold her for a moment. Trapped inside his own body, he let himself actually, finally feel relief that she was alive. I didn't kill her.
"I lied," Erica said.
Levi blinked. "What?"
Erica's arms tightened on him and the pain in his upper back increased even more. Stop it! Peter tried to send to her. You're making it worse! Make it stop!
"I was the spy who informed on the Confederate troops at Shaw's Mill," Erica could barely get the words out. "I lied and told you it was Hugh because I knew if you attacked him he could stop you. You would have honored the deaths by attempting to avenge them, and that would have given you some peace." She sniffed and took in a deep breath. "I didn't count on how strong you were. You were going to kill Hugh and I had to stop you. I stabbed you in the back."
Peter felt a whole new wave of terror overcome him. He tried to get control of an arm. One arm. Just to reach back to the point where the pain was the strongest. Just to prove to himself that Erica had actually stabbed him with Levi's dagger.
"You." The word was full of betrayal and pain and unimaginable hate. "You did...all of this." Levi began to shake with rage.
"I did." Erica clutched at him and the pain increased still. Stop! Please stop! "I did, and I lived with it for the rest of my life. And now I'm bringing you to me." She took another breath and focused her eyes on his. "I'm the one you want. Come find me in Hell, Levi. I'll be waiting."
Erica let go of him, stepping back. Peter felt his body falling to the ground. Levi reached behind him, feeling the hilt of his dagger in his back.
The scream he released then echoed through time and space.
At the front of the carnival, Muriel Crane jerked and covered her ears, tears flooding her eyes. Fighting the paralyzing effects of the scream that seemed to be coming from their own souls, the paramedics beside her grabbed their gear and took off into the carnival.
Peter felt his entire body coming apart, an exquisite sensation of tearing skin and spraying blood, the cacophonous howl breaking his eardrums and vibrating the nerves in his teeth.
Levi shot out of him, corporeal for only a second before exploding into slime.