Chapter Six: Saving Shelley

Wordy almost let his phone drop, but remembered where he was at the last second. If Edward got even a hint of Wordy's real origin, it would not go well; before he'd talked Ed into thinking this hellish world was just a nightmare, Ed had mentioned Hell Team One's response to discovering the 'imposters'. Suffice it to say that Wordy wanted no part of that nearly lethal response, thank you very much.

"Problem?" Edward asked, something almost like concern in his tone; the faux concern was offset by the vicious gleam in Edward's eyes.

Wordy forced his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug, doing his best to pretend it was just a regular phone call. "Nothing much, just a little issue at home."

"Women," Edward agreed, just as Parker had earlier.

"Actually, kind of an unexpected issue, so…" Wordy deliberately trailed off, dangling a bit of verbal bait; he added to the bait with a heavy scowl of distaste.

"Need help?" Edward asked, unholy glee lighting up his face.

Wordy suppressed a shudder at the thought and shook his head. "Just drop me off here. I can handle it."

"Sure." Edward suited action to words and pulled over, right in the middle of the block. Wordy hopped out and pointedly slammed his door shut. He waited until the black truck pulled away to start jogging in the direction of his 'twin's' house.

He did not hear Edward's call to Parker. "Parker, something's up with Kevin. He's been acting…off since yesterday and he just got a call…"


The problem, Wordy decided, with having no reliable backup and no vehicle was that it would take him close to two hours to make his way 'home' on foot. Still, he wasn't going to expose Shelley or the girls to Hell Team One, well, no more than his pathetic excuse for a twin already had anyway. Plus, calling Hell Team One in to help doubled his chances of getting caught. The SRU officer picked up his pace, resigned to running all the way.

A shout from a nearby alley attracted his attention. Wordy slowed, not wanting to waste time, but unwilling to walk away from a person in danger. He edged up to the mouth of the alley, drawing his sidearm and tensing for action. A peek around the corner revealed two punks hassling an older man.

The constable gripped his weapon harder and spun around the corner. "SRU! Don't move!"

Rather than obey, the two punks took off, shoving the old man down and racing down the alley. Wordy didn't bother going after them as they disappeared around a corner; instead he holstered his weapon and moved to the old man to offer a hand up. The old man accepted the assistance, but didn't let go once he was up. Instead he turned Wordy's hand and peered at the SRU patch, his eyes widening as he got a good look at the patch.

"Problem?" Wordy asked, tugging his hand back and resisting the urge to cover his patch.

"I've seen that before," the other replied.

The burnet's brows shot up. "You have?"

The old man nodded. "Several months ago, an officer with that same patch saved me from some local punks." He gestured toward the other end of the alley. "Those two actually. He got hurt stopping them, but he wouldn't let me help until I came across him and his friend later that night."

Ed and Spike. "Did you see them again after that?" Wordy asked.

With a thoughtful frown, the old man shook his head. "No, son, I didn't. Some of those dirty SRU officers might look like them, but those two…they had integrity and heart. It's a shame none of the other officers are like them…world might be a better place if they were."

Why am I not surprised Hell SRU is on the take? "Well, sir, unless you need something, I have to get going."

The old man lifted a hand before Wordy could move. "You helped me today. Your friends helped me then." He smiled at the surprise on Wordy's face. "I can tell, son. They're your friends. And if just now is any indication, you have just as much integrity and heart as your friends do."

"Yes," Wordy confirmed quietly, "The officers you met are my friends."

"Is there something I can help you with, son?"

He was about to say no, but the call and the distance he still had to travel forced the constable to reconsider. "Do you have a car?"

"Certainly."


Wordy waited until the old man and his car were halfway down the block before he made his way around the side of the garage and snuck in the open side door. He swept the garage and moved up onto the step into the house. A quick yank on the door handle and he was inside, sweeping the hallway and looking for any sign of life. A creak brought him around but there was nothing there. Still, the hair on the back of his neck rose and he moved as quietly as he could manage. His instincts screamed that there was someone here; the whole house felt like a trap, one he was willingly walking into.

Wordy kept his back to the wall as he moved toward the living room. He pulled out the extendable mirror and scanned the room. Shelley, the girls, and an unknown male. The male looked vaguely familiar and sported something that looked like a weapon, but nothing Wordy had ever encountered before. Wordy pulled the mirror back and tucked it away, steeling himself for the confrontation.

He sucked in one last breath and whipped around the corner. "SRU! Hands in the air!" His gun settled on the blond, safety off.

The blond was tall, with short hair and blue eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses. His expression was cold, with an intellectual interest and a thirst for power. His jumpsuit was blue with pink accents. He looked as if he had been expecting Wordy and he studied the SRU officer a moment before dismissing the threat of Wordy's weapon.

"I think not," the blond replied, unconcerned. "Rather, it is you who should disarm and put your hands in the air." As he spoke, three more men entered, weapons drawn, aimed, and humming. Wordy stiffened as he surveyed all four men; he was outgunned and outnumbered and he knew it.

The brown-haired man had his hair down far enough that it was tied at the nape of his neck. Green eyes narrowed at Wordy and his gaze reminded Wordy of a con-man. His jumpsuit was brown with green accents.

The crew-cut auburn man was the shortest of the four, with brown eyes and a slightly overweight frame. His gaze was crafty and watchful and his jumpsuit was a light tan with darker tan accents.

The black man was the same height as brown-hair, with dreadlocks and a tattoo on one cheek. Hostility all but dripped from him as he sneered openly at Wordy. His jumpsuit was pale blue with dark red accents; his posture screamed 'gang member' to the experienced cop.

They looked vaguely like the Ghostbusters, but instead of the usual open-mouthed 'o' ghost, their no ghost patches had a snarling ghost with fangs. In Wordy's opinion, the snarling ghost suited them perfectly and summed up this entire crummy world that he was stuck in.

Wordy let his eyes narrow. "I'll still have time for one shot," he snapped, no bravado, just fact in his voice. He looked at Shelley, trying to reassure her with his eyes. "Let them go."

"How…touching," the blond drawled. "Surrender and they will go free."

"Not till they're safe," Wordy refused.

The two squared off for several long moments. Finally, the blond decided, "Very well. Venkman, remove the children and their mother. Once outside, return the woman's phone so that she may reassure her…husband…that she is safe."

"Kevin…" Shelley protested, her eyes wide and fearful as she clung to the three little girls; that she trusted Wordy more than the Ghostbusters warmed Wordy even as he realized this meant his morning's efforts had probably just gone down the drain.

"Shel, go." Wordy met her eyes. "Don't forget your promise," he added, giving her an intent look. The bored-looking, brown-haired male gestured to the women. Shelley ducked down, staying out of Wordy's line of fire and ushered the girls after the man.

When Wordy's phone rang, the constable freed his left hand and flicked it open, hitting the speaker button even as he kept his gun aimed and ready; he could support his gun one-handed for a minute or two. "Kevin?" Shelley asked.

"Here, Shel."

"We're outside, we're safe. I'm taking the girls to my parents."

"Stay safe, Shel," Wordy replied.

"I will," Shelley promised. She hesitated a long moment then, "You too, Kevin." The phone clicked off.

"There," the imperious blond said. "They are free and safe, Constable Wordsworth. Now, your turn."

Wordy nodded and lowered his weapon, re-engaging the safety and popping the magazine out. He knelt, placing gun and magazine on the floor. Then he placed both hands on the back of his head. Surrender; the constable fixed his gaze on the opposite wall and braced himself. Though he was unsure of what they wanted, he knew it was nothing good for him.

The black man sneered at him but the redhead moved first, snatching both pieces of equipment off the floor. He yanked Wordy's hands down behind his back, securing the captive with rope. Rough hands searched Wordy's pockets and his gear soon littered a nearby table; Wordy hiked a brow when the redhead opted not to use the coffee table they were right next to, instead using one of Shelley's lamp tables. Finally, the redhead pulled Wordy around and opened his equipment vest, pushing aside the underlying bullet-proof vest. The pocket-watch tumbled free of its pocket, but the redhead caught it and tucked it away in a pocket of his own rather than placing it on the table.

Without looking up, the redhead asked, "Are they looking for you?"

Wordy arched a brow, his question clear.

The redhead reached up, and on the pretense of checking the equipment vest's shoulder pocket, tapped Wordy's SRU patch.

Keeping his voice just above a whisper Wordy replied, "Always."

Jealousy flared in the redhead's eyes, as if the redhead had seen that kind of team and longed for it in his own life. He shook his head a touch, his jealousy joined by newborn resolve. "You're lucky." Before Wordy could reply, he was spun back around and nearly fell; only the redhead's hold on the back of his uniform prevented a nasty fall. "Nothing," the redhead snapped at the blond.

"Are you certain, Dr. Stantz?" The blond's voice could have sliced steel.

Stantz gave his companion a dirty look, but forebode to reply.

"Very well. Constable Wordsworth, where is it?" A haughty, expectant tone, one of someone who has rarely been denied even their momentary wants.

"Where's what?" Wordy challenged, though he had a good idea of what the blond wanted. The constable's shoulders bunched and he met the blond's gaze with icy calm; he would not give up, no matter how dark things became.

"Do not play dumb. The pocket-watch, of course."

Wordy looked pointedly at his gear and nodded toward his digital wristwatch. "That's the only watch I see." A snort. "Not to mention, I'm not much of a pocket-watch kind of guy." He smirked contemptuously at the blond, letting his darker side out to play again.

"It's his way home," Venkman put in from behind the captive. "You honestly think he's just gonna give it up?"

"It would be to his advantage to cooperate," the blond countered.

"Let's get this straight," Wordy snapped, his darker side evaporating as the experienced SRU constable came into play. "You've threatened my family, taken a hostage, and are now unlawfully detaining a law enforcement officer. Any other charges you want to add to the list?"

Venkman and the black man offered nasty chuckles. The blond was unruffled. "Your team," he sneered, "will not interfere. Not when they find out who you are." Having said that, he pulled out a hand-held device with blinking lights and two antenna. He stalked over to Wordy and wielded the device like a metal detector, sweeping it over Wordy's arms, chest, and legs. It made no sound and the antenna stayed folded. Wordy eyed the device, wary, but still more than a bit smug; the blond was searching the wrong person. The blond tut-tutted and tried again. Still no response.

Before he could try a third time, shouts came from the front of the house and Hell Team One barged in, weapons raised. Wordy's four captors whirled, their own weapons powering up. For an instant, Wordy felt a surge of hope that they would help him, then he remembered the blond's words and realized the jig was absolutely, positively up; he'd be lucky to escape with his life at this rate.

"Hold," Parker ordered, his eyes widening and more than a bit of fear in his eyes as he took in the four Ghostbusters. The watching Wordy wondered at that; in his world, the Ghostbusters were, at worst, New York City flim-flam artists.

"A wise decision, Sergeant," the blond man remarked. "I am Dr. Egon Spengler. I am sure you are familiar with myself and my associates."

"I am, Dr. Spengler. What business do you have with Constable Wordsworth?" Parker asked, gaze darting briefly to Wordy. Though there was a smidge of concern, Wordy knew it wouldn't last for long.

Spengler waved a hand. "Nothing that would interest you, save one small detail."

"And that detail is?" Parker demanded.

And three, two, one…

"This is not Constable Wordsworth…at least not your Constable Wordsworth. He hails from another reality, and is none of your concern."

Hell Team One did not react well to this announcement. Wordy was roundly – and loudly – cursed and Edward even rushed forward to deliver an uppercut and a knee to the reeling man's gut. The constable was hurled back onto his 'twin's' glass coffee table, the surface shattering as he landed on it; fortunately, most of the shards ended up in his bullet-proof vest instead of his back.

"Edward, enough!" Parker ordered, eyes ice-cold as he waved the angry team leader back. He turned to Spengler. "Do whatever you want. I'll have no imposters on my team." There was a brief hesitation, then, "If you get the real one back, I expect him returned to us."

"Certainly, Sergeant Parker," Spengler purred.

Parker gave the Ghostbuster a short nod and then, with a few curt gestures, Hell Team One departed.

"Dr. Stantz, take our guest to Ecto-1," Spengler ordered once they were alone again. His voice was smug and he threw an amused look at his captive as Stantz pulled Wordy up off the wreckage of the glass coffee table.

"Don't forget his stuff, Rayster," Venkman put in. "Might be something important in there," he added at Spengler's expression.

For Wordy's part, he was just grateful that his gear was on the lamp table and hadn't been on the coffee table; landing on it would not have been fun…for anyone, including Hell Team One. Though, come to think of it, as lousy as Hell Team One was, they might not even have flash-bangs or much of the other gear Wordy took for granted and carried on a daily basis.

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Venk," Stantz hissed. Still, every object, save the still hidden pocket-watch was returned to Wordy's uniform and vest. The wristwatch was stuffed in a pocket instead of refastened on the constable's wrist, but that was better than losing it. Stantz dragged Wordy out of the room and out to the back alley, where a converted antique hearse awaited them.

With a quick scan of the area, Stantz hauled Wordy behind the hearse and out of immediate sight. The bound man's bullet-proof vest was pushed aside again and the pocket-watch was slipped back into the hidden pocket. "You knew," Wordy whispered, surprised. How? And why was Stantz helping him?

Instead of answering immediately, Stantz pulled out Wordy's sidearm and magazine. He slid the magazine back in and tucked the gun in its holster. "Yeah, had a trip myself last year." Stantz studied him a moment, then pointedly tapped his no ghost patch. "If your team is anything like them, they'll call them in and they'll get you back. But you'll need the watch for it to work."

"Anything else?" Wordy asked, studying his unexpected ally. Maybe this world wasn't so bad, even if he still didn't want to stick around.

Stantz started to shake his head, then stopped, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Yeah, actually. Tell Egon I never told Spengler where they found the first watch."

"Copy that," Wordy promised.

The SRU constable looked around again, searching for something to say, then he glanced down, startled. Heat was warming his skin, from inside his vest.