The Damocles Solution 17.
"I don't like it. I don't like it…at…all!" whispered Peter ominously, narrowing his green eyes to slits. "It's just too weird. It's just…unnatural. It's just wrong." He shifted in his chair. "This is gonna keep me up at night. I'm gonna see this in my worst dreams."
"Aww, Peter, give 'im a chance!" said Ray encouragingly. Peter had been watching Slimer like a hawk since breakfast began, at it was starting to annoy him. "He's just finally really trying to be a little more…discreet!" He spread his hands out to the green ghost, who was now neatly using a knife and fork for his pancakes, and had a napkin wrapped around him to serve as a bib to catch any food that might fall.
"Personally, I kinda like my food not getting slimed up every hour on the hour for once. Seems like we have more food in the fridge than we ever had!" said Winston, stirring his coffee. "I'm enjoying things this way."
"Ya gotta know something here, Sureshot. Sudden, diametrically-opposed behavior like this isn't usually permanent. It just can't be permanent. All it does is make the presenter go twice as wonky when they're sick and tired of putting on a show." He leaned back. "I'd be much more a happier man if I knew Spengs' noggin was switched in there again somehow."
For maybe the first time in his undead life, Slimer was doing a phenomenal job at ignoring Peter.
Ray frowned. "And it's negative talk that's gonna upset him so the behavior comes back, if I'm not mistaken," he said, throwing some sound psychology right back at the dark-haired, certified shrink. Winston chuckled and nodded in agreement.
Peter pointed a finger at Winston, and Ray, each in turn. "Mark my words, you guys. I'm saving up lots of cash because when this little green personality adjustment finds its way back to home base, we won't be eating anything for a month!"
Winston and Ray, finished with breakfast, sighed heavily, got up and headed toward the garage to work on Ecto-1, leaving Peter to continue to stare fixedly on the now pristinely polite green ghost in the opposite chair.
Egon drifted restlessly in and out of consciousness. When Aracelli slowly walked in again, Morgan behind her, he looked at his watch-it was now around 8AM, and he was feeling so much worse than before. In his groggy state, he unconsciously pushed up a pair of scarlet eyeglasses that weren't there anymore. The ground was chilly, just like the air; it got a bit colder overnight, and it stiffened his muscles and made it twice as difficult to focus when he heard himself addressed.
"Just wanted to make sure I visited you again in case you took my offer," she said, the false sickening sweetness back in her voice.
He couldn't even speak at first. There was only pain on attempting to. He thought resting during the night would help him improve; however, the situation prevented him from getting any useful sleep, and the pointed lack of substance-controlled, perhaps opioid, pain medication was very, very quickly wearing on him.
Not receiving an answer right away, Aracelli seemed to slightly turn her head. "Well? Your lack of an answer means you are considering it? I can heal you completely if you so choose. It doesn't have to be this way, Dr. Spengler."
He made the mistake of taking a deep breath, and only ended up gritting his teeth before he spoke. "And my answer…continues…to remain negative."
She hmphed. "A rather stubborn young man, you are."
"You might consider me…stubborn. I consider myself sensible."
"Sensible? You have knowledge that grants you the ability to level a city in a matter of minutes and you do not with to capitalize on it? You are rather the insensible one."
Egon was getting bored of her. He contracted his brow and forced himself to speak evenly. "Next time I want to rule the world, I will consider murdering my supposed competitors…but not before begging them to help me while…I debate with them how sensible I am," he said as he glared at her, each phrase brimming with quiet rage. His long-practiced verbal filters were getting more and more difficult to keep in check due to his worsening condition.
"Do you seriously think I have eliminated every power out to destroy us?" she countered.
"My colleague would be particularly swift in…diagnosing your acute paranoia."
"Paranoia! I think not. I am not paranoid, Dr. Spengler, you have been blinded. You might not have noticed due to your profession, but there are hundreds..no, legions…of powers, human and not-so-human, who pursue us because of what we are able to do. I must say though, I have escaped most attention from them because I have no intentions of exposing myself with meaningless public heroics."
Egon snorted insubordinately at the word "meaningless", but her words sent chills down his spine.
"You might have seen entities chasing you and none of your companions; you might have dreamed more intense nightmares than they; these and more are all manifestations of powers ready to use us, and throw us away when they are finished with us!" She laughed delicately. "So, in essence, due to your publicity, you have been doing quite a wonderful job drawing them to yourself instead."
His eyes went ever so slightly wider in comprehension. This, he thought, did in fact make sense, now that he looked at some on the situations he's been in, particularily those which endangered his life—in many cases, he seemed strangely targetted…and Janine had somehow seemed to pick up on this almost from the first day they laid eyes on each other, while he blazed forward, recklessly ignorant.
He knew he was playing with fire when he began to learn the language in which the spells to Ragnarock were inscribed; he never thought, however, that those so trusted with such information would feel so compelled as to kill the others who posessed it, particularily after knowing the information so long, and living in such silence. Much was to be said in the case against youthful idealism.
She leaned in a bit. "That's why I say we take the first move with these powers. They will chase us until the end of our lives."
"Then obviously I will have much more time to be concerned about this…than you," replied Egon coldly.
He saw her blur turn to Morgan's behind her, and Morgan came around her right side to stand aside her. "Enough of this nonsense. It seems that I must truly throw down the gauntlet in this situation."
"It seems sssssssso," he hissed.
"You will know where to find her?"
Egon's eyes went a spare centimeter wider at the pronoun "her".
"Fourth floor?"
"Yes, you'll have to investigate each room separately. I do not know specifically which one it is. Chances are that she is somewhere near our present company; perhaps it would be best to avoid the staff at all costs, this way you surely be guaranteed…"
The physicist's entire being, dare he use the rather subjective word "soul" at this point, was filled with a white-hot rage as Aracelli babbled on. He knew exactly what they were discussing, to his sheer horror. Aracelli had, indeed, been watching for clues about his and Janine's relationship, as another potential tool to use in her twisted arsenal against whomever she supposed a threat. There was no disguising what he and Janine were to each other anymore…from anyone.
He got to his feet effortlessly, and reticently limped toward the barrier.
"Do it under cover of night. And, just do one thing for me, Morgan: do not harm her. I expect her to be treated like a lady, as much as possible considering our current situation. However, if need be, you might…" she trailed off, wondering why Morgan's eyes went as large as saucers in seeming horror. "Morgan? Are you listening?"
"Look…" he pointed toward the barrier-blocked area with a clawed finger
Aracelli gasped when she saw the area was empty…and, to their right, a stone-cold Egon Spengler was gritting his teeth, forwarding himself like a lion locked on its prey, moving one painful step at a time. Using the pillars for support he found along the way with his left hand, he fixed the fire in his ice-cold eyes on Morgan, who had to gaze back at him in amazement.
"Ma'am…he willed himself right through the barrier!"
Aracelli, horrified herself at the display of sheer willpower, took a few steps toward the barrier, out of Egon's range of vision.
The tall blonde growled deeply, so unlike the polished scientist he was at the dinner, thought the demon, now that he was the unfortunate target of such a glacial stare. Morgan was at one point completely unsure if this was the same person that sat at the table with him the day before.
Continuing to step forward, Egon kept his chilly gaze locked on the stocky serpent demon. "Don't…you…dare…," he breathed, still pressing forward, one painful inch at a time.
….Janine…
The demon backed away slowly.
Suddenly, there was a bluish light, then a rumble behind Egon. He duly ignored it considering his white-hot rage, created by Aracelli's revealed, even flaunted, plans of kidnapping Janine. He suddenly felt vine-like cords wrap around a foot, pulling him back toward the gate-boundaried area; he dismissed their iron tug and instinctively lowered his center of gravity so they would not knock him off balance.
A pause ensued, and more vines wrapped around his legs. Yet another wrapped itself around his broken right wrist, and this was the first thing that caused him to balk in pain. But he still pressed on, eyes still locked.
Morgan lost his look of terror with the first balk; even more so when a vine wrapped itself around Egon's chest, and cinched it, wresting a cry from him and bringing him to one knee.
As much as he wanted to sqeeze his eyes shut, he glared at Morgan in desperation. "Don't…you…!" he rasped.
Still, he tried fighting it, but instead, could only remain rooted in place on one knee. Even more cords wrapped themselves around him, purposely constricting his injured areas all over again.
He started leaning backward from the vines' force of pull, then, with an exasperated scream, was finally pulled back beyond the agonizing wash of the barrier.
He lay there after hitting the floor hard, gasping and coughing, yet desperately trying not to, gritting his teeth and growling in frustration as the cords released.
"You are looking more like a recaptured animal than a physicist, Dr. Spengler," said Aracelli, basking in her victory as she watched his vicious struggle to regain some tattered shreds of composure. "How inelegant. And…we cannot have that again, now can we?"
Where he lay on the ground, panting and straining to recover from the inhuman effort he had just exerted, more cords, now springing from the ground, wrapped themselves around his limbs where they lay, and soon enough , he found himself firmly attached to the floor, facing the dark ceiling, still burning in unspent rage.
He did not see how Aracelli negated the barrier for her to pass through and stand over him, however, he didn't care. He struggled obstinately again the binds that held his limbs fast, though his imprisonment and anger at their plans had loosed his tongue to the point of shouting in rage. "God forbid I consider…using you as a professional model…and in my golden years…resorting to collect so many bargaining chips…to feed my megalomania!"
Aracelli hovered over him. "You are in no position to offend me, and I also tire of your indignant mouth!" She brought the end of her cane up to her other hand, as far as he could see, and the silver end came off. The point was down again, and he could see that now, the velvety-black tip continued, and, in place of the silvery end, the cane terminated in two very long, sharp prongs, dripping in greenish liquid.
Egon snapped his eyes down along his right side, drawn there by what sounded like…hissing.
Sure enough, little, iridescent-black snake heads appeared out if his bindings, meaning he was held to the floor by what were actually paranormal serpents. He laid there, struggling in vain, and he could feel their flickering tongues againt the skin of his hands. They seized the corners of his jacket sleeve, and quite easily, tore it up to his elbow. Likewise, they did with his dress shirt, tearing it like it was tissue paper, and pulled both layers upwards, exposing the wrist underneath.
With Egon unable to resist anything else with his injured wrist, the serpents wrapped around it had easily forced his hand to turn up, palmside. He winced hard against it.
Aracelli touched the sharp, pronged ends to his skin, and he desperately tried to block out the intense burn of the green liquid he could already feel trickling over his wrist.
"You are working yourself deep into irrecoverability, especially now that I must keep your mouth shut by using Jormungar's Bite."
"You haven't thought very clearly-making yourself so indebted to Jormungar for your powers!" rasped Egon blindly. "You're a fool to think he-will not demand of anything of you when you—!"
She drove the prongs deep within his broken wrist, and the ensuing puncture, twist, and burn made him stamp his foot as much as his serpent binds would allow him, and arch his back high, making him see nothing but stars for what might have been the first time in his life.
"You've got such beautiful grounds here." Janine walked alongside Rhoda in the late afternoon sun, their shadows growing longer and longer. "Is this something you recently built or is it a family project?"
Rhoda smiled warmly. "This vineyard's been in my family for over a hundred-fifty years." She turned toward Janine. "You've heard of Cloistered Dove wine?"
Janine blushed. "No, I'm sure Dr. Spengler's heard of it, even though, as you've seen at the dinner, he'd never touch it with a ten-foot pole." She stopped to admire a bunch of grapes glowing in the light. "I admit, I'm too preoccupied drinkin' whatever the guys bring home, honestly." She leaned toward Rhoda. "I'm positive it tastes better than anything those guys buy!"
Rhoda laughed, then flicked her arm out. Her brown eyes twinkled. "Try some. Go ahead."
Janine flinched at first, but then picked a small group of grapes from the bunch, and started popping them in her mouth. "Mmmm, delicious, thanks."
They continued walking along the path at an easy pace. "You are very interesting. Very genuine. I'm sure he agrees."
Janine inhaled the tiniest of gasps, and it was heard ever so slightly above the crunching of their steps against the ground. She went silent in deep thought, trying to understand that. "Whatcha mean?" she finally asked.
"That young man reminds me a lot of myself." She grinned broadly, and tucked back a lock of white hair that happened to fall out of the neat bun on her head. A warm breeze passed over the field, threatening to undo the lock again. "I saw it. He may not be able to put it in words. I certainly wasn't able to at first, either."
"Well, I hope you got more than just a slinky as a toy from yer parents…that you'd eventually end up messing up as a kid." She finished up the last grape.
Rhoda's eyebrows shot up. "He does have quite a few more hurdles than others to jump over. Much more than I did, for certain." She looked forward again, and they rounded a turn into the next row. "But, I assure you that I do understand…a tiny bit. The wine is called Cloistered Dove because that's what my family thought they'd be. Set apart, left alone, minding their own business. I did always admire their self-reliance and modesty. However, Phil has taken me to places on the globe some relatives will quite frankly, never hear of."
Janine frowned. "Yeah. I gotcha. He loves holing up in his lab."
Rhoda stopped to inspect another bunch of grapes, then broke more off and shared them. "Here, please have more." They continued forward. "Yes. Just like my family holed up on their land. You know, Phil had to propose to me three times before I accepted? He was relentless. That's what I love about him. He's undauntable. A bit flamboyant and a great deal eccentric…but fearless and undauntable!"
The redhead "wowed".
"You're helping him be genuine. Just like you. You're helping him be himself. Yes, he can invent, and he can tinker with electronics and he can study every defunct language on the globe…but…that's not being himself. I learned that lesson thirty years ago when I met Phil." Rhoda held up a finger. "Just don't ever try doing it all alone. You can't do it alone." She winked. "That's what girlfriends are for."
Janine had to laugh out loud. "Well, whenever Dr. Spengler ends up doing or saying something outrageously stupid, believe me, the guys're on 'im like flies on last month's trash!"
"Good." Rhoda stopped the two of them and rested a warm hand on Janine's forearm. "You are both very fortunate to live with such wonderful people." She knit her brow elegantly. "Except for this—Dr. Venkman—you've told me about. He sounds like quite a character." A smile returned to her face. "But no matter…from what you've told me about him on way here, he needs everyone he can…so he doesn't lose himself to no one other than himself."
Janine winked. "Thanks. If you don't mind me sayin', yeah, he's absolutely brilliant, but...truth is, that boy is as dense as a lead brick sometimes, too. I need all the encouragement I can get!"