15
"Did I kill that guy in cold blood?" Winston wanted to know.
"No," Egon assured him. "I am 98 percent certain that your actions were not the cause of his death."
"Take it," Peter insisted, waving a hand toward Zeddemore. "Try not to think about it too much."
"It's all I can think about," he murmured unhappily.
"So, what drags us to this neck of the alley?" Pete demanded, looking around.
"Gentleman, I believe we've found the source."
"Little more detail, Egon."
He pointed downward. "It may be some kind of an earth elemental."
"Elementals," echoed Ray. "Difficult to reason with."
"So, what do we have to do?" Pete asked. "Appease it somehow? Promise to stop littering and clean up the waterways?"
"Ideally we make contact with it and try to find out what it thinks it wants in order to calm it down again."
"And, how do we do that?"
Spengler said, "I believe that's what it took that young man for—to communicate with us."
"It had kind of an attitude problem," Pete mentioned.
"It probably isn't used to dealing directly with humans."
Stantz put in, "Elementals usually work through mediums and other types of sensitives. Wiccans often summon them in their ceremonies with no ill effects. They are generally watchers, caretakers, with the ability to influence people in order to help bring about desired results."
"Like genies?" Peter asked, making a face when they all frowned at him. "What? I thought maybe we were having a run on 'em."
Look at the layout of these buildings," Dr. Spengler continued.
"It's a circle," Pete said.
"It's a horseshoe," corrected Winston.
"It's a pentacle," Ray informed them.
"What's the deal with five-pointed stars?" Peter groused. "Who cares? What's the matter with trapezoids or, or dodecahedrons?" He grinned and mentioned, "Didn't think I knew any words that big, did ya?"
"Five-pointed symbols are very, very old," said Ray. "The ancient Egyptians used a five-pointed symbol to represent stars, and an almost identical symbol stands for both man and mountains in Chinese pictograms."
Egon added, "The five-pointed star is actually a very old symbol for Christ, representing the crown of thorns at his head and the wounds at his hands and feet."
"Okay, but still: why?"
"There's a very old belief system that claims that all of mankind was originally left here by an alien race tens of thousands of years ago," Ray told him. "When they return, they will recognize their own kind by the symbol of the five-pointed star."
"Great. So only witches and police officers will be saved?"
"I think we're missing the point," Winston interrupted. He pointed to what they'd thought was a door painted some dark color, but which was actually an open doorway. A female figure trotted out, head hanging down like she was held upright by an invisible cord that emerged from between her shoulders. She wore an oversized dark sweater or sweatshirt with some kind of lighter fabric top underneath, peeking out here and there and shot through with silver thread. Her skirt was knee-length and plain and a heavy fabric like corduroy. She wore opaque dark stockings and clunky dark shoes that laced up and looked sensible aside from the ridiculously thick soles that added inches to her height. When she drew near enough, her head tilted upward in a sickly manner as though she was a well-loved rag doll or antique teddy bear. Again, there were only dark smudges where her eyes should have been.
"Greetings," said Egon in his deep baritone. "I am Dr. Egon Spengler, and these are my colleagues, Dr. Stantz-"
"Hi," Ray said, lifting a hand briefly.
Peter looked at him like he needed to remind him they were on a job and not a meet and greet cocktail party. He offered a slight nod when he was introduced.
"Winston Zeddemore-"
Winston remained still, senses on alert.
"And…and…."
They glanced about, but the teenager had vanished once again.
"What do you want here?" The girl had the same strange way of talking, her voice rising and dropping in pitch and tone at unpredictable moments.
Ray stepped forward. "We were asked to come here and find out what all the fuss was about."
"Fuss?" Her movements were jerky and uncoordinated instead of graceful as the last guy's had been.
"Uh…you know, like the flickering lights, the bad smells, the zombies?"
"Zombies?"
"That was your doing, wasn't it? I mean, you weren't, like, battling some other earth-spirit or something, were you?"
"Earth…spirit?"
"I think she's new to English," Winston said.
Egon cleared his throat. "We've come to find out what you want…or need…in order to return to your normal…restful state."
Her head went back and she laughed loudly enough to make them all flinch. "There is nothing that I need."
"I think the other option was want, then," Peter reminded her.
"Want," she repeated, moving her mouth like she was tasting the word. "What I want…is for you to leave."
"Well, there's nothing I'd like more, but we're getting paid for this and we've gotta show something for our efforts," said Peter.
"What is the value of your life?" she queried, taking a couple of staggering steps toward him.
He swallowed, shuffling backward. "The-the value of my life?"
Winston mentioned, "All life is precious."
She slowly turned her head his way and fixed him with her empty, nothing stare.
After a few uneasy moments, he added, "All is one."
Her head cocked and she almost stepped toward him, but hesitated. "I will spare the messenger."
Peter looked around at the others. "Who's the messenger?"
Ray pointed toward Winston and Egon said, "I think she means him."
"Who elected you messenger? How'd you get to be the messenger?"
"Trickster," she said almost quietly, and Peter finally realized she seemed to be looking his way. "Me? The Trickster? Does he get spared?"
"He returns."
"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "Have we met before?"
Her head turned so far they heard bone break and Winston felt a hint of relief. Certainly this mouthpiece of the spirit's was already dead, and thus there was a good chance the last one had been, too.
She was facing Egon. "The Wise Man?" he tried
"Adam," she said.
"Adam?"
Ray blurted, "The Trickster is a common character in many Native American stories. This may be some kind of Native American entity."
"But, does the Trickster live?" Peter asked.
"What tribes were here?" asked Egon.
Ray thought about it. "Wow. Algonquin? Seneca? There were so many…it would be hard to pinpoint a specific one without researching it."
Winston whipped out his cell phone. "Native American Indian tribes of the Hudson River Valley."
The phone was dysfunctional.
"Adam was the first scientist," Ray recalled. "The first person to study and give names to things."
"That's Christian, right?" asked Egon.
"Jewish?" suggested Ray.
"Let's just say she's old," Peter told them. "We're not here to win the washer/dryer set."
"Waitaminute," said Ray, stepping forward and waving a hand in the air. "There are five of us. You've only named three. What about the other two?"
"The Fool," she told him.
"Tarot cards," he blurted. "That's French, I believe."
"Him or her?" asked Peter, also taking a step closer.
A single finger cracked in an ugly manner as she aimed it at Stantz without moving her arm.
"Then that leaves Amanda," said Ray in a decisive manner.
"She's not actually one of us," Peter stage-whispered past a cupped hand.
"What about," he said, turning and trying to see into the shadows. "What about…the girl?"
"Do not try to distract me."
"I'm not," he replied, still looking away like he was talking to someone at a high school reunion instead of some horrific freak of nature using a corpse as a puppet. "We came here with somebody else…and you never reacted to her whatsoever in the bar. Your tricks didn't disturb her in the least. The whole time you were there, she was sitting in a dark corner eating a cheeseburger."
"I knew someone else saw that!" Pete grunted, making a fist of recognition.
"So…what about her? Name her."
"There is no her."
"She's here somewhere. Amanda! A-man-da!"
"This is not someone."
"She's just as real as you are," he insisted.
Egon swung the PKE meter around, but it remained functional. "I don't think she's here, Ray."
Stantz looked ashen. "You think she'd just abandon us?"
"You bore me," the dead girl said.
"The Trickster doesn't die!" said Pete.
Winston said, "Messenger."
"I want that job!"
Winston shrugged.
"I will," said the corpse.
They waited.
"You…will what?" Spengler asked.
Her head turned toward him and her grin became huge and maniacal. "I. Will!"
Ray caught him by the sleeve. "I am is the oldest prayer and name of the Christian God."
"Her name is Will?"
"No. I think it means she's making more things happen." They could hear screaming and sirens starting up again around them. "Bad things."
"Apparently."