WHAT BECKONING SHADE

by Sheila Paulson

Originally published in Remote Control 9

Fog drifted in thick patches, pierced here and there by pale shafts of moonlight. Alongside the graveyard's metal fence grew a twisted old tree, its branches bare against the autumn moon. Beyond the open gate that hung on rusty hinges tombs stood outlined against the lowering brightness, some carved stone crosses, others traditional stones, separated here and there by a moldering sarcophagus. In the lower hollows, the mist was too thick to allow any but blurred outlines to emerge, but the grave markers at the top of the hill stood out in stark silhouette.

Three middle school boys stood at the gate, jockeying each other with nudges and shoves, working up their courage to go in, to prove their manhood by daring to enter the cemetery on Halloween. A nerve-racking rite of passage, the visit was practiced every Halloween by one or more of the local schoolboys--and in recent years schoolgirls--determined to prove their courage. Never mind the reports in town that there had been mysterious blue lights drifting about the old graveyard, or that strange moans rang through the night. Tonight Joe Reichard, DeWayne Loomis, and Jordan Nye meant to prove they weren't afraid of anything.

Jordan, the group's unacknowledged leader, took the first step. "Come on, guys, it's easy. You know those high school creeps were only trying to scare us. Few years from new, we'll scare the younger kids, too. Nothing to hurt us here. Nobody ever died in the graveyard or disappeared from there, either."

"You hope," DeWayne teased cockily. He struck an attitude. "Maybe they just don't tell us."

"Thanks, Loomis," snapped Joe, casting an uneasy glance around, his eyes lingering on the thickest patch of fog that swirled and writhed as if it were a living entity. Joe was a follower; he would do anything Jordan said even if he didn't want to, but tonight he was doubtful. Did a figure move in the heart of the fog, a thicker shape and more fluid than the tombstones? "Something's over there," he hissed. "Look!"

"Gimme a break, Reichard," DeWayne challenged. "It's just fog. You see fog every morning hanging over the river. It don't hurt you then, it won't hurt you now, Right, Jor?"

"Right," Jordan agreed, then he stopped, his hands shooting out to capture each friend's arm. "Wait. Joey's right. Something did move."

"No way, man!" DeWayne's ego was too big to allow him to panic--yet. "Where?"

Joe flung out his arm, his pointing finger stabbing at the mist in much the same way the Ghost of Christmas Future had pointed at Scrooge's tomb. "There."

The three boys drew together instinctively, shrinking into the shadow of the gate pillar, watching the form solidify out of the mist, glowing gently, drifting just barely above the ground. As they stared in horrified realization, it assumed a manlike form, projecting arms and legs out of a thickening of the mist. A face, still formless but all the more terrible for its lack of feature, turned in their direction. At once the shape jerked as it saw them.

Joe's pointing hand dropped to his side. "I want out of here," he wailed.

"Quiet, don't let it know we're here," commanded Jordan, trying to push his buddies toward the road. "Let's just run."

"It'll catch us," moaned Joe.

"I can take it on." DeWayne struck a Schwarzenneger pose and tried to flex fledgling muscles.

'It's a ghost," wailed Joe and broke for the road, never stopping to look back.

The misty shape wailed every bit as loudly but with an eerie, angry tone that came bellowing out of the mist at them. The specter lunged at them, expanding into a gigantic, monstrous form with a hate-filled face.

Jordan and DeWayne exchanged a shocked, incredulous glance, then, as one man, they took off after Joe, their legs pumping in frantic urgency. Jordan felt his foot catch in a root as he broke for the road and he went down hard, pain stabbing up from his ankle he gave a frantic shout for help.

Instantly DeWayne stopped running, and even the more distant--and more panicked--Joe caught himself and dashed toward his downed friend, although he was quaking with fear. DeWayne gesticulated wildly at the spirit. "Go away. Get out of here. You hurt him and I'm gonna bash you!" He jumped between the downed Jordan and the ghost, trying hard not to appear as terrified as he felt.

Then Joe reached them and they scooped up their downed friend under the nose of the looming shade and started off again, tugging his arms around their shoulders as they ran. None of them noticed the spirit jerk itself to startled attention and dwindle down to its original size again, withdrawing into the mist from which it had come, shaking its head. For a breathless eternity it hovered there, then it brought up spectral hands and hid its face in them, and a noise hung on the air that might be the sound of despairing tears. It did not pursue them, but they ran as if it had, half-dragging Jordan, who couldn't put weight on his injured foot. When they rounded a bend and nearly ran into the path of a pickup truck driven by one of the local farmers, they flagged him down and scrambled in with relief, babbling desperately about the ghost from the old cemetery all the way to town.

*****

"I say it's a Halloween prank," Peter Venkman objected in the tones of a man who is far too comfortable to bestir himself even if his job is busting ghosts. "Somebody's trying to set us up. Or somebody set those kids up. You know, lure them out to the cemetery on Halloween, then try to con them into seeing a ghost."

"I don't think that happened," Ray insisted with a grin. He had recognized Peter's protest for the comfortable laziness that it was and didn't intend to back down. He'd taken the call from the local police chief in Maryville, New Jersey himself since it was after hours and their secretary, Janine Melnitz was gone for the evening. "The chief of police there says he knows who his troublemakers are and this isn't the kind of prank they could pull. Besides, he says the injured boy is really a good kid, best grades in his class, an altar boy at church. All the other kids in his class think a lot of him."

Peter pondered it, helping himself to a handful of popcorn from the bowl that was sitting in his lap. He, Ray, and Egon were on the couch in front of the TV where they had been idly brangling over what programs to watch that evening while Winston, his nose buried in a new mystery, sat in the chair behind them. He probably hadn't heard a word of Ray's excited exclamation.

"Well, yeah," Peter said thoughtfully. Haunted graveyards on Halloween were too much of a cliché to buy into. Last night's spookiness might well be dismissed after a day or two separated a town of panicked people from the event. "But that doesn't mean he could have been a target of another kid who was envious of him."

"I don't think an envious kid could have created illusions like that," Ray argued. "It'd take resources like ILM to produce such an fantasy image. They said the ghost formed out of mist and then grew really big and was ready to attack then when their friend was hurt."

"And then it didn't?" Egon put in, interested. "When it had the perfect opportunity? How very odd. Maybe it was all show."

"I know, Egon, and I've been thinking about that. I'm not sure why it didn't." Ray grinned. "One of the kids was down; it turns out he broke his ankle, and the others had to come back and rescue him. I sure don't know why the ghost didn't grab him then, unless all it does is scare people. But we can find out. I said we'd show up tomorrow."

"You want us to go to New Jersey, Ray?" Peter moaned. "A fate worse than death. New Jersey in November? Give me a break."

"It's been a pleasant autumn so far, Peter," Egon reminded him. "And I believe Maryville is only an hour or so out of the city. We might not even need to stay overnight."

"Let's hope we won't," Peter proclaimed. "Yo, Winston, what do you think?"

"Say what?" Winston's head popped up from his book. "You talking to me, Pete?'

"We're going to New Jersey," Peter said. "Better make sure you have that survival kit ready. You know, Egon's laptop, plenty of soda, a compass, rock climbing gear, Ray's portable TV. I hate it when we have to leave civilization behind."

"My parents live in Jersey," Winston reminded Peter. "I'll tell my dad you said that."

Big Ed Zeddemore might tolerate Ghostbusters better these days than he had when his son was new to the business, but he still wasn't a man Peter wanted to annoy. "Oh well, I can live with it for once." He turned to Egon, who had taken a calculator from his pocket and was engaged in entering numbers into it. "So, Spengs. Does this mean we have to leave at the crack of dawn? You know how I feel about mornings?"

"We'll leave at seven," Egon decided, ignoring Peter's protesting wail. "You often waste the best part of the day, Peter."

'Okay, so your brain works best at 6 a.m." Peter shook his head pityingly. "Some of us need to work up a good head of steam and are still going full tilt at 1 a.m."

Egon ignored that. "We've heard no other complaints from the Maryville area, have we, Ray?"

Stantz bounced up off the couch again. "Not a one. It's probably going to be a class three, somebody who's buried in the cemetery."

"And doesn't want to stay down," Winston offered. He abandoned his book. "If we're leaving at seven, I'd better go give Ecto a once-over."

"And we should pack in case we have to stay overnight," Ray cried, full of enthusiasm. "I like it when we go out of town to bust a ghost."

"I shall telephone Janine and let her know we'll be gone when she arrives in the morning," Egon replied. Peter watched him head not for the nearest telephone but for the stairs to the ground floor, perhaps to insure himself a private call. Winston fell into step with him, though, and Peter grinned. Maybe if he called in and sent Janine a dozen red roses in Egon's name.... It might be interesting to watch the fun.

"Come on, Peter, let's go get packed," urged Ray. If he could have bestirred the other three he would have left that minute. All these years of busting ghosts had never diminished his enthusiasm, and Peter hoped it never would. Watching his friends scatter to their self-assigned tasks, he stretched out on the couch, balancing the popcorn bowl on his chest. One of them would come and nag him soon enough, and he didn't mind. For the moment he would just lie there and savor the peace, and the fact that he loved his life. How could it ever get better than this?

*****

Maryville was a little town set in rolling hills, truck farming country, Ray said as they saw the little place nestled picturesquely in a small valley. The morning sunlight flashed off stretches of a lazy river that rolled through the town, while a church spire rose up out of the autumn trees. On a hill on the far side of the valley was the spire of another church, set among a series of buildings that might have been a small college.

"It's pretty," Ray said, leaning slightly forward in the 'shotgun' position beside Winston as they pulled into town.

"It's not Manhattan, Ray," Peter objected.

"Most places aren't," Ray returned unanswerably, causing Peter to give him an amused poke in the shoulder.

"The police chief's office is here," Winston pointed, gesturing at a sign.

They pulled up in front of a building that might be the city hall; it had a tower with a bell in it and gargoyle ornaments perched on each of the four corners. Badly in need of sandblasting, most of the building's surface was concealed by the ivy that was swallowing it up. "This way," Winston said, gesturing at a door.

The sheriff himself met them. He was a tall man whose concession to his office was a uniform shirt tucked into faded blue jeans. About Egon's age, he had a face with laughter lines at the corners of eyes that were like steel marbles, expressionless and angry. The anger was evidently habitual and not directed at them, because he produced a pleasant enough smile at the sight of them and gestured them through the swinging gate as if he'd been waiting for them, motioning for the redheaded woman in a similar uniform shirt and jeans to sit down again. Tall and lean, he had a slight scar just above his left temple, where a white streak cut dramatic slash through the near-Native American blackness of his hair. His cheekbones suggested Indian ancestry as well, but the hard, cold eyes were as blue as Egon's.

"I'm Kyle Owen," he introduced himself. "And I know you're the Ghostbusters. Welcome to Maryville. We haven't had trouble like this before, and I have to say I don't like it."

"Have you been out to take a look around?" Ray asked eagerly. "Oh, I'm Ray Stantz." He stuck out a friendly hand. Owen's grip appeared decidedly firm. Peter noticed Ray trying not to wince at the strength of it. When Owen let go, Ray flexed his fingers surreptitiously and pointed at each of the other three in turn to give the chief their names.

"Good to meet you," Owen replied, pumping their hands in turn. Peter felt like his had been mangled but he pretended it was fine. "No, I sent a couple of my people out to the cemetery, one of them when Jack Dawkins brought the boys in to the hospital, and another yesterday morning. There was no evidence of foul play out there, and Mark and Kelly didn't report anything. Kelly said she went around and examined at every grave but none of them had been tampered with, and she didn't find any car tracks or little oil spills or cigarette butts that could tie in. She's our best tracker. Grew up on a farm, went hunting with her brothers." He gestured at the redhead, who turned from her computer screen and favored the team with a friendly grin. She wasn't pretty, but she had an engaging smile that lit up her squarish face, and a pair of tiptilted eyebrows that gave her a permanent expression of delighted surprise.

"Mark and I went all over the place," she said. "Of course it was daylight by the time we arrived. DeWayne said none of them actually entered the cemetery. They had reached the gate, and possibly they took a step or two past it but no further. We asked around at the school, and no one else admits being out thee on Halloween. Of course they probably wouldn't even if they have been, but this is a good town. We have our share of Halloween pranks, but they don't qualify to be called vandalism, at least not often."

"Did you experience any sensations of cold or any eerie feelings you were being watched?" Ray asked, intrigued.

"Not a thing. It was peaceful and pretty out there. Yesterday was as gorgeous as it is today. Perfect weather. I wish I'd taken a picnic lunch."

"To eat at the cemetery?" Owen sounded shocked and scandalized at the very idea.

Kelly winced. "Sorry, Chief. Although my grandma would probably like it if I came out and sat on her gravestone and chatted with her while I had my lunch."

"Any other information you want to share with the Ghostbusters?" The police chief's voice was as hard as his eyes.

"No, and it's not sacrilege or anything," Kelly burst out. "Come on, Kyle, don't do this to yourself."

"Kelly will give you a map," he said, so finally everyone there knew the discussion was over. Kelly shot him a sideways glance, then sighed softly before she opened her desk drawer for the map, avoiding the Ghostbusters' eyes.

"Could we talk to the boys involved?" Peter asked hastily, sensing the tension in the air.

Egon nodded in approval of the question. "Their impressions would be useful before we actually examine the site."

"They'll be thrilled to talk to the Ghostbusters," Kelly said. "It's Saturday so they'll probably be over at Jordan's house. Those three are a real team. They're always hanging out together."

"Run them over, Kelly," the police chief said. He retreated into his office and closed the door behind him. It was an effective dismissal.

Peter glanced at the door. "I don't think he likes us," he mourned.

"It isn't personal," Kelly said. "He doesn't like anyone. Come on. I'll ride over with you. Here's the map to show you how to find the cemetery afterwards." She passed it to Ray, who reached out for it eagerly and smiled a thanks.

*****

Kelly was right; all three of the boys were at Jordan Nye's house, and all three of them brightened remarkably at the sight of the uniformed Ghostbusters. Jordan himself, a cast on his right ankle, was ensconced in splendor on the overstuffed couch in the family's big, cozy living room, a fair-haired boy with an air of poise unusual in one so young. His mother had shown them in and discreetly vanished; Peter gave her high marks for that.

"Wow," breathed a second boy, a slighter one with a shock of brown hair that trailed down in his eyes. Wearing a Maryville High sweatshirt that was a size too big for him, it made him instead look a size too small. But there was excitement in his eyes and a quiet self-satisfaction that didn't quite match the habitual anxiousness of his stance. "Ghostbusters!"

The third boy was African American, and there was no anxiousness in his pose. He could probably strut sitting down, but he, too deferred to Jordan. "Why not the Ghostbusters?" he asked as if he'd expected nothing less. "We did see a ghost."

Ray once again performed the introductions. "We heard about your experience in the cemetery, and the town hired us to find out what happened," he explained.

Jordan introduced his friends; the anxious one was Joe Reichard, the cocky one DeWayne Loomis. It was interesting to watch the two of them range themselves one on either side of Jordan on the couch, unconsciously presenting a united front.

"At first we thought it was just the fog," Jordan explained. "But then it grew up out of the fog and took a shape."

Joe shuddered. "It spouted arms and legs like a TV cartoon mutant," he said. "And then it grew a face, and it was a mean face, and it hated us."

"It just grew real big and started to chase us," DeWayne explained. "And we knew that couldn't be a trick. The high school guys like to act like they're grown up and pull things on us middle school guys. But they can't do what we saw, not unless they're Steven Spielberg."

"So we ran," Jordan explained. For him to say it didn't seem an admission of cowardice but a sane and sensible precaution, which it undoubtedly was. Joe blazed a smile at him.

"No, I ran first," he admitted, and Peter sensed something was going on here between them.

"You came back when I went down," Jordan reminded him. "You're not a coward, Joe. You were brave when it counted."

Joe's face lit up. "It was gonna grab you." He shuddered reminiscently. "I saw it up close," he added. "When I was running back."

Peter realized Joe had not considered himself brave until he found the guts to return for his downed friend. Anyone could panic and run, but only a person with integrity could find the inner strength to do what Joe had done.

"Brave guy," he said approvingly. "You didn't let your friend down. Tell us what you saw."

"Don't make him cocky," DeWayne muttered under his breath, but it was an affectionate teasing. Joe leaned around Jordan and poked him in the ribs.

"Look who's talking!"

"Tell them what you saw, Joey," Jordan intervened, smiling. A perceptive kid, he clearly understood the byplay. He elbowed both of them to make his point.

Peter could see all three boys fighting down the urge to enjoy a spot of roughhousing, but they controlled themselves. Joe straightened; suddenly the sweatshirt was simply too big, and his shoulders almost filled it.

"Well, DeWayne yelled at it to go away," he said. "Stood right up to it. Jor was down and I could tell he was hurt. His face was all scrunched up and he was sweating. The ghost didn't really listen to Loomis. It just got bigger for a minute. Then I got there--oh, man, I hated that. I wouldn't want to take on ghosts for a living."

"Don't forget, we're armed, m'man," Winston told him. "Makes a big difference, believe me."

Joe's glowing smile shot out again. "Anyway, it was really big," he said. "It towered over DeWayne, and I knew it was gonna grab Jor any second. Oh, man, I wanted to run."

"You didn't," Jordan said quietly.

Joe beamed as if he'd gone out to slay Titans before breakfast. "I couldn't, man, you were hurt. Anyway, DeWayne bent over you and I saw the ghost up close. I just couldn't tear my eyes away. It was like I was...what's that word?...mesmerized," he produced triumphantly.

"What did he look like, Joe?" Ray asked quietly.

"Well, it wasn't real clear. It was like, you're in the movies and they don't have the focus right. It was all fuzzy like it was made out of fog but made into something that fog wasn't supposed to be."

That particular description sent a shiver down Peter's spine and his respect for all three boys increased. "Go on," he said. "You're doing great."

"It was almost like I could see his features," Joe continued. "I could see hollow places that should have been eyes and an open mouth like it was yelling only I couldn't hear it yelling. But I think it was. I think it was yelling to drive us away." He sagged down inside his sweatshirt at the memory, then he pulled himself together. "It hated us," he continued. "It hated everybody. But when I reached Jordan, it just stopped. We were outside the gates then, and it had started to come out after us, but it stopped. It jerked kind of funny."

"As if it couldn't cross the threshold of the graveyard?" prompted Egon. He had his P.K.E. meter out, taking readings of all three boys. The meter wasn't reacting, but after a brief contact a day and a half ago, that was normal.

"But it did cross over," DeWayne reminded them. "It was just outside the gates. If it couldn't come out, it shouldn't be able to come out and then realize it was a bad ghost and have to retreat. It just shouldn't be able to come at all. Right?"

"Exactly right," Egon replied. "Were it bound entirely to the cemetery, it should have been unable to pass through the gates, unless the land it was on was a part of the cemetery."

"It was the driveway," Jordan offered. "But it was outside the gates."

"But it stopped there?" Ray asked.

"Yeah, it jerked and looked really horrible," Joe said. "I just wanted to run, but for a second I couldn't stop staring at it. And I had this funny feeling right then, like it had decided it wasn't going to hurt us. I think it could have hurt us," he added thoughtfully. "But it was like all of a sudden it chose not to."

"Chose not to?" echoed DeWayne in uncontrollable disbelief. "Are you kidding. We ran like crazy, and it wasn't going to come after us?"

"We didn't know," said Jordan. "Even if Joe felt that way, it could have changed its mind or it might have been trying to lull us. You know, make us relax so it could still get us."

Joe shook his head stubbornly. "I'm never going out there again, not for anything, but it wouldn't have hurt us," he insisted.

"It hurt Jor," DeWayne argued.

"I tripped," Jordan responded. He gestured at his cast, propped out before him on the coffee table, already adorned with signatures and the weird designs kids his age favored. "The ghost didn't do that, at least not...not directly. "Come on, Joey, you're doing great. Do you know why it wasn't going to hurt us?"

"No, but I saw it decide not to. There just wasn't any hate on its face any longer." He shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Jordan's right, you're doing great," Peter encouraged him. "Egon, you kidder, what do you think it means? That the ghost only likes to scare people but doesn't want to hurt anybody?"

"Possibly, Peter. But it didn't stop coming when Jordan went down. It continued to advance."

"Maybe it was afraid of Joe," DeWayne teased. He leaned over and poked Joe. "He's a pretty scary kid."

"Scary yourself," Joe responded and punched back. Jordan leaned forward to block their aim.

"Guys, come on, we don't want the Ghostbusters to think we're just dumb kids."

"We sure don't think that," Ray reassured him, smiling at all three boys. "You've been a lot of help to us."

"You guys gonna go out there?" asked DeWayne, a hopeful grin on his face. "You want a guide?"

"I bet you'd make a great one," Winston told him. "But our contract won't let us take minors to the scenes of hauntings. We could be sued, you know?"

That worked, although their standard contract didn't say anything of the sort. Still, none of the Ghostbusters wanted to risk children. These three would claim they weren't children, and they had behaved better in the crisis than many adults, but none of the team wanted to risk them again. The ghost had evidently let them go. Maybe it had realized how young they were. Maybe it could only walk between certain hours. And maybe it couldn't leave the cemetery.

"It's what they pay us for," Peter said. "But nobody'd pay you three. We might come and ask you more questions, though."

They left the three boys feeling very pleased with themselves and went out to Ecto. The deputy, Kelly, who had waited in the doorway, was smiling. "The ghost did Joe good," she said. "He's my nephew, my older sister's boy. He's always been slightly unsure of himself. I'm sorry he had to see what he saw out there, but he found the courage to come back for Jordan. He did the right thing in a crisis. People don't always know how they'll behave when things go wrong." Her face darkened as if the words had a meaning she didn't mean to explain, then she shrugged.

Ray stood aside and let her into the front seat before he climbed in. "We'll drop you at your office and head out to the cemetery."

"They're good kids," Winston said. "I bet Joe will learn to be more sure of himself now. He knows he can cut it."

Kelly hesitated then reverted to the subject that was troubling her. "I hope Kyle didn't offend you. He's been like that for awhile now. I know you thought it funny he didn't check out the cemetery himself, but he doesn't like to go out there."

"He doesn't seem the type to be afraid of graveyards," Peter commented from the back seat. "What's his beef anyway?"

"His best friend's buried there," Kelly replied. "He never came to terms with Sam's death. So he won't go out there. He might have to see the grave."

"That's sad," Ray breathed. "Poor guy."

Peter understood the sympathy. All of them could imagine the ghastly thought of losing one of their team. They had become a family, closer than brothers, and they faced death together on a regular basis. It made for a strong bond. The police department was like the Ghostbusters in that respect. Peter could feel the team's sympathy for Kyle Owen increase. He still remembered how devastated he'd felt when Egon been hit with the destablizer backlash and vanished before their eyes a few years earlier, and the relief they'd all felt when they'd rescued him. He'd seen team members go down and the heart-stopping panic he'd felt each time before he realized it was just a fall or a less-than-fatal injury suddenly made sense of the cold hardness in Owen's eyes.

"We can handle the cemetery ourselves," he said quickly, sharing an understanding glance with his friends. "Don't worry about it, Kelly. We won't hold it against your boss."

"Quite right, Peter," Egon agreed.

"Sometimes I do," she said in a tight voice. "Kyle and I--well, we were thinking about getting married before Sam died. Now...well, now it's off."

"And you still work with him every day?" Peter asked. That took guts, or maybe she hoped to get him back, although the way he was now, Peter didn't think they could make it work.

"Well, it's my job. There aren't a lot of job opportunities in Maryville. I thought of applying for a security position up at the college." She gestured to the buildings up on the hill. "But they have all the security staff they need, and it might be funny, working for the brothers, even if they're good folks."

"Brothers?" prompted Winston.

"It's a monastery, with a school. Private Catholic college. Marymount. Maryville's mostly a Catholic town. Not all of us, but say seventy per cent. The brothers are pretty nice when they come to town, but still..." She gestured that away.

"Has anyone talked to the local priest about an exorcism?" Ray asked.

"I don't think anyone even thought of it," Kelly replied. "I didn't think the Church did that these days."

"Well, not very often and it's a really lengthy process," Ray replied. "It might be the only answer, but sometimes what we do works better."

"I detected no readings from the boys," Egon explained. "Should the entity have been as powerful as a demon I might have detected lingering residuals. Given that the apparition appeared in a cemetery, I assume it was most likely a class three, a specter that was once a living human being. They are less powerful than demons, and the readings from such a brief contact would not have lingered. I should have better luck on site."

"Here you are, Kelly, door to door service," Winston said, pulling up outside the police station, and Ray jumped out of the car to let her out.

"We'll let you know what we pick up," he said to her. "We'll check in later. Right now we'll go out and see if we can provoke the ghost into appearing to us. It may only manifest at night." He slid into the car again and Winston put it in gear.

"Only manifest at night," groaned Peter. "You had to say that, didn't you?"

"Scared, Peter?" teased Ray.

"Yeah, right, Ray, terrified," Peter said sourly.

"It's the thought of a damp, foggy graveyard," Winston said. "Bad for your rheumatism, right, Pete?"

"I do not have rheumatism," Peter replied with dignity. "It's just, when it gets dark, I'd rather be home at the firehouse, with my feet up, in front of the tube, a bowl of popcorn in my lap. Or on a date with a gorgeous blonde in my lap. You guys don't mind slogging through jungles. Personally, I like to be comfortable."

"Hmm," Egon replied. "I have noticed that."

Peter jabbed him with his elbow, the way the three boys had jostled each other. Egon jabbed back. "Well, maybe it will be waiting for us at the gate and we can finish this up in five minutes," Peter said hopefully. "We get paid the same either way, and I know which way I'd choose."

"I don't know," Ray disagreed, turning in his seat and resting his elbow on the seatback as he grinned at Peter and Egon. "I think it would be kinda neat to see it form out of fog like that. And the fog burned off before we arrived. It's too sunny."

"A gorgeous sunny day is the best possible time to visit a graveyard, Ray," Peter argued.

"Not if you're hunting for ghosts, Peter," Ray said unarguably. "Not if you're hunting for ghosts."

*****

The cemetery was set in a picturesque valley, a beautiful setting. Ray smiled at the sight of it, eager to start taking readings. There were a few twisted trees, already bare of foliage, and a carpet of colored leaves decorating the grass between the tombs. Winston stopped Ecto-1 in the driveway where Jordan Nye had injured his ankle, and all four of them jumped out and hurried around to the rear of the converted hearse to grab their proton packs and put them on. Egon did it absently, his meter already active. A pucker between his brows indicated he wasn't detecting the readings he had hoped for.

"Nothing, Egon?" Ray asked, snapping his pack's buckle in place across his stomach.

"Residuals only, Raymond. It's not stirring now. Yet it has been here enough to make the residuals fairly powerful. We were right before, it's definitely a class three."

"A class three that turns into fog?" Peter asked with heavy skepticism, even though he knew class three spirits could shapeshift. He took a cautious step past the gate and stood just within the main body of the cemetery, staring around, waiting for his presence to awaken the shade. When nothing happened, he grinned and advanced further, heading toward a small, marble mausoleum to his right. Ray trotted after him, his eyes busy. Among the many conventional tombstones, the dotting of mausoleums and the occasional tall Washington-monument style of spires stood out. Sloping off to his left was the oldest part of the cemetery, backed by a huge, twisted tree, tombs in the shape of crosses predominating, their sharp edges worn rough by time and weather.

Peter reached his objective and stopped in front of the door, leaning closer to peer into a small window. Immediately he gave a startled yelp and jerked backward only to catch himself and peeked inside again. "No fair," he complained, trying to appear nonchalant, hoping no one had noticed.

"What did you see, Peter?" Egon asked, sweeping his meter toward the tomb and trying not to show his amusement at Peter's startled jump.

"There's a mirror on the far wall," Peter complained, trying hard to appear unembarrassed. "Why the heck would a mausoleum have a mirror in it? You think ghosts want to ogle themselves in mirrors? Half of them don't reflect anyway." He brushed his hands together to dismiss the place from his mind. "When I looked in there, I saw myself, only it's an old, faded mirror."

Ray edged up and peered in. A greenish oval moved in response and he realized it was his face, reflected in great distortion. No wonder Peter had jumped. Ray would probably have let out a squawk himself if he hadn't been prepared.

"Yep, it's there," he said. "Egon, you picking up anything?"

"There has been an entity here," Egon replied. "It's quiescent at present.

"Psyched yourself up for ghosts, didn't you, Pete?" Winston asked.

"You'd have jumped, too." Peter gave the sarcophagus a wide, offended berth. He started off beyond it, producing his own meter and turning it on. Ray watched him a minute, then he settled the ecto scopes on his forehead, adjusted their controls, and pulled them down over his eyes.

"Anything with the scopes, Ray?" Peter called to him.

"Not yet." He surveyed the cemetery through the goggles, but nothing unusual appeared to him. After a minute, he pushed them up on his forehead again. "Egon's right. If it's here, it's dormant. There's a really faint overlay, but I'm not sure if I'm really seeing it or halfway imagining I'm seeing it. And that's consistent with what I should be picking up."

"Maybe it would come if we called it and then we could bust it," Peter decided, swinging over to join them. "Class threes aren't a problem. We can bust it without much trouble." He raised his voice. "Hey, ghostie. Come to papa!"

"Honestly, Peter," Egon chided. "It will scarcely come because you call it."

"Well, it isn't coming otherwise," Peter defended himself. "Picky, picky. I've gotta say, communing with nature isn't my favorite thing, especially in a cemetery." He cast an uneasy eye over his shoulder at the tombstones, as if he were all too easily imagining the place in the dark with fog creeping in and out between the graves. Much better to lure out the spirit in daylight and bust him, and be home for supper.

"But we've busted ghosts in cemeteries lots of times," argued Ray. "I think it's kind of cool. Even when we don't bust them but help them to disperse peacefully." He glanced around the cemetery. It was peaceful now but it would probably be spooky in the dark.

"But we don't know who the ghost is, so how can we do that," argued Winston. "Kelly said none of the graves were disturbed. So how do we tell who the ghost is?"

"Maybe it's a recent one," Ray said. "Because people have come out here on other Halloweens and haven't had problems like those three kids did."

"So let me get this straight," Peter said unhappily. "You want us to walk around through here and read every date on every stone and find the ones that have died since last Halloween? That could takehours."

"Trying to weasel out of work, eh, Pete?" Winston teased.

"No, not when we could go back for a list of names from Kelly. After all, Maryville's a small town, even with that college. She'd probably know. After all, somebody's aunt Mabel who died in her sleep at age ninety-seven isn't likely to turn into a ghost. We can ask about violent deaths or people who died young." He frowned at his three teammates. "Why do I have to always be the sensible one?"

The other three greeted that comment with groans of derision, and Peter waved his hands to fend off their reaction. "Well, come on, guys, you know we do better with complete information. Spengs, you're always going on and on about it. You're just miffed because this time I thought of it."

"He's got you there, Egon," Ray agreed, smiling at Egon's disgruntled expression. "Anyway, the ghost's not here now. I think we're going to have to wait until dark."

"Agreed," Egon confirmed. "I just want to walk through the entire cemetery first and see if I can localize the residuals. Perhaps if we come close enough to the ghost's tomb it might rise and we could bust it without waiting until dark."

"Spengs, you're a genius," Peter agreed. "I like that, busting it now." Ray knew Peter wasn't afraid of returning after dark; he'd seen a lot scarier things in his career than a class three in a dark cemetery. All of them had. But hanging out in a fog-shrouded cemetery was probably bad for his hay fever, and he liked it better when they worked during normal working hours. Ray didn't mind when he busted ghosts. He loved it so much he didn't mind rising at four a.m. or working well into the night.

"A little lazy, Pete?" Winston challenged.

"Why not. I like being comfortable, and so do you, especially when you have that new mystery waiting to be read, so you can find out whodunit?"

"Then we'll split up," Egon decided. "Peter, with me. Ray and Winston, you go that way." He gestured with his meter.

*****

"Think maybe it was a ghost buried in one of those old mausoleums?" Peter asked as he and Egon walked down the hillside, the physicist waving his meter around. "Anyway, why would a grave have to be disturbed by a ghost. It could just drift out without having to dig its way to the surface. We're not dealing with a night of the living dead here, at least I hope the heck not."

"As do I," Egon returned. He twisted one of the meter's dials, his brow crinkling. "No, Peter. These residuals are clearly class three. As you know, a graveyard ghost is often one who can't rest for a specific reason or who is bound by grief thoughts from the survivors. Usually in a natural death such feelings are not sufficient to bind a spirit here."

"So what we do is go in and ask Kelly for a list?" Peter asked. "Unless we can bug it into popping up now and doing its number?"

"Precisely. You do, on occasion, have good ideas, Dr. Venkman."

"I'm flattered. I think." He approached another mausoleum warily, apparently, from the name carved on the lintel, the resting place of the Stone family, and peeked in through the barred door. No mirrors this time, thank goodness. It certainly looked undisturbed. There was a chain fastening the grilled gate in place, and a spider had spun a magnificent web all over it. No one had been in here for a long time. But then ghosts didn't need to unlock doors to go in and out.

"No mirrors this time?" Egon teased, coming up behind him.

"I'll never live that down, will I?" Peter wailed.

Sternly suppressing a smile, Egon said, "Perhaps not, Peter."

Grinning, Peter circled around behind the mausoleum, searching for evidence, he didn't know what. After hearing Joe's description of the ghost, he was pretty sure it hadn't been a scam, a projection. But ghosts didn't usually leave physical evidence, other than ectoplasm, at a scene, and enough time had passed for the ectoplasm to have vanished. Peter knew from his experience with Slimer that after so long the substance simply dried up and disappeared, although it tended to linger longer on saturated fabric--like his uniform or his pillowcase.

He remembered his own meter then and raised it, passing it along the rear of the small structure. The antennae shot up, the lights began blinking beeping in a rapidly ascending screech. "Egon, Egon, I'm getting a reading!" Peter yelled. "Egon?" His shout was echoed by a surprised yell, choked off abruptly, from Spengler. Peter called again, already moving. When the physicist didn't respond, he bellowed, "Egon!" at the top of his lungs and raced around the tomb even as the meter's reaction stopped abruptly as if it had never reacted in the first place.

Egon was gone. On the ground at Peter's feet lay the physicist's P.K.E. meter but of the man himself, there was no trace.

"Egon!" Peter screeched again, grabbing up Egon's meter. Then, in frantic disbelief, "Ray! Winston! Egon's disappeared!"

He checked the grilled gate but the cobweb was undisturbed.

Winston and Ray pelted down the hill toward him, staring around in disbelief. "My meter just went into near-overload," Ray cried as he thudded up to Peter. "All at once and then it stopped just as fast. Where's Egon?"

"I don't know. I went around behind there," Peter explained, gesturing, "and my meter went crazy. Egon yelled but it was a blurted sound of surprise rather than actual words. When I came around again, Egon was gone! Only his meter was here." He waved it at them. "The ghost snatched him, guys. Ray, which way did he go?"

"We'll follow his biorhythms," Ray decided. He bent his head over the P.K.E. meter in his hand and adjusted it hastily. "There. Now it'll show us where Egon is."

The three men waited, staring at the meter in growing dismay as it simply sat there in Ray's hand. It didn't react at all.

"What the..." Winston caught Ray's wrist and raised it so he could see the meter. "It's broken, right?"

"No, I'm detecting a really faint residual. It knows Egon was here. It just...doesn't know where he is now."

"But that's crazy," Peter argued. He revolved slowly, studying the terrain. Egon was nowhere in sight. "He can't have just disappeared. Class threes can't do that, can they?"

"Well, actually, Peter, a ghost can take a person away," Ray replied. "If he surrounds and engulfs a person, he could do that. Slimer can't fly through a door when he's holding an object in his hand but if he swallows it he can."

"Are you saying the ghost ate Egon?" Peter demanded, grabbing Ray by the shoulders and shaking him.

"I didn't say it ate him, Peter," Ray said hastily. "But they can shapeshift. If it wrapped itself around him completely, it might have had time to take him to a place where we couldn't find him."

"In ten seconds?" Peter persisted. "It'd have to be close, like in one of these mausoleums or a grave." He looked down involuntarily. "And there's no air in any of them. Egon would suffocate! Ray, come on, we've gotta find him." He couldn't hold back his desperation.

"Egon's alive, and he's physical," Ray said, obviously thinking fast, though his eyes were wide with distress. "There wouldn't be room to fit him in a casket..." His voice trailed off as if he'd realized there might be enough room if the body in question had decayed sufficiently. He shuddered. "One of the mausoleums, maybe. Come on, we have to check them all."

"Why would the ghost do it?" Winston argued. "It's broad daylight, and it didn't hurt those kids. It let them go."

"They were outside the gates and going away. Maybe it knows we're the Ghostbusters and here to bust it," Ray replied, tight-lipped. He turned in a circle, the P.K.E. meter extended, checking the readings. "It might be trying to strike a deal with us. If we don't bust it, maybe it will give Egon back." He stared around the cemetery, his eyes huge with worry.

"You'd better not say this is one of those 'never negotiate with hostages' situations, Ray," Peter said ominously. His stomach muscles had hardened into a tight knot. Egon couldn't have disappeared in broad daylight. When Peter found this ghost he was going to zap it so hard it bounced.

"Are you kidding?" Winston replied grimly. "We'll rescue Egon and then we'll all stick together and bust it."

"Let's start to search," Ray said. Detaching the flashlight that hung on his belt, he shone it into the mausoleum.

"He can't be in there, the meter would be going nuts," Peter argued.

"We don't know what the ghost did with him," Ray replied. "Until we do that, we have to consider a physical search of the cemetery. Remember, this is a fairly big place and biorhythms are a weak field." He turned away. "No, he's not in there, at least I can't see him in there and those leaves on the floor haven't been disturbed. Even if the ghost hid him in one of those caskets, I'd still be able to pick him up. Class threes can't really block the meters."

"Could a lead-lined casket block the meters?" Winston asked as if he hated to even suggest the possibility.

Ray flinched as if he'd been struck. "Oh, gosh, I think it might. Or else we'd have to stand right on top of the correct grave to find it. And then we'd have to dig it up, and you know there won't be any air in there." As he stared across the cemetery, his face fell and his shoulders slumped. "We don't even have any shovels."

"Are you saying Egon could be...dead before we find him?" Winston demanded, grabbing Ray by the arm. "You're not saying that, homeboy."

"I...don't know," Ray replied, but Peter saw the truth in his eyes. If the ghost had concealed Egon in a buried casket, the odds were great that he would die before the other three could find him. Short of digging up every grave in the entire cemetery, they might not find him at all.

Holding onto Egon's meter, Peter passed his own to Winston, who instantly adjusted it to Egon's frequency. "If the ghost could take Egon, it can take the rest of us, one at a time," Peter pointed out, drawing his thrower. "So we go armed. Blast away at the first sign of it. If we can pin it in the streams we can bargain for Egon's life."

"Good thinking," Winston agreed. "This is one ghost I won't mind blasting."

"What we have to do," Peter said, "is go over every inch of this place with the meters boosted to top gain. If thee's so much as a flicker we'll dig there. If the ghost took him away from the cemetery, the odds are he isn't buried alive and we'll track him down eventually. But if he's here we have to find him now!"

They rapidly divided the cemetery into three sections and plunged off to hunt for their missing friend. Peter knew Ray and Winston were as sick with worry as he was. Danger was a part of their jobs, but usually they faced it together. To lose Egon like this just wasn't right. Thrower gripped in both hands, meter's handle tucked into the belt strap of his thrower, Peter stalked off to quarter his assigned ground. God, Egon, be all right, he thought as he hurried from grave to grave, making sure he didn't miss a one of them. But the P.K.E. meter didn't even flicker. Damn it, Spengs, where are you? Egon couldn't be gone just like that. They had to find him, he had to be all right. A part of Peter had long believed that as long as his team was intact they were invulnerable. No matter how great the danger, nothing could touch them, as long as they faced the threat side by side. It was a comforting belief, one he'd never let himself look beyond or he wouldn't have been able to continue the job with his usual confidence. If Egon died.... No, don't think about that, Peter. Think about finding him. You have to find him. You have to.

The sunlit autumn day was no longer beautiful, or if so, it was a terrible beauty. The knot in his stomach was so hard it hurt. When he saw the other two hurrying across their assigned sections of ground, he could tell they'd found nothing either. Egon could be six feet beneath Peter right now, suffocating while the search went on, dying in another man's tomb. Of course the ghost could have just zipped away at top speed and left him far from here. Slimer could fly at incredible speeds; maybe this ghost could, too. Maybe Egon was five miles away, hidden in an old shed, an abandoned barn, a junked car trunk. He could be anywhere.

"We'll find you, Egon," Peter vowed fiercely. "I promise you, we'll find you." He closed his eyes, hoping it was a promise he could keep.

Winston came running across to him. "Pete, I'm gonna call from Ecto for some help out here," he said. "We need backup. I'll call the police station."

"Good thinking, Winston." Trust Zeddemore to come up with a practical possibility. "Go for it."

"He wasn't in my area," Winston admitted, moving along with Peter as he continued his search. "But we'll find him. Once you and Ray have covered your ground, come out by Ecto. We'll wait outside the cemetery. If being there pisses off the ghost, let's not make him mad. He might take it out on Egon."

Peter flinched and Winston made a hasty, apologetic gesture with his thrower. "Sorry, Pete. But we've gotta give him the best chance we can. Maybe if we move off, the ghost will let him go. Or at least show up and dictate terms."

Peter doubted it. But it was a possibility and one they couldn't overlook. "Okay. Go make the call. Better call Kelly."

Winston nodded. Before he raced off, he dropped a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder. "I hate this, man," he said. "I really hate this. And Ray...." They both turned to regard Ray, who was peering into the window of another mausoleum.

Yeah, Ray.... Peter didn't like to think how hard this would hit Ray. Right now he had a task to do, one that absorbed him completely. Take away that responsibility and he'd have nothing to do but think about what might have happened to Egon. They didn't know. But their imaginations were not kind, and Ray had a wonderful imagination. "I'll stick with Ray," he promised.

The hand gave his shoulder a squeeze, then Winston raced for Ecto. Peter instantly moved on, waving his meter over two graves, the Sallee family and a Jebediah Purdy, he noticed. They weren't recent burials. The meter didn't ping at all.

He and Ray met when their searches were finished. Ray's face was devastated, his eyes huge and hollow. "We're going to find him, aren't we, Peter?" he pleaded hopefully.

"You bet we are, Tex." Peter slung his arm around Ray's shoulders, and Ray heaved a sad sigh and let the taller man guide him down toward the gate. "Winston says we'll wait outside the cemetery. If the ghost just wants us out of here, it might give Egon back if we leave the cemetery proper," Peter explained his reasoning.

Ray leaned into the circle of Peter's arm as if desperately seeking reassurance. "Hey, it might," he said with a tenth of his normal enthusiasm. But he paused in the gateway, broke free of Peter, and turned to face the cemetery again. "Egon!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna find you. I promise we'll find you!" He listened for a long moment, then he turned abruptly and left the cemetery, stopping when he ran up against the hood of Ecto-1. He rested both his hands flat on the hood and stood leaning against it. Peter came up behind him, eyes meeting Winston's as the black man spoke into the mobile phone. Then Peter grasped Ray's shoulders. He didn't say anything, just held on. Ray's muscles relaxed slightly under the touch.

There were no real words of comfort; if there had been, Peter wouldn't have listened to them. It had all happened so fast. One moment, there'd been the team's normal, friendly banter as they worked, just like on any other bust, the next all reassurance was gone and Egon was missing. Peter hoped like crazy the casket theory was wrong, because if they were right about it, Egon was probably already dead. Would there be breathable air in a sealed casket that had been in the ground for years? Even if there was, it would only last minutes, wouldn't it?

On the other hand, a dead hostage was useless to the spirit. It had to know that if it killed Egon the other three team members would hunt it down and zap and trap it so fast its head would spin. Egon had to be alive, somewhere. Maybe not safe, but alive. He had to be.

He couldn't say that to Ray, though. "We'll find him, Ray."

"I know, Peter." Ray's voice was utterly unconvincing. "I know we will."

Winston climbed out of Ecto and came around to join them. Always the practical one, he turned Ray around and led him to the back of the vehicle, opened the door, and made Ray sit down there. He shared grim contemplation with Peter. "I'm not going to write Egon off," he said firmly. "Not if there's one chance in a million, and I think our odds are better than that." Ray eyed him hopefully, and Winston continued. "I called Kelly. She and a couple of deputies will be out here in ten minutes. They'll bring a couple of dogs for tracking, and...shovels."

Ray winced. Peter sat down beside him and slung an arm around his shoulder, wanting the comfort for himself as much as he wanted to offer it to Ray. Winston crowded in on the other side of Ray. "Hang in there, guys," he said. "Remember, Egon's gonna need us."

Peter closed his eyes. Need them to attend his funeral? It couldn't be over like that? Not Egon. Peter realized suddenly he relied on Egon more than he did either of the others. It was always Egon who could break through Peter's worst moods and understand where he was coming from. Egon had learned over the years to read Peter like a book, to know him all the way through to the soul. The whole team had grown close, closer than Peter had ever believed friends could be. These three guys were his brothers. And he couldn't bear to lose one of them, not like this, not so stupidly. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. The world as he knew it couldn't exist without Egon in it.

Where are you, Egon? Are you alive? I'd know if you weren't alive? I'd be able to tell, wouldn't I?He considered that. Egon couldn't be dead. He'd feel it down to his toes. Everything would be different. Even the sun wouldn't go on shining like this, would it? Impossible for Egon to be dead. Impossible.

Beside him, Ray was shivering. "Peter, we can't just sit here like this. We have to do something."

"We have to find out who the ghost was when it was alive," Winston growled. "We have to find out what it wants, what its agenda is. Then we can deal with it."

"We can ask Kelly," Ray said. "That's what we'll do. She'll know."

"You bet she will," Peter agreed, sick with worry. "And we can let the dogs track him. Their noses might be better than a P.K.E. meter, what do you think?"

Ray nodded. "Maybe." He managed a faint smile but it didn't go all the way to his eyes.

Peter shook his head, then he erupted into new activity, flinging himself to his feet. "We can't just sit here."

"What do you want us to do, Peter?" Winston asked.

"I don't know. Look further afield. Move down the road so the ghost can't see we're still here. Something."

"We can't leave. What if the ghost brought Egon back?" Ray demanded. He gazed up at Peter with wide brown eyes full of worry.

"Okay, I'll sneak over there and hide behind the pillar and you drive around the area quick, or else just park Ecto around the bend down there, where all those trees are. Maybe if it thinks we're gone, it will show up, or free Egon."

"Sure, leave you here to face it alone," Winston scoffed. "I don't think so."

"It's a class three, guys. I can catch it and hold it in one stream if I have to. I can even trap it alone. But one of us has to stay here and be prepared if the ghost brings Egon back or shows up, and we have to check in a wider circle around here, in case Egon's trapped in a locked shed or abandoned storm cellar."

"He's right," Winston said to Ray. "I don't like just sitting here waiting for help. That's not what we do."

Ray nodded reluctantly. Clearly he wanted to be the one to stay behind, but Peter thought he should stay with Winston. Ray had a knack for plunging into danger without a thought, and he would do that unhesitatingly for Egon. While that might not be bad, it might mean the team would be missing two members instead of just one. Winston could restrain him if need be, and Peter was sneaky. He wouldn't let the ghost get the drop on him.

"It's okay, Ray," Peter said. "Go on. I want to find out about this nasty ghost anyway. I'll lay low and watch the cemetery." As Ray stood up, Peter dropped his hands on the younger man's shoulders and looked him right in the eye. "You know I won't let anything happen to Egon, don't you?"

"Maybe it already has," Ray said ruefully, but he let Peter urge him to the car. As Ray and Winston climbed in ostentatiously, Peter ducked behind the cemetery gatepost, thrower in one hand, P.K.E. meter in the other. "Go," he mouthed to Winston, gesturing urgently. "It's okay, guys, I can handle it."

Winston started the car, and Peter stood watching it back up onto the road then start in the direction of town. When it vanished into the thicket, Peter heaved an inaudible sigh, feeling very much alone.

Okay, they were taking action, not just sitting and waiting for help, but Peter still felt a burning frustration. He had a pretty good feeling the town wasn't going to sit still for digging up every grave in the cemetery, and if Egon were really down there and it took that long, they would be digging up another corpse.God, Egon, Peter thought. Don't you dare die on us.

The meter was silent, the antennae at rest. Peter edged sideways just enough to peer around the corner of the pillar. It was such a beautiful site, drowsing in the autumn sunlight, bushes in blazing yellow reminding him of fall even if most of the trees had lost their leaves already. But if it was the place where Egon had died, Peter hated it with every fiber of his being. This was one ghost he would relish busting.

He knew he was letting his emotions take over, but the thought of going on with busting ghosts without Egon cut him like a knife to the heart. They were a team, a family. How could they go on without Egon? Yet he knew Egon would want them to carry on. But...

"Damn it," he said aloud. "Where the hell are you, Egon?"

*****

Egon would have liked an answer to that question himself. One moment, he had been investigating the cemetery, the next the ghost had materialized so fast he barely had time to reach for his thrower before the entity surged from the ground beneath his feet, expanded to a huge, nebulous fog-shape, and engulfed him in the icy touch of ectoplasm. He heard Peter yell, "Egon, Egon, I'm getting a reading," then the mist closed around him and he felt himself sucked downward into the earth itself. Opening his mouth to yell only gave him a mouthful of ectoplasm, forcing himself to spit involuntarily. He couldn't breathe; his nose was clogged too. Flailing his arms wildly in an effort to break free, he saw darkness surround him, and he sagged into unconsciousness, his last panicked thought that he was suffocating.

Minutes, hours, days later, he awoke again, uncertain of how much time had passed. Gasping for breath he lay quietly waiting until his breathing had stabilized, raising a hand to wipe away the slime that covered his face. The ground beneath him was uneven, uncomfortable and fragile, like a lattice of twigs and branches. He didn't think he had been unconscious too long because he was still soaked with ectoplasmic residue, bitterly cold, chilled and shaking, and when he opened his eyes, he could see no light at all.

Blinded! He struggled wildly to sit up onto to have his hand land on a long and smooth form, slightly curved.... Groping the unfamiliar object he shivered as he realized he was touching a human tibia. His exploring fingers moved again, his mind identifying the patella, the femur, disturbed from its long sleep by his sudden arrival in--in its tomb.

With an appalled yell, he bolted upright, realizing he had been lying on a ledge and not inside a casket. There was enough room for him to stand upright, but only barely. When he lifted an exploring hand over his head he touched a ceiling that felt like stone invaded by trailing roots and dirt, clammy to the touch. Reaching out away from the body he'd landed on he found another shelf, and what felt like a wooden casket. His probing fingers slid along its length then he yanked them free in horrified realization. He was in an underground mausoleum.

The involuntary shudders grew worse. Although no one would say Egon Spengler was a fanciful man, no sane human being would face with equanimity the thought of being trapped in a tomb. He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to still his trembling. He would find a way out of here. There must be stairs leading upward, or how had these bodies been brought here. What was more, now that he knew he was underground, he realized that he was likely not blind. It was just totally dark.

Dark? "Egon, you are an idiot," he berated himself, "a total idiot." He fumbled on his belt, found the small penlight he often wore hooked there, switched it on. Its beam landed directly on the skeleton he had landed upon, now crushed and disarrayed by his abrupt arrival. Bits of dry, brown tissue clung here and there, but the skull was mostly clean. Its hollow eyes regarded him uncannily, and Egon moved the beam abruptly. A man with no imagination at all would be unhappy to find himself in such a situation, and Egon was not devoid of an imagination.

The tomb was very old. He could tell that both by the fact of the body's decay, which could mean it had been here twenty years or longer; he was not an expert in forensic anthropology and could not make a more informed guess. But most people didn't bury bodies in pine boxes these days, not like the one opposite where he had landed, or simply lay bodies on shelves uncovered. He didn't think this place had been in use for many years. Perhaps there was a higher level, a ground level. Now if he could just find stairs.... Even if there was a locked door, he could blast his way out--

No, wait. Egon froze, realizing the ghost must have stripped away his proton pack when it abandoned him here. Even if he had only passed out for a few seconds, it would have been enough time for the ghost to disarm him. He was trapped.

Amazing. The ghost had completely surrounded him, using its own ectoplasmic abilities to move him through solid ground. Egon had known such things were possible, but they happened infrequently. Ghosts didn't often think of doing such things, or perhaps they simply had no reason to do them. He had only discovered the possibility when Slimer had eaten his keys and then zipped through the wall. Egon had pursued him and forced the little spirit to return them. They had been regurgitated unpleasantly coated with slime but completely intact in every respect. If Slimer passed through a wall holding something in his hand, it didn't go with him but once he surrounded it with his essence, it could do so. Egon had found that possibility fascinating and had run more tests than the ghost had enjoyed. In the end, he had decided that, for the most part, knowledge of the ability was useless to him and had abandoned the research. Now he was glad he had done as much of it as he had because it explained where he was and how he had come there. He was sure the guys would understand it. Ray had often helped him with the tests and Peter and Winston knew about them and had witnessed the experiments on many occasions.

But could that lead to rescue? Egon knew the P.K.E. meters could be configured to read his biorhythms, but he wasn't sure they could do it through solid earth and stone. Solid earth and stone? He sucked in a cautious breath. The air was stale in here, but it smelled of damp earth and mildew, not of an airless place growing steadily more so. Would the trailing roots overhead help to replenish the oxygen? Had they cracked the surface overhead enough to allow air to trickle in through minute openings? Or would he gradually consume all the air in this place. He could calculate how much air would exist in a place this size, but he chose not to do so. Knowing how much air he had, how long it would last, would do nothing to speed his rescue.

Because he would be rescued. Even if he found no way out of his prison, he knew the guys were searching for him frantically. They would not give up until they found him. They would never give up, just as he would never give up were it they who were missing. He was not yet prepared to face the possibility that they might not find him in time.

"All right, Egon," he said aloud, more for the comfort of hearing a human voice than because he wanted to offer himself a pep talk. "You haven't a thrower or a P.K.E. meter. But that doesn't matter. Your tools don't define you. They are a useful extension of your intellect, not the intellect itself. You are a brilliant man. You can find your way out of this tomb."

He turned slowly, holding out the flashlight.

A flight of stairs rose steeply on the far side of the small chamber.

"Excellent," said Egon and started upward.

Not so excellent. He couldn't climb all the way for a stone slab covered the opening at the top. He climbed until he was high enough to touch it, to achieve leverage, then he tucked his flashlight into his vest pocket so it was pointing upward, braced his hands flat against the overhead panel and pushed.

It was like pushing the firehall. There was no give at all.

Egon ran the flashlight beam around the four sides of the slab, then grimaced. At some time in the past, it had been sealed with mortar or concrete, long enough ago that it was possible no one alive today even remembered there was a vault down here. The guys might search every mausoleum in the old cemetery but they wouldn't see a slab covering an old stairway; they would never even think of such a possibility.

His shoulders slumped in near despair.

"That won't do, Egon," he reproached himself, straightening up. "Would Peter give up? Would Ray or Winston? Of course not."

He slid his hands into his pockets, searching for a tool, and came up with his Swiss Army knife. Excellent. If he could chip his way through a segment of mortar he could accomplish two things. He could open a hole to allow air into his prison, and he could create a small opening through which he could call to alert rescuers to his presence.

The one thing he would not do was sit down and give up. His three friends were out there. He wanted very much to be with them again, but he also wanted to prevent them finding his body among the bodies already entombed here. He could all too easily imagine their reaction to that, knowing how he would feel should one of his three comrades die. The thought of going on without them was completely unacceptable. A horrible possibility. They were a team, a family. He owed it to them to manage his own survival, even if he could not entirely manage his own rescue.

"I'm all right, guys," he said softly. "I expect you to know that."

Would they know it? They wouldn't give up for a minute. They'd exhaust every option in their search for him. But wouldn't they know, deep inside, that he still lived? A fanciful thought, of course, but he was certain he would know if one of them died, even if he were far away at the time. The tie that bound the four of them was the strongest he had ever known, stronger than he would once have imagined possible. Together they had faced not only the threat of death but the risk of their very souls. How could anyone forge a stronger bond than that?

"I'm here, guys," Egon said as if pledging his solemn oath. "I'm alive and I mean to stay that way. I'll help you all I can."

And with that he set to work, settling the flashlight into his pocket again, aiming upward, to free his hands, and opened the strongest blade in his knife. Tracing the mortar with his fingers, he found an area that felt the weakest and most likely to crumble, and he began to dig away at it with his blade.

It would take a long time.

*****

"So what are we looking for exactly?" Winston asked as he pulled Ecto-3 into another farm driveway. They'd done this three times already, hoping to get close enough to farm outbuildings to take readings on Egon, if he'd been concealed there. On two occasions farm families had come out to meet them, astonished and delighted to have the Ghostbusters arrive at their front door, curious and questioning. Both groups had promised to look around their property for signs of Egon, even though the second farmer, a hatchet-faced man named Darby, scoffed at the very idea of ghosts. Someone missing from the cemetery he could understand.

"It's drug dealers," he had proclaimed positively. "Crooks from the big city, hanging out in the cemetery, selling to the kids when they come out there. They made off with your buddy. He's halfway to Newark by now."

Ray had opened his mouth to explain about P.K.E. meters and biorhythm readings, but Winston had forestalled him. "If you see anything suspicious, let us know or call the police," he said. "We'll be on the lookout for drug dealers, believe me."

"They just don't buy what we do out here," he said now. "A missing man they can understand, but ghosts? Well, look at me. I didn't buy it when you guys hired me. It took a little time."

"Ten minutes?" Ray hazarded.

"More like ten seconds; that full trap you shoved in my face did a lot to convince me, let me tell you." He pulled up before the farmhouse. "Nobody home, I guess."

Two farm dogs raced up, barking wildly but no one emerged from the house or main barn. Ray greeted the dogs so cheerfully they calmed down but leaped excitedly around him as he got out of the car, meter in hand.

"Watch it, Ray!"

"They won't hurt me. They're great dogs."

"Yeah, I bet you could make friends with a werewolf, homeboy."

Ray fended off the dogs long enough to twist the dials on his meter. "Nothing here either. Easy, boy. Down, fella." He scratched the Irish setter behind the ears, causing it to lean against him in pure rapture. The Labrador sniffed Ray's shoes. "I think this is a mistake," Ray murmured.

"What, playing with the dogs?" Winston knew that wasn't the answer. Ray had been so much more quiet than usual, it might be good to prod him a little.

"No. Leaving the cemetery. Egon might need us. We'll never find him out here. If he's away from the cemetery he could be anywhere." Ray gestured wildly, his face full of distress.

"You weren't getting any readings of Egon, or the ghost," Winston reminded him. He went over to Ray and patted his shoulder. "Come on, buddy, we're gonna find him."

"He could be anywhere," Ray wailed. "I can't believe the ghost grabbed him just like that and we let him."

"Whoa, back up, homeboy. Nobody let him. The ghost had its plans all made. I think it was going to do this with the kids the other night but for some reason changed his mind. Maybe because they werekids."

Ray's eyes widened and the guilt that he was more prone to than any of the others slid to the back of his eyes. "You mean the ghost wanted a hostage?" he demanded eagerly. "Wow! Then it'd have to keep Egon safe, wouldn't it? I wonder what it wants."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we ought to head back there. We're not coming up with anything and I don't like the idea of Pete back there on his own. You know how he gets."

Ray smiled a little sadly. "He's worried too."

"We all are. But maybe we're not giving Egon enough credit. Maybe he's off cutting a deal with the ghost. We've run into all sorts of weird stuff over the years. I can't believe the ghost grabbed him just to trash him. He wouldn't have had to take him away to do that."

"A hidden agenda," Ray breathed. "Maybe he's got something he wants to finish before he can rest. Come on, let's get back." The dogs capered about him excitedly. "No, down, fellas. You can't come with us."

They climbed back into Ecto. "You hanging in there okay, Ray?" Winston prodded, conscious of the slump of his friend's shoulders. Ray had been born gung ho, but there wasn't much sign of it now. He explained why.

"I guess the worst thing is imagining him trapped in a coffin," Ray admitted reluctantly.

"I don't think that's where he is. If the ghost let those kids go, he's not going to want Egon dead. I think he wants leverage." He put the car into gear. "Let's get back to Pete. I don't want to get back there and find out he's disappeared too. Leaving him was a bad idea."

Ray winced, then he shook his head. "Not Peter. He was ready for anything. Knowing him, he's found Egon already. Let's head for the cemetery." He adjusted the meter again. The dogs ran ahead of them partway down the driveway.

But Ray was too quiet. Winston himself was very worried about Egon, but he knew how capable Egon was and expected him to help himself as much as possible. He had his pack and thrower, after all. Ray knew that, too, but Ray was more volatile than Winston was, and this was harder for him. One of the reasons Winston had fallen into the plans to search the neighborhood was to give Ray a task to absorb him so he wouldn't have to dwell on Egon's disappearance. Winston didn't want to dwell on it himself, but he couldn't see where to go next, unless they could provoke the ghost into action. And that would be where Peter might excel.

Worried that Peter might provoke the spirit before they could arrive to give him backup, Winston turned Ecto in the direction of the cemetery. "We'll go give Peter a hand," he said. "Because I betcha good money he's hanging out in the cemetery already."

*****

Winston was right. Peter quickly grew impatient and emerged from his concealment, stepping through the gate, just far enough into the cemetery that he could retreat if the ghost materialized. "Hey!" he called. "You want to talk? You want to bargain? Come on, I know you have an agenda. Fill me in. What do you want? I want my friend back. Let's talk turkey."

Nothing. Only the rustling of the wind through the autumn bushes and the rattle of bare branches. The meter he held didn't stir, didn't react.

"If you can hear me, why not show yourself?" Peter encouraged. "I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to go away. You snatched my friend. If you don't let him go, I'm going to take this whole cemetery apart to find him." His determination rang in his voice. "You can't just go around stealing people's buddies," he shouted. "You hear me! You're toast. Egon? Egon! Bring him back, damn you!"

But nothing happened except the intrusion into his consciousness of the sound of engines. Turning his head he saw two police cars racing for his position. Reluctantly he backed out of the cemetery and raced down the driveway to meet them.

Kelly slid from behind the wheel of the first car, accompanied by another deputy, a carrot-topped young man with a swarm of freckles across his face and a set of Bugs Bunny teeth. The orange-red of his hair clashed violently with Kelly's auburn. "Peter. This is Mark Rembrandt," she introduced. Behind them, the second car pulled up and an older man whose stomach had begun a determined attempt to hang over his belt clambered out and went to open the back door, letting out a couple of bloodhounds, snapping on their leashes. "That's Leo Pinsky," Kelly added. "And Mick and Mac, two of the best tracker dogs in the whole state."

"Hey," Pinsky greeted. "You got something your friend wore?"

"No, his stuff's in Ecto, not here." Frustrated he cast about for a solution and came up with the meter in his hand. It was Egon's. Even if Peter had touched it, it should be suitable. "This do? I've been using it but it's Egon's. His favorite one. He uses it most of the time."

"That'll do." Pinsky took it from him and bent over the dogs, holding the device in front of them like a prize. They sniffed it, then sniffed at Peter. "No," Pinsky instructed. "Try again." They sniffed once more and appeared to lose interest in Peter. In spite of his recent clasp on the handle, Egon's scent had to be there, too. Peter hoped so.

"We'll let him go to work first," Kelly said, drawing Peter toward the gate pillars. "Peter, tell me what happened?"

"We don't really know what happened," he said and described Egon's disappearance. "He was justgone," he concluded. "The ghost grabbed him, is the only thing we know. He could be anywhere."

"The ghost took him?" Mark Rembrandt asked, horrified. He was young enough to have vivid memories of his childhood Halloween cemetery visits. "I didn't know ghosts did things like that."

The dogs tugged at their leashes and Pinsky passed the meter back and gave them their heads. They started up into the cemetery and Peter, realizing Pinsky and even the dogs might be in danger, tucked away the P.K.E. meter, grabbed his thrower, and set off in pursuit. Kelly and Mark followed, guns drawn.

"You can't shoot a ghost," Peter called over his shoulder. "Put them away. What happened here wasn't one of the bad guys. It was a ghost. The meter went off. You start blasting at a ghost, you might hit one of us."

"I don't like being unarmed in a dangerous situation," Kelly argued, but she must have seen the sense of Peter's words because she slid her gun into its holster and snapped the flap of it. Reluctantly Mark followed suit.

"Where are the other Ghostbusters?" Kelly asked, gazing around as if she expected them to pop out from behind a tomb.

"They're checking out the area in case the ghost took Egon away from the cemetery," Peter explained, gesturing down the road. "We had to cover all the bases. Egon's counting on us to rescue him. He knows we won't give up and that we'll try everything we can."

He didn't want to even think Egon might have gone beyond knowing anything. Besides, if that had happened, the entire world would be different. A cosmos without Egon Spengler would feel so wrong to Peter he'd know in an instant. He didn't feel that. Egon was alive. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he wasn't giving up on his friend, not for one second. Wherever Egon was, he was working to be free, knowing his friends were searching for him.

"I think they've found something," Kelly said unnecessarily, raising her voice to be heard over the sudden baying of the dogs. "Come on." She started running, but Peter easily outpaced her, even with the weight of his pack on his shoulders.

Pinsky and the dogs had halted in front of the Stone mausoleum. They'd found the place where Egon had disappeared.

"Great," Peter panted as they raced to join the dog handler. "This is where Egon vanished. Now where did he go from here?"

The dogs were snuffling around the grate that blocked the entrance to the tomb. Kelly pounded up to join them, her eyes huge as she stared at it. "Oh, no," she gasped in horror.

Peter rounded on her, gripping her by the upper arms. "What's that supposed to mean? What haven't you told us?"

"Nothing, at least nothing I thought was important. I never thought about who the ghost might be. But that's the Stone mausoleum."

Rembrandt and Pinsky stared at her. "Omigod," Mark muttered with a shock that equalled hers. "You mean--"

"I don't know what I mean. But that's where Sam is buried."

"Sam?" Peter echoed.

"Sam Stone," Kelly explained. "Remember, I told you Kyle's best friend was buried out here. That's where he's buried."

"That doesn't mean his ghost is wandering around," Pinsky said skeptically, reaching down to rub the head of one of the dogs. "That's crazy. Sam wasn't--he wouldn't have grabbed one of the Ghostbusters like that."

"Our meters went off and Egon's gone. There's a ghost here all right." Peter bristled. "We don't know anything more than that, but we have to find out. Egon could be running out of time. So don't give me any crap about what's crazy and what isn't. Tell me about this Sam guy. How did he die?"

"He was shot in a bank robbery." Kelly's eyebrows lifted questioningly. "We don't have a lot of violent crime up here. I don't think anyone was shot before that since Jack Determan had too much to drink one Friday night after a football game and went around blasting streetlights. But a pair of bank robbers showed up here, a couple of minor hoods from Newark, and tried to rob the United Central Bank. Kyle and Sam went over when the alarm came in. One of the tellers managed to trigger it." Her face was full of distress.

"Let me, Kelly, honey." Leo Pinsky encouraged her, putting his arm around her shoulders and giving her a comforting squeeze. "Everybody liked Sam. He was a local hero, star of the football team in high school, all that. And he and Kyle were as close as brothers. They lived next door to each other growing up, and when Kyle decided to go into law enforcement, Sam did too."

Peter had a sudden feeling he knew where this was going. "So let me guess. Kyle blames himself for Sam's death?"

"It's worse than that," Kelly explained. "Sam saw the guy pull a gun on Kyle, and he yelled, but he didn't think that was enough, so he jumped Kyle, knocked him down. Kyle was grazed--you saw the grey streak in his hair, that's where the scar is. But Sam took a .44 slug in the chest. He only lived long enough to know he'd saved Kyle before he died. Kyle sat there, blood streaming down his face, and tears, too, and rocked Sam against his chest while the rest of us came in and finished up. One of the robbers died in the crossfire, the other is in prison." Kelly's eyes shone with tears. "We all loved Sam," she said. "He was probably the nicest guy you'd ever hope to meet. But Kyle--well, he'd just lost brother, best friend, partner, chief deputy, all at once." She lowered her voice. "I never saw him cry after that day, or show one drop of emotion or hardly even smile. He does his job and does it well because that's his nature, but he's so bitter. He'd far rather have been the one to die, if it meant Sam lived. I know people say things like that but most don't mean them. Kyle does."

"I know about things like that," Peter said gravely to let her know he understood. "That's the way we Ghostbusters are." He noticed Ecto-1 pulling up behind the two police cars, followed by an ancient black sedan, and gestured in that direction. "There's the guys."

Kelly studied Peter's face as if she could read and comprehend every ounce of his worry about his missing friend. "I believe you do understand," she said softly.

"Yeah, but there's this to think of," Peter told her. "Your Sam sounds like he was one of the good guys. It can't be his ghost scaring kids and kidnapping Egon."

"He'd never do a thing like that," Kelly agreed.

"No, it can't be Sam's ghost," agreed Mark.

Ray and Winston yelled and waved, sliding into their packs as they started up to join the others, and a figure in a long, brown robe fell in to join them. Even from here Peter could see the gleam of sunshine off his tonsured scalp.

"It's Brother Jerry," Leo said. "From the college," he added. "The Benedictines run the college. I bet he's here to represent the Church."

"Exorcism?" Peter asked, watching their approach. Ray and the monk were talking earnestly while Winston held his thrower and stood guard. "It takes forever for the Catholic Church to consider an exorcism. We know. We've been through the process a time or two. But I never say no to possible help. And it's one extra person to hunt for Egon. Kelly, we have to do something. The dogs aren't working."

"The dogs followed the trail here," Leon defended his trackers. "They can't find a trail beyond here. They're not happy, not at all happy." He rubbed the second dog's head. "They're really nervous. This isn't like them."

"The ghost?" Mark asked, casting a baleful eye over his shoulder. "You think they can sense the ghost? I don't like this."

"Peter," cried Ray, reaching them. "This is Brother Jerome from the college up on the hill. He heard what happened and came out to offer help. He says if we don't find Egon he can muster the students to join in the search."

"They'd love a day off," Father Jerome replied. "Especially on such a beautiful day." He added hastily, "Not that any day is a beautiful day when a friend is missing. Hey, Leo. Dogs pick up anything?"

The animals sniffed the hand the monk held out to them. "Not a thing, Jerry," Pinsky replied. "They came here and no further. And that's weird because Sam was the last one to be buried in there, back in the spring."

"Can we get inside?" Peter demanded. "Egon was standing right here at the door when he disappeared. I was around the back."

"I'll pry it open," Mark volunteered. "There's a crowbar in the car."

"This is just as good," offered Winston, raising his thrower. "Stand back, everybody." He fired at the chain that held the gate closed. It sizzled once and melted. The minute Winston stopped firing, Peter and Ray lunged for the door, yanked away the remnants of the chain, and flung it open. Leaves had blown in through the grate and lay in piles on the floor at their feet. But the newest coffin had fresh roses on it. Peter hadn't noticed that before. Interesting, when the chain hadn't been opened for a long time. Peter tried to imagine a mourner reaching through the grille and tossing flowers on the tomb. It could be done, probably pretty easily. But it was weird.

There were five stone coffins inside, two each on shelves on the side walls and one on a shelf across the rear wall. There was one free shelf over it. Peter stood in the center of the room, staring around while Ray held his meter up against each of the coffins. "I'm not getting any readings," he said in disappointment.

Peter went around and rapped on each coffin, winning a horrified flinch from Mark Rembrandt, who retreated from the mausoleum posthaste as if afraid he'd hear a spirit rapping back from inside. No one did. "Egon, where are you?" Peter demanded tightly, sharing a worried look with Ray.

Leo came in behind him, tugging at the leash, but the dogs whined and struggled, pitting their strength against his. "They don't like it," he said uneasily. "Are you detecting any ghosts?" He rolled his eyes.

Peter held up his meter. "Let me, Ray, I'm set up for ghosts." But nothing happened except a faint flicker of residual energy. "Nope," he said. "Not here now."

"Somebody's been here," Leo said, pointing to the roses.

Kelly crowded up next to him. "Sam loved gardening. He had great roses. He said if Nero Wolfe could do orchids he could do roses." A tear trickled down her left cheek.

"So who brought them?" Leo asked as if it might solve the mystery of Egon's disappearance.

Peter couldn't imagine the hard-eyed police chief sneaking off to the cemetery to bring roses to his dead friend. He had a sudden feeling if one of his friends had died it would just kill him to go anywhere near the grave. If Egon....

Ray slid his hand sideways and curled it around Peter's wrist as if he'd guessed what Peter was thinking. "We're gonna find him," he said. "I know we are, Peter. I just know it." Peter shifted his hold and clasped Ray's wrist in turn.

"I know we are, Ray."

"I don't understand it," Brother Jerome asked from the doorway. "You can't be saying this troublesome spirit is Sam Stone? That's absurd. He died saving his friend's life. There should be nothing to hold him back from the afterlife."

"Sam Stone?" Winston echoed, and Peter hastily filled them in on the bank robbery.

"Oh, gosh." Softhearted Ray's eyes widened in distress. "I'm sorry, Brother Jerry, but violent death is one thing that can create a spirit."

"It couldn't turn a good man like Sam Stone into a monster who would frighten children and kidnap your friend," the monk argued. "That's ludicrous and I won't believe it for an instant."

"I won't either," Kelly said. "I've known Sam all my life. He was a good guy. He loved kids. He was in the Big Brother program. He wouldn't have scared Joey and his friends. And he would never have harmed an innocent bystander."

"A Ghostbuster," Pinsky corrected. "Whoever the ghost is, it probably thinks the Ghostbusters are its enemies. It might have taken him hostage to make the others go away."

"Then where is he?" Peter demanded. "Where's Egon? We need him free. If it's this Sam, he should understand. He was willing to die for his best friend. Doesn't he know we'd do the same for Egon?"

"I still don't think it could be Sam," Kelly argued. "But I'll have to call Kyle. Wait right here." She pushed her way out of the tomb and raced off toward the police cars."

"He won't come," Mark said. "I know he won't come. Kelly brought those flowers. Yesterday when we came out here to investigate, she stopped on the way and bought them, and when we showed up here and found the gate locked, she made me stick them in there." He appeared acutely embarrassed as if he'd hated to be caught in a good deed.

Pinsky edged out of the tomb, clapping Mark on the shoulder in passing. "I've gotta take these dogs away from here," he said. "Or they'll have a nervous breakdown. They say animals always know."

Peter glanced at the dogs. They were cowering, huddled together, quivering and quaking with fear. He lifted the P.K.E. meter. Stronger residuals than before. "It might be coming," he said. "Let's move outside where we have room to fight it."

They burst out of the tomb and gathered in front of it, in the very spot where Egon had disappeared. Peter saw Kelly in the front seat of her car, talking earnestly into the mike. This ghost couldn't be Sam Stone, could it? And if so, why was he so bitter? Because his friend lived when he was dead? No way. Not unless he'd fooled everybody who ever knew him. Peter didn't want to die, but he knew he would rest easier if he'd saved one of his friends, if his death had meaning. So assuming this ghost could really be Sam, what had changed him? True, ghosts didn't always have the same agendas they had had in life, but whenever the guys wound up helping a ghost to disperse peacefully, it was because that ghost had been pretty decent in life. And from everything he'd heard, Sam had been.

"Is it coming?" Winston asked Peter, giving his arm a nudge.

"I don't know. The readings are growing stronger, but not enough to pinpoint it yet. I'm just trying to figure it out. This Sam guy doesn't seem the type to pull what he's pulled, what he's done to Egon."

"I know, Peter," Ray said. "Unless putting his coffin in there disturbed another spirit?" He surveyed the cemetery. "Maybe we should try to talk to him. We have to get Egon back." He stared around the cemetery. "He can't be dead, Peter. I know he can't." But he sounded so worried Peter was afraid Ray's much vaunted optimism was fighting a losing battle.

"I'll talk to him," Peter said, gesturing at the mausoleum. "Let me give it a shot. The rest of you stay out here and don't fire unless I tell you to. Because the last thing we want to do is trap him before we find out where Egon is."

"Do you know what you're going to say?" Winston asked.

"Not yet, but I'm good at thinking on my feet. Back off, guys. If I disappear, you can blast him, because I'll be with Egon and if the two of us can't rescue ourselves, then...." God, this was hard.

Ray fell in beside him and patted him comfortingly on the back. "You can do it, Peter," he encouraged.

"I hope so. Because I can't help thinking Egon could be running out of time."

*****

The others retreated slightly down the hill, Kelly hurrying to join them. "Kyle's coming," she said. "He claimed he didn't want to but he's only down the road. He'll be here in two minutes."

Peter waved a hand to acknowledge her words and went into the tomb, his thrower in his hand. He stood in the center of the little room searching for hidden niches and crannies, of which there were none, except the alcoves at the foot of the coffins along the side walls. But Egon wasn't in either of them; that could be seen from the doorway.

Peter picked up the bouquet of flowers. "Nice roses," he said softly. "My mom liked roses. I usually bring her a bouquet when I go to visit." Nothing. He hadn't expected anything. He lay them down again.

"Sam? Can we talk? I know you grabbed Egon for a reason. You had a purpose or you'd have gone for all of us or hid. You didn't have to show up and grab Egon, but you did. So let's talk about it. Is it about Kyle?"

He held his breath. "God, Egon," he whispered. "I'm bullshitting my way through this. There's gotta be a way to find you." Squelching the desperation in his tone, he flexed his fingers; they'd been clutching the thrower so tightly he was surprised there weren't marks in it. "We need you, big guy," he went on talking to Egon, very quietly. "The team's just not complete without you. And I bet you're not really happy on your own. I don't know if this is gonna work, but if this guy was willing to die for his best friend, he's gotta know I'm not gonna walk. It's my best friend in trouble and I'm gonna sit right here and wait for him tell hell freezes if I have to. You hear me, Sam Stone?"

"I hear you."

Peter jerked, conscious of an alarmed yell from outside as one of the other meters detected the materialization. Half expecting to see a fog creature such as Joe Reichard described, Peter turned his head and saw a very lifelike spirit sitting on his tomb, the roses in his lap. He had been in his late thirties when he died, and Peter could tell he'd been an easygoing guy in life, but his faintly transparent face was hard now, like Kyle Owen's was.

"You've gotta give me Egon back," Peter cried.

"Why?" No yielding on the angry face, just that blunt question.

Peter hesitated. What was needed here? What would convince the ghost to return the physicist to his friends. Peter opted for the truth. "Because he's our friend and we love him," he said flatly. "We can't make it without him. We're a team. We fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Without him, it's just not the same. It'll never be the same."

"And if I were to say he was dead?" The ghost leveled his gaze at Peter.

Venkman's stomach knotted so violently he was afraid he'd be sick. "Then you'll regret you ever messed with us Ghostbusters," he snarled. "If you've killed him...." God, this was going all wrong. Egon couldn't be dead. But the pain that swirled through him was as vivid as a blade. "You bastard!" he yelled. "Let him go, you son of a bitch."

"Why should I do that?"

Peter caught himself as his finger tightened on the trigger of his thrower. He could tell from the yells outside that Winston and Ray didn't have a clear shot and they wanted him to move, but Peter hesitated. There was a note in the ghost's voice that made him wonder. "Is he alive?" he growled. "You better have the right answer." And then suddenly he had an answer of his own. "Egon is my best friend," he said. "I don't want to have to face life if he's not there. If I have to, you'll pay. But I won't have to, will I?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Move, Peter," Ray cried. "We can blast him."

"Not yet, Ray," Peter cried, gesturing his friends back. "Wait." He turned to the ghost. "Because you let those boys go--when two of them came back for the one who was hurt. You saw they were friends, that they'd go to the wall for each other. And that's how it is with us Ghostbusters. If you have to have someone die, then free Egon and I'll take his place." Kelly was right, it was easier to say those words than to mean them but Peter did mean them. He meant them all the way down to his socks. Without a second's hesitation, he lowered the thrower, then he holstered it. Winston groaned and Ray shouted:

"Look out, Peter," but they obeyed when he waved them off.

"You mean that," the ghost said. "Don't you?"

"Yes." Bottom line here. Peter stared the ghost right in the eye. "Where is he?"

"Where is Kyle?"

Peter sucked in his breath. He'd been right. "He's what holds you here, isn't he?" he asked, letting sympathy ooze into his voice. "You saved him. You kept him alive. And he let it destroy him. That's what this is about, isn't it? Because he essentially rejected the last gift you could ever give him."

The ghost dropped the roses and hid his face in his hands. "I had to. If one of us had to take a bullet, I meant it to be me. He had Kelly, they were going to be married, and me--well, all I had was Kyle. I couldn't do anything but what I did, save him. But he...rejected it. The one last thing I had to give."

"I know," Peter said soothingly. "Because you have to know he would have done the same thing, and how you would have felt if he'd been the one to die. You saved him. And now you're making me and my friends go through what he's going through. You have to give Egon back. And then I'll talk to Kyle for you. You wouldn't think it to look at me, but I'm a psychologist. I know what I'm talking about. He can't go on with his life, because he'd have to let you go. Letting go is a natural stage in grieving, and everybody reaches it at different times. This time, he's facing the obligation as well as the grief. Why did you kidnap Egon?"

"To bring Kyle here," Sam said. "I can't--go beyond this place. But I have to stay here. He ties me here."

"Then we'll get him if I have to tie him up and drag him here," Peter insisted. "Where's Egon?"

"Be very silent. Listen."

Peter did, making a curt sign for everyone outside to shut up. He strained his ears, listening, and then he heard it. Very faintly beneath his feet came a muffled chink, chink, chink, as if someone were trying to chip away the very stone. "Egon?" he demanded, grabbing at the ghost and snagging a cold, clamming shoulder. "Is it Egon?"

"He's in the chamber beneath our feet. It's mortared in place. He is trying to dig himself out. He will succeed, too, in perhaps five days."

"Are you kidding, we'll blast him out of there," Peter exulted, his eyes burning with tears of sheer relief, although he blinked hard and didn't let them fall. Egon was alive. He was purposefully working his way to freedom. Peter's world fell into place, and with an exultant cry he snatched up a metal rod that lay in one corner, grasped it with both hands, and slammed it down against the floor three times, paused, then repeated it.

As he held his breath the signal was repeated indistinctly, three chips, a pause, then three more. Peter flung himself down on his hands and knees. "Egon!" No answer, but Egon was there, conscious and aware.

"He's alive!" Peter screamed. "He's trapped under the floor." He burst from the door, grabbed Ray and hugged him enthusiastically around the neck, then he did the same to Winston.

"Let's blast it open," cried Ray eagerly.

But Peter had spotted an incredibly grim-faced Kyle Owen stalking up the hill like a man on the way to his own execution. Egon was alive. In a minute the ghost could go down and tell him to stand back so they could blast him out. But the ghost might want a favor to do that, and Peter meant to give him one.

"Wait, Ray," he said. "Unfinished business." I'm sorry, Egon, he thought. I won't leave you there one second longer than I have to, I promise you that. Then he grabbed the police chief by the arm. "Come on, you have work to do so we can rescue Egon."

"What the hell...." Kyle began, then, as Peter manhandled him into the mausoleum and he saw the ghost of Sam Stone, every drop of color left his face. "Dear god!"

"He died for you," Peter said to Owen. "He did it because he loved you, and you never forgave him for it, did you?"

"It should have been me," Kyle said in a shaky voice. "Damn it, it should have been me." Anger pounded through his words. "Don't you see, Sam, it should have been me. It was meant to be me. How could you do this to me?"

"Because you are my friend," Sam said. "Kyle, please. You would have done it for me."

"Left me alone," Kyle said, the anger still pumping but driven by the grief it had hidden for months. "How dare you leave me alone!"

"Damn it, Kyle, you're not alone. There's Kelly tearing her heart out for you. You were going to be married. You think I had anything that important." He shook his head, so nearly firmed up that Peter could only tell he was a ghost by the faint shimmer around the edges. "I had to save you, Kyle. You know that. You've got to accept it, you've got to forgive me, or I'll never be able to rest. I'll be here forever, growing angrier and angrier until I lose any humanity. I didn't know how to bring you here. I tried with those kids, but they were just like we were at that age, they were like the Three Musketeers, one for all and all for one. I couldn't do it. But then the Ghostbusters came and I knew they'd bust me, and I'd never resolve it, so I grabbed one of them. But I can't keep him. They're like we were, too. I can't do it, Kyle. I have to let him go. But you're here. Please. You have to let me go."

"I'm not sure I can," Kyle said shakily. "God, Sam, you were my brother. I just couldn't handle it. I was so angry with you for dying like that. It wasn't right."

"It was my right to do it," Sam said quietly. "Just as you would have done it for me. Don't do this or you'll say our friendship meant nothing."

"Meant nothing? Do you know how empty each day is?" Kyle demanded. Peter found himself nodding. That's what he'd feared it would be like for him. He picked up the iron bar again and tried to send Egon an encouraging message. Morse Code, that was the ticket. But all he knew was SOS. And there wasn't much point in sending that. He couldn't remember. Ray and Winston had been boy scouts, not Peter. He tried anyway. He could do a lot with SOS after all. It could be used to almost send 'soon'. He tried that, got as far as the 's-o-o'.

"You can't let your days be empty, Kyle," Sam insisted. "If you do that, then I died for nothing. God, Kyle, don't let it be for nothing."

Peter, busy tapping with the iron bar and hearing faint tappings in return, saw Kyle's face crumple, saw the realization of what he had done hit him with the force of a tsunami. "Oh, god," he gasped, lunging at Sam, who firmed up as fully as possible and received him into his arms just as the first sobs racked the police chief's body. Peter edged over to the door and motioned for Kelly to come closer. Her eyes were full of distress as she crept past Peter into the tomb. Sam patted his friend on the shoulder.

"It's all right, Kyle. You're going to be all right." As Kelly edged in beside them and slid her arm around Kyle's waist, Sam pulled back slightly.

"What about Egon?" Ray asked from the doorway.

"We can't blast it, he's right under me," Peter said. He waved a hand at Sam, who was slowly detaching himself from Kyle and gently urging him toward Kelly. "Give it a second and I'll have Sam bring him back."

"We can't bust him," Ray realized. "Not after all that."

"I don't think we'll have to," Peter replied. "Sam?"

The ghost raised his head, and his expression held the dawn of peace. "Egon," he said in realization. "Kyle, I have to free Egon. Wait. I want to say goodbye."

Kelly, her arms around him, nodded at Sam. "Go for it."

Sam sank down through the floor as if it wasn't even there. A moment later a huge, misty shape emerged, swirled in a circle, pulling back from the sagging figure of Egon Spengler, who took several deep breaths and rubbed a hand across his face to clear the slime away. That was all he had time for before Peter reached him, grabbed him, and hugged him as fervently as Kyle had hugged Sam. "Egon, Egon, you're back," he cried, holding on for all he was worth."

"'Soo', Peter?" Egon said whimsically, his arms closing around Peter as if to make him forget breathing.

"I forgot how to do 'n' in Morse Code," Peter defended himself. He had one hand tangled in Egon's dust- and slime-covered hair, and the most important thing in the world right then was the sound of Spengler's breathing echoing in his ear.

"Are you all right, Egon?" Ray demanded, crowding into the hug that opened up to allow him there. "Gosh, you scared us. You look awful. Is that a bone sticking out of your back pocket?"

"A bone?" Peter backed off enough to realize that what resembled a human rib was caught in Egon's belt.

The physicist's face darkened with memories. "There are bodies down there," he admitted. "When I woke up, I was...lying on a skeleton." Peter and Ray both felt the shudder that ran through his frame.

"Not my first choice," Winston said, plucking the bone away and passing it to someone behind him. He reached out for the guys, engulfed all three of them in a fond embrace. "You're gonna be just fine, Egon."

"Of course I am," Egon said in a voice Peter thought was way too controlled. "Would one of you mind telling me what is going on? Is that the ghost over there?"

"Yeah, but we're almost buddies now, Egon," Peter explained. "It's a long story. We'll clean you up and head for home any second now but we have to see how it comes out." He cast a worried look at Ray. None of them would let Egon go through any traumatic memories alone. The three of them stayed with Egon, close enough for him to reach out to them, and Peter left his hand on the physicist's shoulder.

As Ray began a hastily gabbled explanation to Egon, Sam drifted over to Kyle, firming up again. "I have to go now," he said.

Kyle lifted a face that was ravaged by the long-denied tears but that held more life than the stone features he'd worn before. "I am so sorry," he breathed.

"If I could have done it any other way, I would have," Sam admitted. "But in a crisis, a friend's first instinct is to help his friends."

Peter tightened his grip on Egon's shoulder. "You called that one right," he said.

"Will you...be all right?" Kyle asked reluctantly.

"I will now. Just see you don't waste what I gave you."

"I wouldn't dare," Kyle replied.

"I know how hard it is," Peter told the chief in an undertone. "But now you have to say goodbye."

Kyle nodded, then he stuck out a hand to Sam, who ignored it and hugged him again. In his near-solid state, he didn't slime him, but his body must have felt cold and unnatural. Kyle held on as long as he could, then they drew apart.

"Take care of him for me, Kelly," Sam urged.

"I will."

And then he began to fade, slowly growing more transparent until he was gone.

Kyle stared at the spot he had stood, then he turned abruptly and blundered from the tomb. Kelly followed, running to catch up with him halfway to the cars. He paused there, waiting for her to join him. When she slid her arm around his waist, he draped his around her shoulders. They walked on side by side, the tall man suiting his steps to hers.

"I'm sure glad that's over," Ray breathed.

Peter hoped it really was.

*****

Night in the firehouse. None of the guys had wanted to stay in Maryville, so after pausing long enough to clean Egon up and make sure he wasn't hurt, and saying a quick goodbye to the people they'd met, the team returned to Manhattan, comparing stories during the drive back to the city. Peter knew that Egon had never given up while trapped in his dark prison, which was Egon's way. And now he was going to calmly rationalize away any lingering distress. And that was also Egon's way and most of the time it worked very well. But most of the time he hadn't been trapped in an underground prison surrounded by decayed corpses with no guarantee of rescue.

So when Egon awakened abruptly in the night, bolting from his bed after rousing from a nightmare, Peter, who had been sleeping with one ear open, wasn't the least bit surprised.

He lay quietly waiting in case Egon went back to sleep, but when the physicist stood up and left the bunkroom, Peter hesitated only a couple of minutes to make sure he wasn't merely planning a bathroom break before he jumped up and followed him.

Egon had stopped at the couch where he had turned on the television set to a late-night episode of M*A*S*H. On the screen Hawkeye and Radar were talking earnestly, but Egon hadn't turned up the sound very loudly and Peter only heard a mutter of voices, not the actual words.

When Peter sat beside him, Egon lifted his head but his face held no surprise at Venkman's presence. He sat clutching a throw pillow against his chest as if it were a bulwark and shield. "Peter?"

"Knew I was awake, huh?" He sat down next to Egon.

"Of course." He turned his face toward the television set, but he wasn't watching it any more than Peter was. "Peter, I have a question for you."

"Shoot, big guy."

Egon flipped the channel to an old movie, possibly as a delaying tactic, then he set the remote on the coffee table. "If I had died down there, would you have been able to forgive me?"

Oh dear. Peter hesitated only a second then he gave Egon the most honest answer he could. "Yes." It was true, although there would have been residual anger, a natural part of grieving, because it was the way Peter dealt with emotional pain. But it would never have been the overriding feeling. Then words came out that surprised him because he hadn't consciously planned them. "It would have been myself I couldn't forgive."

They stared at each other, each of them recalling the near miss of that afternoon, realizing how close they'd come and how badly each of them would have taken a fatal outcome. Peter saw understanding in the eyes that gazed into his and knew an equal understanding was reflected in his own. They knew each other thoroughly and it showed.

"You would scarcely have been at fault, Peter," Egon said quickly, clutching the pillow tightly against his chest.

"I know. But I'd have been thinking of you, trapped, waiting for rescue, knowing we'd find you, realizing we'd been too late." He saw Egon flinch and added hastily, "But it wouldn't have come to that. We'd have rescued you even without the ghost, once the dogs led us to the Stone mausoleum and couldn't pick up another trail. You know that, Egon. You have to know we would never have given up." He reached out and grasped Egon's wrist. "We're a team, Egon. We work better as a team than any of us do apart. Weneed you."

"It appears you understood the ghost's motivations before anyone else did," mused Egon.

"That's what I do, Spengs," Peter said. "Motivations are meat and drink to me. If it hadn't been that, it would have been Ray coming up with a new weird adjustment of the P.K.E. meters. Or Winston reasoning it out. Or you, digging a big enough hole in that mortar so you could yell and get our attention." He eyed Egon soberly, noting the shadows around his eyes. "Don't pull a World Trade Center on me, Egon. If it's bugging you, talk to me. Tell me about it."

"Doctor Peter," Egon said with quiet fondness. "I dreamed about it just now, trapped down there with the skeleton. Fear of skeletons is ludicrous, of course. They are simply the natural remains... I survived intact, after all."

"Yeah, but it's still nasty. I'd have freaked too. Anybody would. It's okay, Egon. You're allowed a grace period. We won't charge extra if you yell in the night and wake us up. We've all done it. It'll work itself out before you know it. Besides, you used your mind, you reasoned a solution. I should have known you'd be in there pitching; it's what you do."

"I should have known you'd be on the spot," Egon replied. "I did know it. But it was hard not to...imagine..."

Peter tightened his grip on Egon's arm. "Just remember, you can sound off to any of us, whenever you need to."

"I will be all right, Peter," Egon said. "I knew all along you would find me--as it was, you convinced the ghost to bring me back. Just being home, with the three of you has made a vast difference." He let the pillow drop to his knees. Peter took that as a good sign. Sliding his arm around Egon's shoulders, he gave him a reassuring squeeze, pleased when Egon relaxed enough to accept the embrace and lean into it.

"We're gonna make it, Spengs. As long as we're there for each other."

"That's what a good team does," Egon agreed.

"Just don't forget you weren't the only one scared," Peter reminded him. He wanted Egon to know being scared had been all right. It was natural. And Egon had used his fear to plan his own escape; he had been working on a rescue when Peter discovered where he was, not huddled in a corner going into shock. "We kept going, Egon. That's the most important thing. None of us had to turn into a Kyle Owen over it."

"One of us could die one day, Peter. And inevitably will."

"I know. You think that doesn't bug me, too? It's the only downside of being such good buddies. But I'd rather have the buddies as long as I can than do what Kyle did, and if you asked Ray and Winston, they'd say the same."

"We sure would," agreed a voice behind him. It was a sign of how much Peter and Egon had relaxed that neither jumped as they turned to see Ray and Winston standing behind them. Ray added, "Peter's right, Egon."

"Yeah, homeboy, we're all gonna be just fine."

Peter smiled a welcome at them, glad they'd arrived when they did. He scrunched over closer to Egon to make room for them.

"Hey, as long as we're up, there's a Night Stalker marathon on tonight," Ray said happily, grabbing for the remote.

It wouldn't have been Peter's first choice, but Egon didn't react unfavorably to it. A little healthy downtime with the four of them, even if it was the middle of the night, wouldn't hurt. And Slimer hadn't shown up. You couldn't beat that, could you? Peter stretched his other arm along the back of the couch around Ray's shoulders and reached out to give Winston a quick welcoming pat as Ray changed the channel.

"There is one thing, Peter," Egon said dryly, and Peter perked right up. That was his own Egon talking, a man in control of the situation and prepared to have fun with it. The experience would leave its mark on him but he would pull himself together. He was too strong not to. And while he was working on it, he wouldn't have to handle it alone, just as Peter, Ray, and Winston wouldn't have to deal with the might-have-beens on their own.

"What, Egon?" Peter asked expectantly.

"I think you need to brush up on your Morse Code," Egon informed him. "For all I knew you wanted to communicate about the Soo Canals. Or Jack Soo."

"Yeah, right, in the middle of a crisis," Peter argued happily. "You know what I meant, Spengs. You always do."

"Yes, but perhaps that is simply an indication of my brilliance--"

Peter withdrew his arm long enough to poke Egon in the side.

"Maybe it was telepathy," suggested Ray with a wide grin.

"Nah, Pete's just an open book," Winston retorted, reaching around Ray to give him a comradely poke in the chest.

"I knew it," wailed Venkman. "I knew it would turn into a pick-on-Peter game. It always does." But he couldn't help the grin that spread from ear to ear.

"You called that, Winston," Ray said happily.

"Yes, we'll all volunteer," Egon added. "Tomorrow, Peter, I'll loan you a book on the Morse Code."

"My life is complete," Peter said, then stopped and grinned as he realized he had spoken the simple truth. It didn't get much better than this.

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