"...and so I set trip wires by all the doors and windows, and none of them were broken, and that's how I knew it had to be a poltergeist." The shop owner bounced so eagerly on his toes that Ray half feared he would tip right over on the floor. He must have been in his mid-fifties, but he was as spry and energetic as a man twenty years his junior. His hair was white but thick and bristly and too stubborn to lie smoothly on his head, giving him the appearance of an aging punk rocker. Eyebrows as determined as his hair created a thick ledge over deep-set blue eyes. "All the toys down off the shelves, just like every night, and the model railroad setup. I come in here in the morning, and I can still hear it running, but by the time I get back here, it's stopped and the place is dead quiet." He gestured with a ham-sized hand. The ghost who haunted the odds-and-ends shop didn't scare Mister Feldman, not one bit. Ray liked the guy.

Peter arched an eyebrow at the cluttered shelves. The sign over the door read "Motley". "Gotta say you aren't into false advertising," he proclaimed. "I think you can buy everything here but the kitchen sink."

Mister Feldman beamed. "It just so happens, I have a kitchen sink in aisle twelve, young man."

"I stand corrected." Peter winked at Ray, then plunged into the place. No ghosts loomed out to challenge him. "Look, a whole collection of eight-track tapes. An Elvis bank." He stopped dead. "Hey, Egon, this looks just like my hula girl lamp, the one you said Slimer broke a few weeks ago when I was in Atlantic City with my girlfriend." He cast a suspicious glance at Egon, who fiddled industriously with his P.K.E. meter and didn't meet Peter's eyes. Ray felt his own eyebrows arch questioningly.

Peter ignored the reaction, even though his eyes were wary with doubt. "I've gotta have this. I miss Leilani."

Winston's brows shot toward his hairline. "You named your lamp?"

"She wasn't just a lamp, she was a friend." Peter pressed one hand to his heart. Egon rolled his eyes as Peter touched the little dancing figure.

"Honestly, Peter. Such a lamp is unprofessional. It creates a very odd impression for our clients. Totally inappropriate for a business office."

"Proves I'm human," Peter retorted. He picked up the lamp by the base and squinted at it suspiciously. Ray hoped he wouldn't find any familiar scratches on it. Had Egon really sneaked it out of the firehall and sold it? Peter would have a fit. Time for a diversion.

"Gosh." A glimpse down one aisle provided exactly the distraction he needed. "Look at all the neat toys."

Peter set the lamp aside, although Ray doubted the team had heard the end of the subject. "Ray, Ray, Ray, you have too many toys already," Peter rebuked him. "You're thirty-two years old. A little long in the tooth to collect action figures."

Winston pointed at the hula girl lamp and didn't even try to hide his grin. "A man never outgrows toys, Peter. He just modifies them. My brother Frank has this great model railroad in his basement. Takes up half the space down there. Jan has to fight for room for her washer and dryer."

Peter must have realized he wasn't going to win this argument. He cast a glance from Egon to the lamp and back again as if deciding whether to make an issue of it, then, since he'd have the lamp back again if it had really been his to start with, he let it pass. "My uncle Alf builds model Indy cars," he admitted. He shot out an arm and grabbed Ray's wrist. "Not so fast, Tex. That's where the poltergeist hangs out. Let's sneak up on it, not charge in without checking it out." He bowed to Egon. "Spengs? Time to earn your pay. What have you got?"

"Hmmm." Egon waved his P.K.E. meter around the shop. The meter tips flickered faintly, but not brightly enough to indicate a current haunting. "Only residual readings right now. Class Three, very faint."

"Class Three?" echoed Ray. "But poltergeists are usually Class Five."

Mister Feldman's face fell. "Not a poltergeist? You're saying I just have an ordinary ghost?" Maybe he'd wanted to brag it up at the corner bar or impress his wife. "That's not nearly as much fun."

"Well, you can still advertize your business as the haunted Motley," Peter consoled him. "So, Egon? No ghosts here now?"

"Not at present, Peter." Deliberately ignoring the lamp, Egon led the way down the aisle to the toy section, the meter held before him like a lightsaber. Ray grinned happily and plunged after him.

There were toys everywhere, ranging from an old, battered Radio Flyer wagon that had lost most of its red paint, a box of metal soldiers in Napoleonic-era uniforms, a veritable regiment of Barbie dolls clad in various elaborate costumes, a toddler-sized pedal-operated fire truck, tops, baseball gloves, puzzles, games of Clue and Candyland, a whole shelf of stuffed animals ranging from fat, fluffy teddy bears, to long, thin, bright green snakes with huge forked tongues. Action figures that must have been stacked on the shelves marched in rows across the floor. Darth Vader and Boba Fett perched on the engine of the Lionel train with a couple of stormtroopers, while Han Solo and Chewbacca lurked in the coal car behind the engine, planning a takeover. Child-sized chairs circled a knee-high round table. At its head sat a familiar green plush bunny wearing a space helmet. Long green ears protruded through little round holes in the helmet.

Ray's eyes widened in sheer delight. "Oh, wow! Look, guys, it's Rocket Rabbit." He snatched up the stuffed bunny and gave it a fond, reminiscent hug.

Peter eyed it warily, then he caroled, wildly off-key, "It's a mean green bunny from outer space."

"Wrong movie, Pete. This isn't the Little Shop of Horrors." Winston tried hard not to smirk. "I hate to point it out to you, Ray, but your bunny hero won't last long. All the air will leak out the ear holes of the helmet."

"Shows what you know," Ray responded to the challenge. "It vacuum-seals around his ears whenever he has to spacewalk." He wasn't about to get into cartoon logic with the guys. They would never understand.

Peter grimaced at Rocky. "And just who is Rocket Rabbit when he's at home, Ray?"

"He's from a great Saturday-morning cartoon, Peter. It was on when I was ten years old. Really fun. Rocky went up against the evil Fox gang, space pirates in the Asteroid Belt. They've been running it in syndication the last couple of years. But this is one of the original Rocky dolls. They came out in Nineteen Sixty-nine. It's in great shape. The plush is hardly worn at all. Gee, Mister Feldman, I've gotta have this. How much...?"

"You get rid of the ghost and it's free, Doctor Stantz. I'd rather it went to someone who would value it than to someone who'd consider it one more stuffed toy for a bored kid who'd rather have a more modern merchandising tie-in." He gave the bunny a gentle pat, then he yanked his hand away as if even the idea of sentiment embarrassed him. "I'll even throw in Leilani, on top of the fee," he added hastily.

"You've got a deal," Peter agreed before Egon could object, and pumped Mister Feldman's hand.

"Peter, there is a problem," Egon replied.

Peter bristled. "What problem? I'm gonna have that lamp--"

"It's nothing to do with the lamp, Peter, although I personally consider it an inappropriate item in a business office."

"Then I'll park it on the bedside table between our beds," Peter offered with a cherubic smile.

Egon frowned. He must have realized he wasn't going to win the argument, so he mumbled, "Well, er, perhaps in that case.... Never mind that now, Peter. The ghost is not present at this time. We can hardly bust it if it will not manifest."

Peter's face fell, but he caught himself immediately. "No biggie, Spengs. Betcha anything he only shows up at night. So we'll trek back here at closing time and hide ourselves in the store around the toy section. When the ghost shows up, we zap and trap him. No problem-o." He turned to Mister Feldman. "That okay with you? We're bonded," he added hastily.

"If I can't trust the Ghostbusters, who can I trust?" Feldman smiled. "Help yourself to the lamp, Doctor Venkman. I can't say my taste and yours will ever be compatible. In fact, I'm glad to see it go."

"Hey!" Peter contrived to look mortally insulted. When he saw that neither Egon nor Winston looked remotely sympathetic, he stalked over to the lamp and snatched it up before Feldman could change his mind.

"You did it, didn't you?" Winston asked Egon out of the corner of his mouth. "You sold Pete's lamp."

Egon looked vague and distant and played some more with the meter. He was going to be soooo dead.

Ray brandished Rocky. "Are you sure, Mister Feldman? These things are going for about sixty bucks."

"I'm positive, Doctor Stantz. I'd rather it went to a collector like you who would really love it than to someone who complains because it isn't still in its original box."

"Yeah, gosh, that would double the price. But I never like to keep things in boxes. Toys weren't meant to be boxed up. They were meant to be enjoyed. I'm going to sit it on my bed."

"Better not let Dopey Dog eat it," Peter called over his shoulder. Then he turned around warily. "Ray, I'm only gonna say this once. If Rockhead Rabbit has a theme song like that terrible Dopey Dog one and you sing it we're gonna have to put you out to sleep on the street."

"That's not a terrible song. It's a great one. But Rocky's is even better." He raised his voice. "'Out beyond the moon, where the stars are bright, soars a rocket ship, out across the night. Rocket! Rocket Rabbit!! Here to save the day--'"

Peter clapped his hands over his ears, but Egon and Winston just looked at each other and walked away toward the front of the store. "Forgive him," Winston said to an amused Feldman. "Arrested development. Apart from this one little quirk, he's really not a bad guy."

Feldman winced, then he laughed and clapped Ray on the shoulder. "Take it, Doctor Stantz. It's yours. You were obviously meant to have it. But if I were you, I wouldn't sing any more of that song."

"Ah, but he will," Peter moaned. "Bad enough I have to learn that my buddy went behind my back and sold Leilani, now I have to listen to another terrible song. Ray, if you ever sing that again, I swear I'll vivisect Rockhead."

"Rocket, Peter," Ray said involuntarily.

"It's still a mean green bunny." Peter tucked his lamp possessively under his arm. "We'll be back at ten o'clock. Egon and Ray have all these nifty gizmos that can detect and record ghosts. We'll get it if it comes."

"We sure will," Ray agreed.

"Ray?"

"Yeah, Peter?"

"I'm gonna pack my duct tape. If you get any more urges to serenade us, I swear I'm gonna use it."

"And I'll help," Winston volunteered.

Egon, who must have realized he was on shaky ground, didn't offer his assistance. He passed Mister Feldman a business card, then took a final reading. "Until this evening, sir," he said and led the way out of the shop.

Peter fell in with him, Leilani cradled tenderly in his arms. "Listen, Spengs, I've got a deal to make with you here," he was saying as they went out the door. "I know what all your favorite things are, so Leilani better be sacrosanct, you got it, buddy?"

"Sacrosanct, Peter?" Egon arched an eyebrow. "I am impressed."

Peter shrugged off his impressive vocabulary. "Well, remember that, because you're walking a fine line here, big guy."

"I assure you, Peter--" The door banged beside him and cut off his words.

"Man, I wouldn't want to be in Egon's shoes when we get home," Winston chuckled. "Come on, Rocket boy. We better head back to the firehouse so we can set up for tonight. And if you're thinking of getting down on the floor and playing with the ghost, you've got another think coming."

Ray felt his eyes widen. "Gee, Winston, wouldn't that be great?"

Winston grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. "Come on, Junior. We better go protect Egon from Peter."

"Gosh, yeah. We'll be back tonight, Mister Feldman."

"Well, this isn't my favorite bust," Peter complained many hours later. It was nearly dawn, and the night had been spent prowling around the cramped aisles of Feldman's shop, idly checking out the weird collection of junk the guy had for sale. Motley wasn't an antique shop, although Egon said a few of the items would prove valuable to a collector who knew what he was looking for. Mostly, the place resembled a huge garage sale or a slightly upscale version of a Goodwill store.

After Feldman had reluctantly departed Egon and Ray had spent the first half hour setting up equipment. The proprietor would happily have volunteered to stay with them and keep watch, but the team had learned a long time ago that it was safer for all concerned not to allow civilians to take an active part in busts. They inevitably got in the way, making it necessary for the guys to pull their shots at the last minute. Ray had taken out a few chandeliers because some gung-ho rubbernecker had blundered into his line of fire, and Peter had once blasted a big hole in the side of somebody's Porsche when a fascinated Ghostbuster groupie had leaped between him and a marauding Class Seven. The insurance had covered it, but the owner, a stockbroker, had been livid, screaming at Peter in language that might have shocked his cronies at the New York Stock Exchange. Or not.

If they weren't jumping into the fray, civilians tended to panic at the wrong moments. Peter remembered a couple of little old ladies who had fainted--usually in the middle of the street, and once in front of a speeding taxi. Peter could still recall the vast and colorful bruise on his hip that he'd gotten from rescuing her and being grazed by the cab in the process. The cabby was abjectly apologetic, and the woman had flung her arms around Peter and promised him she would pray for him every night for the rest of her life. But Egon, once he got over his fright at the sight of the cab striking Peter, arranged a meeting with representatives from the NYPD to guarantee better protection at the site of public busts. Knowing they'd allowed witnesses to come too close and that Peter might well have been killed--a fact he didn't at all enjoy remembering--the police department had agreed. The last six months, the guys had enjoyed much better security on busts.

Feldman didn't look like the type to panic, though. Winston had learned, one vet to another, that the shop owner had been a master sergeant in Vietnam. A guy less likely to freak at the sight of a ghost was hard to imagine. That meant he was a jump-into-the-line-of-fire type. Egon dealt with him calmly and reasonably with talk of insurance coverage, and Feldman had departed with a wistful gaze over his shoulder.

Once the motion sensors, energy detectors, and magnetic registers had been set in place around the toy department, the guys gave that area a wide berth. If the ghost always took off when Feldman came in to work it might be too timid to appear before an audience. Ray mounted a remote camera overlooking the site of the haunting and hooked it up to the security camera in the front of the store. Then he parked himself in front of the monitor to watch for the arrival of the toy-fancying spirit. Probably scoping out all the toys that crammed the shelves and deciding which ones to add to his own too-big collection.

Winston found a whole bookshelf of used books and dragged up a chair to search through them for gems to read. It hadn't taken him long to find one to interest him and, after that, the only sound from his direction was the regular flip of turning pages. He wasn't visible from the toy department, so that worked.

In order to cover all contingencies Egon had brought two P.K.E. meters with him, the main one set at the exact frequency of the residuals he'd detected earlier so that the first materialization of the ghost would alert him to its presence. The other meter was one he'd brought along to play with. Peter smirked. Egon's toys were simply more technical than Ray's. It lay open on the counter, a collection of tiny tools lined up with surgical precision beside it. Whenever Peter moved in his direction, he became exceptionally busy with some miniature connection.

After yet another survey of an aisle that proved to contain cast-off dishes, video tapes of old B-movies nobody but Ray had ever heard of, and a vast collection of jigsaw puzzles, Peter prowled, royally bored, over to Egon and plopped down in a chair next to him. Egon spared him one quick, assessing glance before sinking back into total absorption. His reluctance to meet Peter's eyes finally struck home.

"You did it, didn't you?" Peter challenged. "You sold my lamp."

The tool scraped against the side of the casing with a screech that made Winston glance up from his book. At the sight of Egon's face, he went right back to it as if it contained the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

When it became clear that Egon meant to avoid answering, Peter frowned. "I don't go around selling your stuff."

"I am busy, Peter. This is very delicate work."

"Why?" Peter asked. To his surprise, he found that he was rather hurt. Egon had taken his lamp--and he had lied about it. Egon, the most honest, honorable, reliable guy in the universe, and he'd constructed a deliberate lie. "You been taking lessons from my dad?" He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them. He hadn't meant to sound like that. It gave too much away.

Over at the security monitor, Ray made a sudden distressed sound, but he didn't turn his eyes away from the image of the toy department. Winston read with great concentration, but Peter was sure he wasn't seeing any of the words on the page. Nice going, Venkman. Wave your hurt feelings around like a little kid.

At the question, Egon flinched. At first, he didn't look up, but then he did, and his eyes were shadowed behind the thick lenses of his glasses. He had never looked more guilty. Oh yeah, he'd done it, all right. Had he brought it here to sell himself? No, Motley was in Brooklyn. Janine didn't live that far from here. He'd probably given it to the secretary to dispose of. She'd been in it with him.

Egon opened his mouth but no words came out. If he said, "It's only a lamp," Peter would jump all over him. It was the principle of the thing. Sure he'd liked the lamp, but part of its appeal was the delight he got in people's astonished reactions at such a blatant display of bad taste. But that Egon would not only take it and dispose of it, but that he'd lie, that got to him. He was far too used to lies; his father thrived on them.

Egon's face was white. "Peter, I--"

"The truth hurts, huh, Spengs? Well, there you do better than my dad. He doesn't care. Guess you've got a long way to go before you reach full conman status."

Egon didn't defend himself. He simply sat there, the tool hanging from his hand.

"Peter, it's only a lamp," Ray said quickly.

"No, Raymond." Egon's voice was grave. "It is more than that. It's a principle. Peter is well within his rights to be angry and disappointed. I asked Janine to sell the lamp. It was gone for three days before Peter noticed it was missing."

"Like that makes a difference?" Peter demanded. This was crazy. Ray was right, it was only a stupid lamp. He wished he'd never seen the damn thing in the first place. "Egon, why?" he asked. "If you hated it so much, why didn't you just tell me?"

"Would you have parted with it if I had?" Egon asked. His voice was tight and dry.

"Heck no. I'd have held onto it for all it was worth, just to bug you." He didn't grin. There was nothing to smile about. "Would've been fun, the way I bug you about your smelly experiments. I don't flush 'em down the toilet when your back is turned, though."

"Those experiments are important, Peter."

"Well, yeah, Leilani was important to me. Just tell me why, Egon! Why did you do it? Did you and Janine get together and plan your lie? Did you rope Ray and Winston in, too? What was this, a big conspiracy? Gang-up-on-Peter time?"

"I didn't know--" Ray began, then he chopped off his words abruptly.

"Of course not, Peter," Egon defended the others.

"Well, geez, Egon, I don't think there's any 'of course' about it. Used to think so. Somebody I could trust all the way down to the soul. You'd think I'd learn nobody can really be trusted in the end. Guess I'll remember better now." He stood up and stalked off toward the front of the store. Talk about overreacting. But Egon was right about one thing. It was the principle of the thing, and that was what hurt.

Egon abandoned his P.K.E. meter without a second's hesitation and followed him. He caught up with Peter at the front door. "Peter, I am very sorry and you have every right to be upset with me. What I did was unworthy of me and of our friendship."

"No argument there," Peter said stiffly.

"Well, gee, Peter," Ray plunged in without looking up from the screen, "let him try to explain." He glanced over at Egon. "You have to talk to him, Egon. Don't make it worse."

Peter opened his mouth to blast Ray for interfering, then he caught himself. This could affect the whole team. Ray was just trying to help, and it wouldn't do any good if Peter backed off and didn't listen after he'd asked Egon for his reasons. For all these years, he'd trusted Egon utterly. Did one mistake change that for all time? It was just a stupid lamp, for crying out loud. He'd gotten in waaaay over his head here. "Yeah," he said without turning. "He can explain." Could he? Peter stared vaguely out into the night. A taxi sailed past like it was trying to set a new land-speed record. On the far side of the street, three guys in gang colors hurried past without so much as a glance at the shop. The wind blew a sheet of newspaper to wrap around the nearest kid's ankle. He kicked it away with disgust.

Peter wished he could kick away this moment as easily.

"It was the day Doctor Thurston came to visit me," Egon said. Peter could see his shadowy reflection in the glass, lit by the security illumination behind the counter, see the hand he reached out toward Peter's shoulder and then drew back. Egon's face was full of misery. "He brought two visiting physicists, one from the Sorbonne and the other from Oxford. They were in town for that international conference, and I'd attended the first day, as you may recall. I had to present a talk on ectoplasmic physics. It...did not go well."

"Yeah?" Peter said faintly. He could remember Egon raving about how wonderful the conference was. In retrospect, it was obvious that Egon had exaggerated, that he'd been covering up, but the sounds of higher physics usually drove Peter to run for cover and he'd missed the signs. Nice going, Pete.

"Ectoplasmic physics is not considered a legitimate field by many physicists, by the majority of them, I would say. It has more acceptance now than it did five years ago, but it is still an uphill battle to be accepted as a respectable scientist. We all know the validity of ectoplasmic physics; we see it daily. But scientists from all over the globe were present. Many of them attended my lecture. I thought my logic and documentation would win them over. But once I mentioned ghosts, a number of people simply walked out. As the lecture proceeded more followed. By the time I was finished, only a dozen scientists remained. They were supportive, encouraging. But...."

"You never said, Egon. We could've gone back the next day with our throwers and a few ghosts to prove what you do is real." Peter would have relished that. Egon hated and dreaded being called a bad scientist, and that was essentially what those men and women who had walked out of his lecture had been saying. Suddenly a lamp seemed the least of their worries.

"I thought my documentation would prove my point," Egon said stubbornly. "After the lecture, Doctor Thurston came up to me and admitted I had convinced him. I was elated. He has long been one of the leading scoffers. I invited him for a tour of the facility and he brought with him Doctor Etienne Thierry and Professor Austin Reed, two exceedingly eminent physicists. I showed them the containment unit. They were fascinated by a glimpse inside. Ray was ready to add a new Klein bottle since the unit has grown rather full this autumn, and Halloween is yet to come. They were most impressed."

"I bet they were. The containment unit blows 'em away every time," Peter said. He still sounded stiff, but not as bad as before.

"We came upstairs and I wanted to show them what I was doing in the lab area behind your office. As we passed, Professor Reed saw the lamp. I turned to see what had made him stop, and he was staring at it in disbelief. That made Doctor Thierry look. They frowned. They looked at each other. Then they laughed." Egon's hand came out again and touched Peter's arm. Egon could hear in his voice that the story was just killing him. He ought to stop him now, tell him the stupid lamp didn't matter.

Peter turned around so that he and Egon were face to face. The pain in Egon's eyes was as bright as a beacon. Peter reached up and curled his fingers around Egon's wrist.

"I saw the expression on their faces, Peter. It matched those of the people who had walked out of my lecture. I know I should have defended you, explained that our job is a matter of life and death, that we need the light and trivial to unwind after tough jobs. But all I could remember was how it had felt when those people, highly respected physicists, had scorned my lecture. I quickly led them back to the lab and the subject didn't come up again. But after they had gone, I gave the lamp to Janine, and asked her to dispose of it. She evidently thought it was part of a game between us, and she joined in willingly."

"That's not all she'd do if you asked her," Peter said. "Egon, those guys are jerks. You don't have to prove yourself to them. What you do is real and it's important, and those people who walked out of that lecture would know it in a heartbeat if they ever saw a ghost. They'd be on the phone to you like there was no tomorrow."

"The respect of my peers...." Egon began and for a moment could go no further. "...should not be as important as my friendship with you. And I give you my word that it is not, Peter. It was simply the timing. I am very sorry."

Peter shook his head. "No, Spengs, it's me who's sorry. I want to go and kick those pseudo-scientists in the face."

"They are respected men and women, Peter."

"Yeah, but how good can they be? They've got closed minds. You don't, Egon. That's the great thing. That's one way you beat 'em. You're smarter than they are, goes without saying. But I know how much being taken seriously means to you. Your self-respect means a heck of a lot more to me than a stupid lamp."

"But I lied to you, Peter."

"Yeah, and I'll get my own back for that, believe me." The fact that Egon had spilled his guts about something that had hurt him so deeply made Peter understand. It wasn't as if he had never done anything tacky in the heat of emotions. "But I'd like to send a ghost to those two weirdos. What about Thurman? Did he get on your case, too?"

Egon smiled faintly. "No, when they other two had left, he smiled at me and said he could tell I had an interesting life, and added, 'If I were twenty years younger, I'd sign up to join you in a heartbeat.'"

"Well, we won't haunt him, then. But next time those other clowns come to town, you tell me, and I'll sic Slimer on 'em."

"That is tempting, Peter."

"See? I'll humanize you yet, Egon. Tell you what, I'll give you the lamp. What do you say to that?"

"No such sacrifice is necessary, Peter," Egon said hastily. The start of tentative humor lit his eyes.

"No sacrifice, Egon. There's nothing I wouldn't do for a buddy. It's yours. I'll install it in the lab as soon as we get home." Never let it be said the great Venkman couldn't make the punishment fit the crime.

"He's got you there, Egon," Winston called.

Egon looked him right in the eye. "Thank you, Peter. I shall, er, cherish it."

"You bet you will, Spengs. You bet you will." He gave Egon's wrist a squeeze and let go. "So, guys, any trace of our toy-loving ghost?"

"Maybe we're too noisy," Winston said. "It stopped when Mister Feldman came in last time. Maybe it knows we're here."

"It would have to materialize to know we were here," Egon disagreed. He went after his still-assembled meter and picked it up. "Not so much as a flicker. If it tried to come and realized we were here, we would have had a quick reaction from the meter. I have the sound turned low, but Ray would still have heard it. You didn't, did you, Ray?"

"No, not a beep. And I've been watching the toy department the whole time you, uh, the whole time. I didn't see anything move."

Peter glanced at his watch. Three a.m. Just knowing what time it was made him yawn. They'd caught a nap in the afternoon to prepare them for pulling an all-nighter, but they were still tired. Maybe that's why Peter had blown up at Egon the way he had. Talk about getting carried away.

"You sure it can't tell we're here without materializing?" he asked.

"I think we would have some indication. I've set the meter range for an entire city block, just to be certain. Nothing."

"Well, Mister Feldman almost caught it when he came in this morning--yesterday morning," Ray reminded them. "Maybe he scared it off. Maybe it's gone for good."

"You think so?" Winston asked.

Ray shook his head. "No, I think it's gonna come back. We better be quiet and keep low."

Peter was pretty sure if they kept too quiet, they would fall asleep, so he resolved to keep watch, and if the guys started dropping off, he'd shake one of them awake when he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

In the end, it was Ray who managed to stay awake. Peter suddenly realized Ray was shaking him. "Peter, wake up, it's morning."

He blinked sleep out of his eyes and glanced around. He'd sprawled uncomfortably in his chair, his head pillowed on his folded arms on the counter. Ray shook Winston awake, then gave a sleepy Egon a poke. "Gosh," said Ray in disappointment. "No ghost. Mister Feldman's gonna be so disappointed."

"Yeah, he'll probably take the bunny back," Peter pointed out.

"No, he won't. I'd pay him for it if I had to," Ray said. "But we can leave the monitors here tonight. Maybe if we can get proof, we can figure out how to bust it."

"Well, they sure didn't pick up anything tonight," Winston complained. "At least not so I could hear it." He ran his tongue over his teeth. "Man, I wish I had my toothbrush."

"We'll go home and sleep for a few hours," Egon decided. "And we will leave the equipment tonight but won't be here ourselves. I'll arrange a relay signal so it will go off in headquarters if the ghost should make an appearance."

"You think it could tell we were here?" asked Ray. "Maybe it's just shy."

"Maybe you just want to get at those toys yourself, Ray," Peter told him.

"You don't think the ghost is a little kid, Peter?" Ray was suddenly serious. "I was thinking about it while I watched the monitor. All those neat toys, action figures and trains and stuff. What if it's the ghost of a little boy?" He gazed at Peter with huge, distressed eyes.

Peter hadn't really wanted to consider that possibility, but he had. The ghost was a Class Three, after all, the ghost of a human being. Apart from Ray, most adults didn't get off on playing with toys, at least not this kind of toys. He'd wondered all along if the ghost were a child. Busting a kid was not very high on the list of Ghostbusting fun things to do. Peter had been planning for that contingency. Helping a kid disperse peacefully was more satisfying than zapping and trapping. They reserved the trapping for ghosts who deserved it, nasty ghosts, troublesome ghosts, difficult ghosts. There wasn't anything nasty about playing with toys.

"It could be," he admitted cautiously. "But I don't think we ought to mention that to Feldman. Besides, if it's really a kid ghost, maybe he's making the rounds of various toy stores and that's why he wasn't here this time. He could be working his way through them all."

"That might indeed be the case, Peter," Egon agreed. "I shall put in telephone calls to various toy stores and ask if they have experienced similar hauntings."

"Yeah, but it's been here more than once, or Feldman wouldn't have thought to put up those trip wires," Winston reminded them. "I don't think it's doing other places. I think it's hanging out here."

Peter nodded. "Well, we'll still check out the other stores, and leave the equipment here." He stretched achily. "But can we do all that after little Petey Venkman has a nap?"

"This time, I think we'll all sleep in," Egon agreed, and turned at the sound of a key in the lock to explain to Feldman what had happened.

When Peter had brought the hula girl lamp to the lab Egon had accepted it with every indication of delight. He didn't like the lamp and never would, but he wouldn't dare part with it now. Even if Slimer were to smash it accidentally, he would be suspected of a plot to get rid of it, unless the other guys were there and saw that it was an accident. Hoping that would happen was as close as Egon could come to plotting the lamp's demise.

He ceremonially placed it on the mantle next to the brain he kept in a jar. "The place of honor," he said lightly.

Peter grinned, but there was still a tentative edge to it. Egon felt worse about the lamp--and the lie--than he did about his failed lecture. Those narrow-minded scientists' opinions didn't really matter as much as Peter's good opinion of him did. To think he'd reminded Peter of Charlie Venkman! That was the moment when he'd realized how false his values had been. Impressing people he didn't know and didn't respect was nowhere near as important as being honest with people who mattered to him. The lamp had been a symbol, but it was a symbol he had misinterpreted.

"It has taught me a valuable lesson, Peter," he said seriously.

"Yeah, me too," Peter said. They were alone in the lab. Ray and Winston had made themselves scarce, probably on purpose.

"What lesson, Peter?"

"To look before I leap." Peter's grin flashed out. "You were a jerk, Egon, but so was I for getting on your case without even offering you a chance to defend yourself. Think we can call it even?"

Egon found himself smiling in return. "I have nothing to fault you for, Peter." He hesitated. Dare he continue? If he didn't, it would mean he was letting it bother him. "Except, of course, your taste."

Peter's eyes lit up. "I'll have you know my taste is exquisite. I don't hang out at the opera and I don't lust after molds and fungi."

"'Lust' is hardly the word, Peter."

"Okay, yeah, I give you that. Here you've got Janine panting after you, even willing to conspire with you, and lust doesn't once rear its ugly head. I've gotta say I worry about you, Spengs."

"Simply because I keep my private life private and don't brag about my conquests--"

"What conquests?" Peter challenged.

"I will not fall for abrupt questions, Peter. If you don't mind, I want to do some research."

"Never knew anybody who avoided the issue like you do. Anybody would think you were a virgin."

"Then 'anybody' would be mistaken," Egon replied tartly, although he couldn't repress a wave of amusement at Peter's predictable persistence. And that was as far as he was prepared to go. "About those toy stores," he said hastily. "Not one of them has reported any evidence of a haunting. Compared with Mister Feldman's claim that he's had this going on for five nights, we have to assume he is the target of the haunting. If it is the ghost of a child, perhaps it is one from his neighborhood."

"Think Feldman would know?" Peter asked.

"He might. If we don't pick up anything tonight with the equipment, we can ask him."

Peter grinned. "We'll let Ray do it. He's good with kids."

"So are you, Peter. In fact, if it comes to a confrontation, I hope that you will be able to help the child to disperse peacefully."

Peter drew in a deep breath. "I think it's gonna bug Ray," he said. "Ray loves all that same stuff. He's sure to imagine what it would be like to have to give it all up and disperse."

It wasn't only Ray who was imagining it. Egon was positive Peter already had. He could be such a softie, even though he was good at covering it up and fondly imagining that no one had noticed. Out of long practice, Egon didn't admit that he knew now. He was just glad that Peter was using that tone of voice, the sentimental one he got when talking about his mom or Mrs. Faversham. He'd never let himself sound like that in front of Egon if he were still annoyed about Leilani.

"If it bugs Ray, we will have to help him through it," Egon said. "I know for a fact that you will do whatever needs to be done."

Peter smiled softly. "Yeah, Egon, for my buddies, anything."

"We know," Egon said. He glanced over at the lamp on the mantle. Maybe it wasn't quite so bad after all. He could live with it.

Peter followed the glance. "You treat my girl nice, Egon, or I'm gonna feed all your P.K.E. meters to Slimer."

"A fate worse than death."

"Maybe. If it comes down to it, I know lots worse things." Peter smirked.

"I never doubted that for a moment. Where are you going?"

"Down to bug Janine, and let her know she better not try to sell any more of my stuff. Next time she wants a raise, she can think she's gonna get a pay cut instead."

"You wouldn't!"

Peter paused in the doorway and grinned shamelessly. "Nah. But she doesn't know that, does she?" He trailed away down the spiral staircase, whistling.

"Luke. Join me."

The deep and ominous voice cut through the misty remnants of Peter's dream and startled him into wakefulness. What the heck? Darth Vader hadn't been part of his dream, had he? No, the dream had been a goodie, starring the luscious Michele Pfeiffer. Nary a Star Wars character in sight.

"Luke! I am your father."

There it went again. What the heck was Vader doing in the bunkroom? Peter knuckled sleep out of his eyes and froze, listening. He could hear a rasp of heavy breathing. Great. The ghost of a fictional character was lurking in the firehall. That was all they needed.

"No!" the anguished cry rang out in an entirely different voice, cutting off the wheeze of Vader's respirator.

"Luke, you can destroy the Emperor. He has foreseen this. It is your destiny. Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son."

"I'll never join you."

Peter pushed himself up and looked around. No trace of ghostly Vaders or Skywalkers. The voices came from the foot of his bed--no, it was one voice, changing to simulate the different characters. Peter scrambled down to the foot of his bed--and froze.

Ray sat cross-legged in his pajamas on the rug, illuminated by the glow from the streetlight outside. The expression on his face was totally unfamiliar, as if he had turned into a stranger. In one hand, he clutched a Darth Vader toy and in the other, a Luke Skywalker figure as he danced them around the way a little kid would while playing a game. The Vader toy had a little plastic lightsaber clicked into one hand; the Luke one ducked back as Ray made Vader swing it. In the movie, Peter remembered, the gesture had severed Luke's hand.

Boy, and Peter thought he had a crummy father situation!

A motion to his right proved that Egon was awake, kneeling at the foot of his own bed, one hand on the footboard as he stared at Ray. The other hand clutched his ever-present P.K.E. meter. Aha. Proof he did sleep with the thing.

Peter abandoned that frivolous thought when he saw the antennae were extended, the tips blinking brightly. Shit. That was not a good thing. Ray might be sleepwalking--sleep-playing?--but there was a ghost involved, too.

Peter had the ugly feeling it had possessed Ray.

Winston scrambled to the foot of his bed as Ray tossed the Luke figure into the air to simulate his leap off the tower. He made the Vader doll stare down after him, then he set the Vader doll aside and brought out a model of the Millennium Falcon. He fumbled through the box of jumbled action figures he usually kept under his bed and brought out Lando, Chewie and Princess Leia. Time for them to rescue Luke. Had Ray been sitting here acting out the whole of The Empire Strikes Back while the guys slept, or had he jumped right into the confrontation between father and son?

Egon spoke in an undertone just above a whisper. "This is very bad. My readings exactly match the residuals I detected at Motley. They are diffused and mingled with Ray's readings. I am very much afraid Ray is possessed."

Ray didn't pay any attention to Egon's remark. He didn't even seem to hear it. He talked quietly, his voice piping when he did Leia's voice, while a deep growl suggested the Wookiee.

"Possessed?" groaned Winston. "Oh, man." He knuckled alertness into his eyes as he stared down at Ray.

"So, what do we do?" Peter asked. "This is nuts. How can it be the same ghost? It didn't possess Feldman."

"It was daylight when Feldman arrived at the store," Egon theorized. "Perhaps the ghost is only active at night. Perhaps Feldman was not receptive. Based on the fact that the ghost only disturbed the toys at Motley, we have assumed it may be that of a child. Ray might be a logical receptacle for such a spirit."

"Well, yeah, but the ghost can't keep him," Peter said. Bottom line, they were gonna get Ray back. They knew just how to do it, too, the way they'd whipped Watt out of Peter when he was possessed. Egon had the ghost's exact frequency, and he knew Ray's biorhythm settings. Two throwers at those settings would separate them in a few seconds. Easy.

But if the ghost were really a little kid, that meant sticking him in a trap and then the containment unit with all the nasty ghosts and demons incarcerated there, and Peter didn't want to do that. But to free Ray they might have to; or alternatively the ghost could desert him at dawn. Ray might even have some ideas of his own. But it was the middle of the night. The LED display of the clock on the bedside table between Ray's and Winston's beds read three forty-seven a.m. It was too long until dawn. Peter didn't want the ghost to inhabit Ray that long. Maybe it would realize how much it enjoyed having a body again and refuse to take off when the sun came up.

"How did the ghost get here in the first place?" Trust old Zed to ask a sensible question. "We never got any readings last night. Not a one. So how did it find us?"

"Think it can suppress its readings?" Peter asked. Ray ignored them as if they weren't there. Luke was lying on the rug now with Leia and Lando fussing over him. The movie was winding down. Not much left for them to do but for Luke to get the artificial hand and see Lando and Chewie set out to rescue Han from Boba Fett and Jabba.

"That should not be possible." Egon got up and moved closer warily, his bare feet soundless on the rug. He took a reading of Ray at close range, adjusted the controls on the meter, and tried again. "Hmmm."

"You've got something?" Winston asked.

Peter slid out of bed on Egon's side. He knelt at the foot of his bed, watching Ray for any sign of awareness on the part of the ghost--or Ray. But the toys in the box held the spirit's attention far more than anything in the bunkroom did.

"I have been thinking, Peter." Egon was frowning. "I doubt very much your hula girl lamp, er, my lamp could have been possessed. But we did bring one other thing back from Motley."

"The mean green bunny?" Peter asked. "Geez, it was sitting at that table in a place of honor when we got there yesterday. You saying Rocky is possessed?"

"Not possessed, Peter. Haunted. We took residual readings in the shop before we returned home, and the residuals were there, but I shut off the meter when we left, and I did not take readings here in the firehall once we returned home. I didn't turn on the meter again until we were back at the shop, where I got no readings. And tonight, I didn't turn it on until I heard Ray talking."

"So we brought a haunted bunny home with us?" Winston glanced over at Ray's bed. They all followed his gaze.

Rocket Rabbit sat propped up on Ray's footboard as if to survey his kingdom. One ear hung at a crooked angle against the helmet, and his head was cocked as if he were watching the enactment of The Empire Strikes Back.

Egon held the meter up to the stuffed animal. "Residuals. Strong residuals. I am a fool. If only I had taken readings when we returned home, I would have known. We could have spared Ray this."

They looked down at Ray who, sublimely unaware of them, dug happily in the box for more toys. He came out with R2-D2 and C3PO. Time to start Return of the Jedi. Ray knew the entire Star Wars trilogy by heart, practically word for word. Sometimes he bugged the guys by reciting the lines along with the characters when they watched the movies on TV.

"So you're saying a ghost inhabited Space Bunny and now it's in Ray?" Peter asked. "There wasn't anybody for it to be in at Motley, not in the middle of the night."

"I don't imagine it possessed anyone at Motley," Egon agreed. "It most likely emerged in ectoplasmic form and enjoyed the toys." Egon pointed the meter at Ray again. "But here, the toy was on Ray's bed, in actual proximity to him, and Ray had handled it. I think it simply entered him so it could not only take advantage of a physical body but know what Ray knows, in other words, where the nearest toys are."

"So it takes Ray's body and his toys?" Peter knelt down on the rug next to Ray and tried to get a good look at his face. "What if it won't give him back?"

There was a moment of silence as they considered that. Ray--or the ghost--ignored them completely. He didn't react to their discussion or to the beeping of the meter, even when Egon held it right up to Ray. He merely trekked Artoo and Threepio across the rug on their way to Jabba the Hutt's palace. Threepio's complaining voice came oddly from Ray, who had never been a complaining kind of guy.

"We must attempt to communicate with the ghost," Egon decided.

Peter suddenly found himself the concentrated focus of Egon and Winston's gazes, and knew he had just been nominated. Okay, if that was what it took, he'd rescue Ray. He hoped. So he edged a little closer and sat cross-legged beside Ray on the rug. He glanced around and found the toy with the weird head tentacles who had greeted Artoo and Threepio at the door of the palace and snatched it up. He couldn't remember the character's name, if he'd ever known it. Ray would know. He knew the names of all the weird minor characters who had been turned into action figures.

Okay, how to start? Peter shot a desperate glance up at Egon, who gave him such an encouraging, trusting glance that the whole lamp debacle faded from Peter's mind as completely unimportant. Even though he'd accused Egon of being like his father, Egon still trusted him. The faith in Egon's expression put of Peter's life back into perspective and allowed him to focus on this crisis. Suddenly, he knew just how to do it.

He made his voice sound very young, like a ten-year-old kid's, and asked, "Can I play, too? Can I?"

The childlike tone cut through the ghost's absorption in a galaxy far, far away. Ray's head lifted. It about killed Peter to see an alien intelligence gazing out of Ray's eyes. He couldn't see the slightest trace of Ray in there, not even a desperate glimmer in the background. This was all the ghost. Was Ray still there, crammed away in a corner of his mind? Peter could still remember the horror of Watt's possession, trapped as a helpless witness while the demon attempted to open the containment unit. He had fought as hard as he could against its insidious control--and lost. Had Ray fought his own futile battle while the rest of them were sleeping?

"My name's Peter. You've sure got a lot of Star Wars toys."

"I'm Danny," Ray introduced himself. "You like Star Wars?"

"Seen it about a hundred times," Peter admitted. Ray had played his tape that often, anyway. Peter might not have paid attention to every bit of it every time, but he'd absorbed a lot. Hopefully enough.

"Me too."

"I haven't seen you around here before. Where do you live?" They needed information.

Ray's hand waved vaguely. "Over there." He could have been pointing anywhere. Did he even notice that Peter was a grown-up? Did he care?

Okay, that wasn't working. Peter pointed at the mean green bunny. "Is that your Rocket Rabbit?" he asked.

Ray's whole body stiffened. "It's mine. You can't have it. It's mine." He jumped up clumsily and grabbed the stuffed bunny. Arms wrapped around it, he hugged it tightly, sheer panic in his face.

"Hey, come on, I'm not gonna take it. Rocky's not a bad guy."

Ray's face twisted in disgust. "You're a grown-up. You're just pretending. Grown-ups don't like cartoons."

"Yeah, well, one of my best friends loves cartoons. He's just as crazy about Rocky as you are. And he loves Dopey Dog, and comic books, like Captain Steel, too."

"Danny" hugged the green bunny all the tighter. "It's mine," he insisted stubbornly.

"Hey." Peter spread his hands to indicate his innocence. He had to get the kid's trust, and he wasn't doing very well so far. The boy might decide to keep Ray's body, and that would push them into a position none of them wanted to take. He rolled his eyes. Sometimes you had to make a big sacrifice to win through. "I bet you know all the words to the Rocky song, don't you, Danny. How does it go?" He raised his voice tunefully. Well, he thought he was tuneful, but Egon and Winston winced. "'Out beyond the moon, where the stars are bright....'"

"Danny" looked doubtful, but he pitched in with Peter. "'Soars a rocket ship, out across the night."

It was still a stupid song. It was always going to be a stupid song. But the possessed Ray sang it as if it mattered, as if it were a link to everything important. His mouth smiled, but his eyes were desolate. As Peter watched in horror, a tear gathered in the corner of his eye and spilled down his cheek. Was that Ray, knowing he was trapped? Or was it Danny, reacting to whatever had made him a ghost? Peter heard his own voice falter at the sight; he didn't know the second verse, anyway, and was just winging it. A hand clasped his shoulder. Egon, offering what support he could as he knelt just behind Peter, out of Danny's immediate range but there. Winston, off to one side, hadn't seen the tear, but he must have seen every iota of anguish on Peter's face. His very posture signaled his support for the team.

Danny stopped singing and bent his head against Rocky's plush tummy. His shoulders quivered.

"Hey, come on," Peter soothed and patted him gently on the back. "It's okay."

Ray's head shook violently. "It's not okay," he choked out. Then he looked up at Peter, and there was a horrible knowledge in his eyes. "I-I don't know where I am."

That was a breakthrough. If he could look past the toys and the game, then he had to be realizing something was wrong.

Egon's voice was a mere breath in Peter's ear. "Go very carefully, Peter." There was hesitance in the bass rumble. Naturally they all wanted to free Ray from the possession, but the lost little boy who clung to the plush bunny needed help, and Ray would be the first one to offer it. If he'd known what was going to happen, he would have volunteered himself for possession to allow Danny to find peace. He might be in there aware, cooperating for all he was worth. He would hate it if Danny was driven back into the toy, his issues unresolved.

Peter ran his hand up and down Ray's back, stroking gently. "It's okay," he said. "You know where this is? It's a firehouse. We've got a firepole and everything." Take it slow, Peter. Don't rush him.

The auburn head lifted. "Really?" a faint hint of delight touched Ray's eyes, too doubtful and overshadowed with grief to look quite familiar, but a little more like Ray. Danny had been an eager kid, maybe a lot like Ray. It might have been like calling to like, even more than the simple proximity of Rocky Rabbit to the sleeping Ray, that had led to the possession.

"You bet, really. Look over there. See, there's the firepole." He hoped Danny wouldn't want to try it. Ray knew how to use it, but the poles were dangerous to the novice. Kids on tours of Ghostbuster Central always wanted to slide down the firepoles, but the guys couldn't let them. Their insurance company would have fits if any of them tried.

Danny studied it but made no effort to jump up to try it. "You're not a fireman," he said. "Where's your boots, all ready to jump into? Firemen always have their boots ready, right beside their beds."

Winston mouthed, "Don't lie to him," but Peter had already figured that out. Probably wouldn't be a good idea to tell the kid they were Ghostbusters, either. "No, we're not firefighters," Peter admitted. "We're scientists. We have a lab over in the other room."

Danny's interest faded. Firemen had impressed him. Scientists were dullsville. He squeezed Rocky again, gazing at Peter suspiciously. His bottom lip jutted out.

"Do you know what town this is?" Peter asked. Maybe he could get some background.

"New York." He was positive of that. The team might not have to check too far to find out who he was.

"Absolutely right. The Big Apple. I'm from Brooklyn myself. My buddy Ray was born in the Bronx. Egon over here came from Cleveland." He jerked his thumb in Egon's direction. "Think of it, people actually live in the wilds of Ohio."

A faint twinkle touched Ray's eyes. Egon poked Peter in the back.

"You wanna know what's worse?" Peter rolled his eyes in mock horror. "My buddy Winston is from New Jersey!" He thought of a Star Wars line and flung it in triumphantly. "If there's a bright center to the universe, New Jersey is the place it's farthest from."

Danny giggled as he sat down on the rug again. Off to the side, Winston grimaced expressively. Peter shrugged.

"What part of New York are you from, Danny? Where do you go to school?"

"Brooklyn. We live in Brooklyn."

Well, that might explain how the bunny had wound up at Motley. When Danny died, his parents might have disposed of his toys in the nearest place. It might have been too painful for them to see such vivid reminders every day.

"Hey, I know Brooklyn pretty good," Peter said. "Lived there for years. What part?"

"Corner of Ocean Parkway and King's Highway. We have an apartment there."

"I know right where that is," Peter admitted. "There's a yeshiva across the street, right?" A little Brooklyn bonding might go a long way. One of the places Peter had lived as a kid was only a few blocks from there.

"Yeah," Danny admitted.

"So what's your dad do?" Maybe he could play a little of the my-dad's-better-than-your-dad game and get some information.

Danny's face closed away from him so fast that Peter felt a warning twist in his stomach. Suddenly, he had a feeling he knew where this was going, and it wouldn't be pretty. "None of your business," Danny said stubbornly. "Grown-ups are snoopy." But blind panic flared in his eyes.

Well, they could always ask Feldman if he remembered who had sold him Rocky and track Danny down that way. Feldman probably had records in those bulging file cabinets behind the counter at the store. But that would mean letting Danny go on possessing Ray. Peter wasn't sure if they had the proprietor's home phone number on the work order, and even if they called him at home, his records would be beyond his immediate reach.

Peter backed off. "You like Star Wars, huh?"

"I've got all the action figures," Danny bragged. He gestured vaguely at the box. Ray had a pretty decent collection. Before they'd moved to the firehall, he'd had a whole room with his collections in his apartment. There was a lot of extra room in the firehall, but not enough to set up a whole wall of his collectibles, so he'd boxed them all up. Did Danny realize the collection wasn't his own? Sometimes ghosts couldn't exactly make great leaps of logic.

"So, how many times did you see the movies?" he asked.

"I saw Return of the Jedi twenty-six times in the theater," Danny bragged. Hmmm, as Egon would say. The movie had come out in eighty-three, eight years ago.

"Oh, yeah?" Maybe he could get a clue or two here. "You'd think you would have been too young to go that many times."

Ray's shoulders squared. "I was eight when it came out," he said. "Waay old enough. How old are you? Fifty?"

"Hey!" Peter complained. He supposed he should be glad the kid hadn't thought he was eighty. Kids didn't have a clue. Geez, he wasn't even remotely pushing forty, let alone the big five-oh.

Winston gave a suppressed chortle, and Egon cleared his throat. Peter hadn't figured out if Danny had noticed them yet, so he sent Winston a warning glare and jerked his elbow back at Egon.

Eight in 'eighty-three. He wasn't acting like a sixteen-year-old, so the odds were he hadn't died recently. Peter would put him around ten at the most, maybe younger. So he'd been dead a while. What made him suddenly start haunting now? Had his family only just parted with the bunny? Had it been haunting before and nobody ever noticed? They needed to talk to Feldman, get more information. But they could hardly leave Ray possessed while they did it. Never mind that Ray would want them to find out all they could. He'd probably volunteer to stay possessed awhile longer if he thought it would help Danny disperse peacefully. Not that they'd let that happen.

"No, kid, I'm not fifty," Peter said. "I'm only thirty-three. That's a great age. Alexander the Great conquered the whole world when he was my age." Never mind he had a birthday coming up in less than a month.

"Big deal. What have you done?" Danny challenged. The kid could be a real smartass. Peter could remember acting like that when he was ten years old.

"Good question, Pete," Winston muttered.

Peter struck a dramatic pose. "I saved it a couple of times. Saving's better than conquering, any day of the week."

Danny rolled a skeptical eye. "Oh yeah, I bet." He gave the bunny a fierce hug. "I want to play now," he said pointedly and turned his attention away.

Peter hesitated. Without breaking it to Danny that he was dead, there weren't a lot of places left to go with this. He wasn't quite ready to do that; he wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd get, and he'd felt enough like a bully when that tear had run down Ray's face. It wasn't as if they had any guarantee Danny would go back into Rocket Rabbit when the sun came up. He hadn't had anybody to possess at Motley. Maybe now that he had an actual body, he wouldn't let go of it. And now that he'd learned how to do it, they didn't dare risk it again. He might find his way into an actual child.

So he had to try. But slow and careful. "Danny? Do you know why you're here?"

Ray's eyes flashed with panic. "To play," he insisted and thrust his hands into the box of Star Wars action figures. He didn't let go of Rocky, though, just tucked the green bunny under one arm first.

"What's your last name?" Peter asked. Maybe they could track him down that way.

Ray's head came up and he shot a suspicious glance at Peter. But maybe a part of him wanted to be known, because he said sullenly, "Feldman. Danny Feldman."

Feldman! Peter glanced around at Egon and saw the same realization in his eyes. Winston moved abruptly, then stilled when Ray's body gave an uncomfortable shift. Shit. The guy at Motley had been sentimental about Rocket Rabbit when he gave it to Ray. What if Danny was his grandson?

"I'll go," Egon said, a mere breath in Peter's ear. "The number will be with the work order." He circled around behind Peter, and grabbed the firepole. He didn't even take time for the stairs.

Peter didn't envy him the task of breaking the news to the old guy.

He turned back to Danny. "My name's Venkman," he said. "Peter Venkman." He reached into the box at random and pulled up one of the cantina figures. "You want to tell me about all these guys?"

Peter would have been so much better at this than I am. He understands human motivations. Physics is so much simpler and tidier. Easier to compartmentalize.

Yeah, but you're human, Spengs. He could almost hear Peter's encouraging words. Peter couldn't leave Ray while he was possessed, not when he had formed an interaction with the ghost child. Perhaps Winston could have broken the news to the shop owner better, but Egon felt an urge to do something, even something difficult. His particular gifts had not been required on this bust, and he still felt guilty for the lamp incident. He wasn't sure whether he considered the call a form of atonement or not, punishing himself.

That was no excuse for punishing Feldman.

Egon landed in the garage, wincing at the impact of the cold floor against his bare feet, then he hurried to Janine's desk. Over the years, he'd learned to understand her filing system, but this didn't require him to investigate the cabinets. As an active case, the Feldman folder was still on her desk. He opened it, studied the work order. Yes, there was Feldman's home number. The man would not be happy to receive a call at shortly after four a.m. but there was no choice. He punched in the numbers.

Feldman must have a phone beside his bed because he picked right up. "Yeah, whaddya want?"

"Mister Feldman, this is Egon Spengler."

"You got the ghost?" There was a wary note in his voice. Did he actually suspect the ghost's identity?

"The ghost is here, at the firehall. Mister Feldman, this will be difficult for you to hear, but we inadvertently brought it home with us after our first visit. It was dormant in the Rocket Rabbit toy."

There was a long pause at the other end of the line, then Feldman said warily, "What the hell are you saying, Spengler? Just spit it out."

"The ghost emerged from Rocky and possessed Ray. Ray has a collection of Star Wars action figures and the ghost is playing with them, as he played with them at your shop. Peter is...interacting with him. He encouraged the ghost to tell us his name."

"Danny." Feldman didn't even hesitate. "God, Myron's boy. That's what you're saying? I don't believe this."

Egon got the feeling he had wondered all along. But could anyone actually ask the Ghostbusters to bust his own grandson?

"You suspected Danny was your ghost?" Egon prompted. He longed for Peter's people skills.

"Nah, didn't want to believe it for a second." Feldman was frowning. Egon could hear it in the man's voice. "Those toys? They were Danny's. I just put them in the shop last week."

"The haunting started after that? Where were they before?"

"Yeah, started that very night. I didn't want to make the connection. I finally decided to clean out the house. Rose--my daughter-in-law--died the week before that. I'd kept the apartment all this time, trying to convince myself she'd come out of the coma, need her place. But she didn't. She just slipped away."

Egon felt a twinge in his stomach. "Mister Feldman, what happened to her? To Danny?"

"Car accident over on Riverside Drive. Back in 'Eighty-five. Myron and Danny were killed instantly." Egon heard the pain in the deliberately emotionless voice. "But Rose lingered. They said she'd never come out of it, and she hadn't wanted any extraordinary measures to keep her alive. She'd been in a nursing home since 'Eighty-six. When she died, I finally got the guts to close up the place. Shoulda done it before, but I just couldn't bring myself...."

"I understand," Egon said. His voice sounded tight, but he hoped Feldman would hear the sympathy in it.

"I hated the thought of parting with Danny's toys, but I figured Danny would rather have some other little boy playing with them than for them to just sit around on a shelf. When I saw how much your Ray loved Rocky Rabbit, I gave it to him. I never thought--" He broke off abruptly. "Wait a minute. Are you saying Danny's ghost is there? Right now?"

"Yes, sir. Peter's talking to him. We would prefer not to, er, bust him. None of us would be comfortable busting a child. But he's possessed Ray. We...can't let him continue to do so."

Feldman drew a shuddering breath. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Maybe I can talk to him."

"Thank you, sir. We would appreciate that." Egon had called seeking information, but he realized now what Peter must have known all along, that perhaps it would take the boy's grandfather to break through to him and find resolution.

Feldman hung up, and Egon, still reacting to the agony in the man's voice, stood a moment beside the phone to collect himself. It wasn't often like this. Yes, they helped ghosts to disperse peacefully from time to time, but a child? Feldman was a brave man. He hadn't even hesitated.

Egon didn't hesitate either. He raced up the stairs to the third floor and entered the bunkroom. Peter was still down on the floor. He and Ray--Danny--were playing with some of the Star Wars figures. Egon didn't know the movies well enough to understand which one of them they were acting out, and Ray's voice rang with scorn when Peter didn't get the dialog right, but Peter would just grin and shrug and keep trying.

Egon knelt behind him and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "Feldman is Danny's grandfather, and he's coming. He'll be here soon. I shall go down to let him in, in a moment."

Peter leaned back away from Danny. "What do you know, Spengs?"

"Automobile accident, Nineteen Eighty-five. Danny and his father were killed instantly, but his mother lingered until a week or so ago, in a coma."

Peter turned his head and stared. His eyes looked dark and shadowy. "Betcha that's why Danny's hanging around, because his mom was still here; what do you think?" he said too softly for the ghost boy to hear. "Now that she's gone, he doesn't know what to do."

"I believe you are correct, Peter. What is your plan?"

"I think Feldman's gonna have to talk to him, but I'll help. We've gotta get Ray back, but I-I want to make it easy for the kid, if I can."

Egon steadied himself with a deep breath. "You are a good man, Peter Venkman," he said. His hand landed on Peter's shoulder. What did physics and a lamp matter beside such a generous heart? Peter had forgiven him for his failing already, accepted Egon's lame excuse for a petty action, and put it behind him in the face of something really important. The fact that he hadn't stopped Egon from making the call and sent Winston in his place was a statement of trust. He swallowed hard.

If Peter guessed Egon's thoughts, he didn't show it except in a quick flash of his eyes. He said, "You're not so shabby yourself. Now go on, take care of Feldman. Winston will hang with me here till you bring the guy up."

"Thank you, Peter," Egon said fervently and shuffled backward before he rose so as not to distract Danny.

Peter's grin flashed, then he turned back to the ghost. "Sorry about that. Now where were we? Boy, grown-ups have lousy timing."

"Yeah." Ray sounded so different. It was still his voice, but the pitch and tone had shifted so he almost sounded younger. Peter's voice had shifted, too, when Watt was in him. This had to remind him of that possession. A good man and a brave man.

As he and Danny bent their heads over the toys, Winston looked up and caught Egon's eye. He gave a quick grin in Peter's direction, and mouthed, "I'll take care of 'em."

Another good man. Another friend. What could be more important? Not the opinion of narrow-minded people, that was certain.

I have been a fool.

But maybe I have stopped being one.

Egon went down the stairs to face Feldman, feeling better, apart from Ray's situation, than he had since before the physicists had walked out of his lecture.

Feldman made the trip to Ghostbuster Central in nine minutes; he must live nearby, and even New York traffic wasn't very heavy at four in the morning. He had hastily thrown on his trousers and shoes and flung a jacket over his tee shirt. He was unshaven. When Egon let him in, he looked around wildly. "God, Spengler, you sure about this? I swear I never saw anything like this happen in the years since Danny died."

"His possessions were in his own room. Perhaps there was no need. Or perhaps he was bound while his mother lived."

Feldman hesitated. "What do you want me to do?"

A difficult question. Again, Egon felt that Peter could have answered it better than he could, but Peter had to stay upstairs, engaged with the ghost. Perhaps Egon had learned from Peter, or perhaps it was simply common sense. "You need to talk to him, to find out what he wants. If he was waiting for his mother, he needs to know that it's now safe for him to go."

"You sure about that? What kind of afterlife....?" His voice trailed off. "I'm not sure what to believe about that. But you--you're a Ghostbuster. You must run into this all the time. What can I tell him?"

"Sir, I do not know the answer to that. Being a Ghostbuster does not grant me answers. But I do know that when we have helped a ghost to disperse peacefully, they have often been glad, or if not that, satisfied. They've found resolution. Once we had a man who lingered so he could tell his niece he loved her one last time. Danny may simply need to be assured that it's all right to go, that his mother is waiting for him."

"And is she?" Feldman waved a curt hand. "No, you don't know that. Unless her spirit were to appear, you'd have no way of telling. I haven't seen my Myron's spirit, or ever felt that he was lingering. I may not be sensitive to that kind of thing. Who can say? You want me to talk to Danny? I'll do it. But he won't look like Danny, will he?"

"No, sir. He's taken over Ray's body. Knowing Ray as well as I do, I don't believe for one second that he would mind; he'd be glad to help Danny in any way he could. But Danny can't stay."

"No, that wouldn't be right. Hell, I'm scared stiff. Not of ghosts but because...."

Egon put his hand on the man's shoulder. "That's natural. We'll all be there to help if you need it, and I would like to believe that Ray is there, inside, helping, too." That Ray will come back when this is over.

He led the way up to the second floor, over to the spiral staircase, and up. There were still no lights up there, but the streetlights shone into the bedroom windows and painted the scene with a rather surreal, otherworldly glow. Egon turned as he reached the top of the stairs, to give Feldman a hand. "He's in here," he said in an undertone. "Let me go in first and inform Peter you're here. He'll find a way to let Danny know. We'll give you a signal when to come in."

Feldman hesitated. He looked as if it would take a crane to move him into the bedroom, but he firmed up his stance and took a determined step in that direction. "Go," he said, and waved his hands. "Go. Go."

Egon hurried into the bedroom. Peter's head came up and he looked past him to spot Feldman hovering just outside the door. Egon nodded.

Peter braced himself, then he turned to Danny. It still felt wrong to see Ray sitting there in his pajamas, an alien expression on his face. Ray had to be all right in there.

"Danny?" Peter put out a hand to stop an acrobatic move with the Darth Vader figure. "Danny, listen to me. Your grandpa has come to see you." His voice was infinitely gentle, reassuring. Sometimes, when Peter was lazing in bed instead of bounding up to do his chores, Egon could momentarily forget this side of Peter. But his generous, caring heart was just what Danny needed right now.

Ray's body turned rigid. "My grandpa can't see me," he said. He heard the words and hesitated, doubtful and uncertain. "He looked right at me a few times and he couldn't see me."

"He'll be able to see you now," Peter assured him. He caught hold of Ray's hand and gave it a squeeze. Had Danny been aware when he was in Rocket Rabbit? Had he emerged in ghostly form and tried to communicate?

Danny shivered and ducked his head. Egon hoped he never saw Ray look that devastated in his own right. Winston flinched, but Peter made himself bear up to it. "Danny, sometimes grown-ups can't see things because they forget how to believe, the way kids can. You can help him to believe again."

"You believe in me," Danny said in a gruff little voice.

"Oh yeah, I do. I know what a great kid you are. My friend Ray would really have loved you."

"I-I know," Danny admitted. "He-he told me so."

Peter sucked in a startled breath. "You bet he did," he said, and his voice wobbled for just a second at this indication that Ray could communicate with Danny. "Well, your grandpa is gonna come in here in about a minute, and he's gonna be able to see you, and he'll give you a great big hug. You're not too old to have your grandpa hug you, are you?"

"I guess not." Danny scrunched Ray's face up. "But he-he came and talked to me. He couldn't see me or hear me but he...held onto me and he cried, and he said my mom--" He flung up his hands to cover his face, the green bunny perched in his lap. "My mom's not dead. It's a lie."

Egon wouldn't have had a clue what to answer that poignant claim, but Peter took back one hand and clasped it in both of his own. "Danny, you know your grandpa loves you and he would never lie to you, don't you?"

"He did. He did. He said my mom was dead."

"Danny, I know that's a terrible thing. You want to know how I know? Because my mom is dead, too. It cuts you up inside and it keeps on hurting. But what you have to remember is that your mom always loved you. No matter what, you've always got that. You'll always know that your mom loved you so much that she'd have done anything for you. Anything."

"My mom's the best," Danny faltered. His voice quivered, but he was listening. "Does it ever feel better?" he pleaded.

Peter bent his head and pressed his forehead against Ray's hand. "Yeah, it does. Because your mom still loves you, and so does your dad, and your grandpa. And one day soon, you'll be with your mom again. I bet she's waiting for you."

Winston cleared his throat. He let his hand land on Peter's shoulder. Peter glanced up at him and Egon, then looked down again very fast. His eyes were too bright.

"I bet she is." Ray's voice wobbled. "I wanna see my grandpa," he whispered.

Egon raised a hand and beckoned to Feldman, who edged into the bunkroom as if he expected it to be populated with horrendous spirits. When no ghosts swooped down at him, not even Slimer, who hadn't been around the entire time--had he sensed the presence in the stuffed toy?--Danny's grandfather took a more decisive step. "Danny?"

The ghost looked up, spotted Feldman, who stood full in the glare of a streetlight. "Grandpa?" he whispered, then he erupted to his feet and launched himself at the older man. "Grandpa!"

Feldman squashed down the startlement at the sight of the adult Ray lunging at him and took himself in hand just in time to receive an armload of sobbing grandson. Never mind that the armload was a lot bigger than your average ten-year-old boy. They held onto each other as if they would never break apart. Down on the floor, Peter picked up Rocket Rabbit and bent his face against the green plush fur. When he lifted his head, he had managed to eradicate the evidence of tears, but he wore a blatantly sentimental glitter in his eyes.

"My mom's not dead, is she?" Danny demanded.

Feldman tightened his grip. "I'm sorry, Danny. She just drifted away in her sleep. It didn't hurt her, I promise you that."

"I al-always thought I had to...wait for her," Danny admitted against Feldman's shoulder. "I thought she'd come for me, but she never came."

"She couldn't. She would have come if she could."

Egon joined Peter as he scrambled to his feet, his arm still wrapped around Rocky. "Is there any chance the mother's spirit will come here, Peter?" he asked.

"You tell me, Spengs. I don't know. Might be the best thing, if she could come and take him--wherever they're going to go."

"How do we swing that one?" Winston asked.

Peter hesitated. Then he gulped. "I don't think we'll need to do anything," he said and pointed.

Over in the corner of the bunkroom, a glowing figure materialized slowly. No, two figures, a man and a woman. They were transparent, insubstantial, but it was possible to tell that they were holding hands. Egon's meter, abandoned on his bed, started blinking wildly. The sound function had been turned down so as not to alarm Danny, but the lights from the meter were so constant that they added a glow to the dimness of the bunkroom.

"Danny?" Peter said in that soft, comforting tone.

Ray's head lifted. Danny turned without letting go of his grandfather. "What?"

"I think you've got company."

The ghost stiffened. Egon didn't know if Ray had given him a prompt from inside or whether he simply knew. "Mom!" he whispered. "Dad!" He gave Feldman one final, fierce hug, let go, took a doubtful step toward them. They waited for him, hands outstretched.

The ghost made Ray take a couple of steps, a little uncoordinated, toward them, then he stopped in front of Peter. "Uh, thanks," he mumbled and gave Peter a hug, too.

Abruptly, Ray's body sagged against Peter, limp and empty of possession as a glowing form emerged from his body. For a second, the stuffed bunny twitched and danced as if the ghost had lived inside it so long that, in freeing Ray, he had to go back there, then the ghostly boy abandoned Rocky, too, and soared across the room like a rocket, straight for his parents. The three of them met in a glowing, ghostly huddle, shining bright enough to dazzle one's eyes.

Peter yelped and let the toy fall so he could support Ray, and Winston grabbed for Ray's arm to hold him up.

Feldman blurted, "Myron!" in a voice of total astonishment, and tears ran down his face.

Wanting nothing so much as to go to Ray, Egon made himself wait at Feldman's side in case he collapsed from the shock. But the ghosts, secure in their reunion, abruptly spotted him and drifted over, engulfing him in a gauzy embrace. For a few seconds, just long enough for Ray to give a quiver and brace himself against Peter's arm, the glow intensified. Then it faded away, little by little. The last thing Egon saw was the radiant gleam of little Danny's smile.

When it faded, the room seemed dim, but only for a second until Egon stretched out his arm and snapped on the light.

"Ray? Come on, Ray. Talk to me." Peter's urgent plea made even Feldman look at him.

Ray's head lifted, revealing wide, awed eyes. "Oh, wow! That was so great. Did you see that? He's with his mom and dad. They're together. They're gonna be okay. Wow, Peter."

"What about you, Tex?" Peter caught his chin and tilted his face up. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" Ray looked astonished. "Gosh, yeah, I'm fine. I was always fine. I was there the whole time. I saw everything Danny did. But he needed to find his way home so bad. I couldn't push him out, even though I knew I could've, if I'd tried. I had to let him play." His smile blazed out. "You were great with him, Peter. You took it nice and slow, didn't rush him a bit. He kept asking me if he could trust you, and I told him if he couldn't trust you, there wasn't anybody in the whole world he could trust."

Peter actually looked embarrassed. "Ah, geez, Ray, wasn't that much different from living with you. Just a great big kid at heart. That must be why Danny picked on you."

Ray glanced around, spotted the bunny, and snatched it up. He gave it a hug, as if an echo of Danny still lingered within him, then he carried it over to Feldman. "Mister Feldman, this was Danny's favorite toy. Maybe you'd like to keep it. I want to give it back to you."

Feldman looked at Ray for a long moment. He hadn't even raised a hand to wipe away his tears. Then he reached out as if he couldn't resist the temptation and pulled the stuffed bunny against his chest. "Thanks," he said. "I didn't know Danny was in there all along. I had no idea. When Rose died, I went over to the close the apartment and I picked up Rocky and held onto him, and I just told Danny about his mom. I don't know why I did that. Just felt right, y'know?"

Peter nodded. "Sometimes you have to act on instinct," he said. "Danny was a great kid. Your coming over here meant everything to him."

"It sure did," agreed Ray. "And just think! They're together." His eyes were thoughtful. Maybe he was remembering his own parents' death in the long ago accident.

Peter picked up on that immediately, and he slung his arm around Ray's shoulder. "I think I'm gonna get Ray to bed now," he said. "I was possessed once, although it wasn't by a nice, sweet kid like Danny. It can wear a guy out. We'll let him sleep till noon."

"Aw, Peter, I'm okay."

"You bet you are, Tex. But humor me, okay?" He steered Ray toward his bed.

Egon turned to Feldman. "Will you be all right, sir? Do you think you can get home all right? Would you like one of us to drive you?"

That made Peter turn and flash Egon an approving grin.

Feldman shook his head. "No, but thanks for the offer. I just want to be alone for a while. I've got a lot to think about."

"We'll send someone over tomorrow to pick up our equipment," Winston volunteered. "Come on, I'll see you out."

They departed, Feldman still clutching the stuffed toy. Ray watched them go. "That was really great, wasn't it, guys?"

"Parts of it, Ray," Peter said and ruffled his hair. "Parts of it were outstanding."

"So, you sure you're okay, Ray?"

Ray glanced up from his task of sorting his Star Wars action figures into their proper places in the box. "I'm fine, Winston. Peter already asked me that, when we finally got up this morning." He yawned. Even with the option of sacking in, he was still a little sleepy. "Peter says it takes a lot out of you to be possessed, but it really wasn't bad."

Winston tucked a bookmark in the book he'd been reading at Feldman's and scooted down to the end of his bed. He'd picked the book up when he'd gone over with Egon to retrieve their equipment. Mister Feldman had insisted on giving it to him instead of selling it, and had offered Ray another toy to replace Rocket Rabbit, but Ray had shaken his head.

"No, I don't need anything, Mister Feldman. It's okay."

Winston had slung an arm around his shoulders. "Believe me, he has too many toys already. I'm gonna write a letter to Santa this year and tell him to bring Ray clothes instead of toys."

"Aw, Winston...."

Mister Feldman's eyes were sad, but he wore an air of peace in spite of his loss. He'd been granted a gift to go along with the pain of what he had witnessed, the proof that his son's family was together. Ray understood. He had taken great heart at the sight of the glowing ghosts. It meant his mom and dad might be together, too. He liked that. He remembered Peter telling Danny how much it had hurt to lose his mom. Had Peter found any comfort in the sight? It was not a question Ray could ever ask. Besides, Peter's dad was still alive, out there scamming people. He and Peter's mom hadn't even been together at the end. No, better not say a word to Peter about Danny's family.

"Sure you're okay?" Winston persisted. He set the book aside. "You looked like you lost it for a minute there when Danny came out of you."

Ray gave his head a vehement shake. "I didn't pass out or anything when Danny left. I just felt kind of weak at the knees for a second. I had to remember to hold myself up, is all. I'm great."

Winston leaned down and rumpled his hair. "Only you could enjoy an experience like that, Ray."

"It was neat." Ray beamed. "At first, I thought I was dreaming, because there were all these other thoughts in my head that weren't mine. I was seeing things I'd never seen before, like looking through a kid's eyes, and then it sort of came to me that the kid was looking through my eyes. I got up, but it was like somebody else was moving my body."

"Would have scared the shit out of me. You weren't scared?"

Ray shook his head. "No, not a bit. Because even before I could be, it was like we could talk to each other, and he said in my head, 'My name's Danny. I want to play.' And I knew he was the ghost."

Winston rolled his eyes. "Man, that would have freaked me. You're a braver man than I am, Gunga Din."

Ray felt his smile flash out. "No, because I always hated the idea of busting a little kid. I thought, 'Now's my chance. I can help him disperse if I let him play.' And then you guys woke up, and Peter talked with him. I could tell you guys were all worried about me, but I couldn't say anything to reassure you without forcing Danny out, and then we'd have to bust him. I'm sorry I scared you, but there was nothing else I could do."

"None of us wanted to bust the little guy, either. Peter had a good handle on it, we could tell. What got me, though, was that he had to be remembering Watt. A lost little kid's a lot different than a major demon, but still...."

"I know. I thought of that, and I made sure he knew it was okay when we got up this morning. I wanted him to understand it wasn't anything like that, that I was fine with it. He was so good with Danny. Danny sure liked him."

"Tell him so and he'll be above himself for weeks," Winston groaned, but his eyes were twinkling.

Ray smiled in return. "No, it really is okay. I just wanted to help Danny. It was so great to see him get to be with his folks again."

Winston's eyes narrowed slightly. He took a deep breath. "Was that hard for you?" he asked.

"Because of losing my own folks?" Ray didn't avoid the issue for a second. "No, it was kind of nice. I mean, I don't think my folks are ghosts, but I do think that they're together, wherever they are. And maybe, when I'm ready, I'll see them again."

Winston gave a satisfied nod. His strong religious faith probably made it easier for him to believe that than it would be for Peter or Egon. He clapped Ray on the shoulder. "Well, good buddy, I hope we get to keep you for a long, long time before then."

Ray smiled. He knew his parents would wait. "Oh yeah. Gosh, there are a lot of things I still haven't done."

"Well, let's not rush to do this possession gig again! I know why you went with it this time, and it was a good thing for you to do. None of the rest of us could have handled it like you did."

"Because I'm just a great big kid?" Ray halfway meant it as a joke, but only halfway. The guys kidded him about his hobbies and interests. Did they think he was too juvenile?

"No way, Ray," Winston cried, as if he'd guessed where Ray's thoughts had taken him. "No way. Because you've got a great big heart. You think a few toys could ever outweigh that?"

Ray ducked his head, a little embarrassed. Winston must have figured he'd ladled on enough praise for one day because he slid down off the bed and sat beside Ray. "Let me give you a hand with those, homeboy. Prevent Peter from having a chance to complain because they're all over the floor." He held up his hands. "But I'm not playing Star Wars with you, no matter what."

"Aw, Winston, you're no fun," Ray pretended to gripe, but he couldn't hold back a smile as he passed Winston a handful of the action figures.

"Peter?"

At Egon's hesitant question, Peter looked up from the papers spread out on his desk. Aha, Egon had actually caught him hard at work on the monthly budget. He preened himself slightly as he looked up, then stiffened at the sight of Leilani in Egon's arms.

"Egon?" he ventured doubtfully.

"Peter, you love this lamp. I want you to have it back."

"Can't take it in the lab, huh?" Peter grinned, but he couldn't help a certain wariness.

"It isn't that," Egon said. "I understand why you gave it to me, and I must admit I deserved it--for those reasons. But I had a chance to think last night during the crisis, as I watched you interacting with Danny, and it reminded me of a very important truth."

The wariness eased, but Peter still wasn't a hundred percent certain of what was going down. Okay, so he'd inflicted Leilani on Egon as payback. They all knew that. Egon had accepted it in that spirit, and that should have been the end of it, even if Peter missed the little hula figure on his desk. Who could tell what weird combinations and permutations were spiraling around inside Egon's pointy little head.

"What truth?" he asked.

"That the opinion of physicists I don't even know should be far less important than your friendship. And is. It is simply that a part of me is programmed, probably by my father, to believe that scientific acknowledgment matters."

"And it does," Peter said. "Those creeps who walked out of your lecture really suck."

"So do I, if I let their view color my behavior toward you. Far be it for me to nourish your already overly-abundant ego, Peter, but when I watched you last night with Danny, I realized how utterly petty I was when I sold Leilani. The lamp should be here where you can enjoy it."

"Gotta say, Spengs, you figured out a good way to get it out of your sight."

Egon flinched. Whoa. Take it easy, Pete. He grinned. "Egon, it's okay. It was okay before all this happened. I didn't mean for you to have to go on with the soul-searching. We're fine with each other, aren't we?"

"If you forgive me, Peter, then I am fine with you, too."

"Geez, Egon, when didn't I?" He jumped up and snatched Leilani, and Egon bent to plug in the cord.

"There, Peter," he said and switched the lamp on.

Peter grinned. He felt pretty good. Ray was fine, all excited about his experience--only Ray could get a kick out of being possessed. Peter had his lamp back. And that left just one thing more to be resolved.

"Next time you have to give a lecture in front of the idiots of the universe, Spengs, you call me in. I'll be there with my thrower and a ghost or two that I can let out of traps. We'll prove to those mush-brains who call themselves scientists that you've got 'em beat from here to Sunday. So, what do you say, big guy? Is it a deal?"

Egon hesitated, then a smile of pure contentment lit his face. "Yes, Peter," he agreed. "It's a deal."