Originally Published in Just the Four of Us 2

"Steady... Steady... Now!" Ray yelled, stomping on the trigger of the ghost trap. White light shot out in a brilliant wedge, engulfing the struggling specter. It howled an inarticulate protest, fought wildly against the suction of the trap, then swooped in. Four particle throwers shut down and the light cut off abruptly as the doors of the trap slammed shut, sealing the Class 5 entity in the temporary confinement device. "We did it!" Ray exulted, winning cheers from the Central Park crowd that had gathered to watch the bust. The Ghostbusters shared a quick grin at another successful job, but it was a slightly uneasy grin. They all felt it but no one mentioned the sensation.

"An excellent bust," Egon put in, holstering his thrower. He had loved every minute of it. Being part of the team again was the most wonderful thing he could imagine. He had believed such days were gone forever.

"In case you didn't notice, Egon," Peter said stiffly, the words bursting free to crash against Egon's moment of happiness, "it wasn't anything to write home about. A pretty typical bust. But maybe you've forgotten what that felt like." He undid the buckle of his proton pack and stalked off toward Ecto, his back rigid, ignoring the dispersing crowd and pushing past two autograph seekers without even noticing them.

Ray and Winston exchanged wary glances then Ray squared his shoulders. "I'd better go after him," and hurried off in Peter's wake. Winston watched him for a minute, then he turned to Egon, shaking his head.

"Egon, my man, you and I have got to talk."

"I didn't realize he still felt like that," Egon murmured, stunned. Peter had been somewhat constrained since Egon had returned from Ohio two days ago, but Egon had apologized to all the guys as soon as his uncle had left. He wasn't sure what else to do and he'd believed with all his heart that, when they'd had time to talk, Peter would understand why he'd been forced to go with Uncle Cyrus to work at Spengler Labs. Evidently, he hadn't. Apparently none of them had.

"How do you think he felt?" Winston demanded. "Come on, big guy." He steered Egon over to a convenient park bench, gesturing away a persistent Ghostbuster fan who would have demanded an autograph from his heroes. "Not now, my man. Sorry." He turned back to Egon. "Sit down. I have a lot to say to you."

"What else could I have done, Winston?" Egon asked helplessly, removing his pack and depositing it on the bench before sitting beside it. "I had made a promise to my uncle that I would help him if he ever needed me."

"You are a partner in this business, Egon," Winston reminded him. "A founding partner and that makes you indispensible. Do you know how much we count on you on a job? How many times you come up with the only solution? How many times that ability has saved one or all of us--or even the whole world? When you left like that, without even having the decency to tell us to our faces, you not only let us down, you endangered our lives. You have to know that." He held up his hand for silence before Egon could respond. "Man, I could see it if you'd been doing something important out there, something only you could do. But feeding mice and rats? Come on, Egon, a lab flunky could have done that as well as you did. Your uncle didn't need you to help the business. He just wanted you away from us. He must have decided that it was bad for his reputation to have a nephew who was a Ghostbuster. So he dredged up an old promise and used your honor to get you away from us. He put you in a dead-end job to punish you for daring to be a Ghostbuster, and risked our lives--and the lives of clients who might have been endangered if we couldn't bust ghosts any longer. And you let him." He frowned. "I don't think a simple 'I'm sorry' is gonna cut it."

Egon sat stunned because Winston's words were true. The guys had rushed to his rescue but, suddenly, he had to wonder if they had done that not because they wanted to help him find an honorable way to break the promise but because they had simply needed his expertise to continue the business. Leaving a note behind instead of explaining his departure to their faces had been cruel, the coward's way out. As Peter might say, he was lower than pond scum. His misery at Spengler Labs, stuck in that useless job, had been alleviated by the team's mad rush to his rescue. But now, he could only see himself as a necessary tool, useful but unreliable when the chips were down.

"No wonder Peter is mad at me," he burst out. "No wonder all of you are. I deserve it."

"Peter's mad, but that's not what's wrong with him," Winston continued. "Come on, Egon, think. You know what Peter's dad is like. I've heard Pete say how he'd have turned out like his dad if you hadn't come along when you did. He told me once that you had never let him down when he needed you. And you never did--not until now. How do you think Peter feels, knowing the one man he was positive he could trust absolutely took off like that? If I were Peter, I'd probably want to deck you--and that would be if I was in a good mood."

Winston's words hit Egon like a roundhouse punch. He was unable to answer because there was so much truth in them. He was far worse than pond scum.

"And then there's Ray," Winston persisted. "You know how Ray is. He was glad to have you back, but Ray's a humble soul. He's probably wondering if you might take off again. You don't know what a huge part you are of the very foundation of his life--and what a heavy burden falls on him when you aren't there. He's an inventor and a designer but you're the idea man. Sure, he can come up with what we need in a pinch and he has more times than I can count. He'd have figured out how to stop those poltergeists before very long, but he has to know he couldn't do it as fast as you could. And why should he? That's not his job."

Egon shuddered. He could picture the hurt puppy dog look on Ray's face when he had realized Egon had returned to Ohio with Uncle Cyrus. It was not a look he could bear to imagine.

"What about you?" he asked through stiff lips that found it hard to form the words.

"It's a little easier for me, Egon," Winston admitted. "You weren't part of making me what I am. But of all the men I've ever met, you were the one I respected most. I still do--but not as much as I did before. The image got a little tarnished." Spotting the horror in Egon's eyes he added quickly, "Look, Egon, I had to say it. I'm not even gonna get into how Janine felt about it; that's between you and her. But there's one more thing I want to say. You screwed up. You let down the people who trusted you most. But you aren't the first and you won't be the last. If you were perfect, it wouldn't just be Uncle Cyrus who was trying to lure you away from us. Everybody makes mistakes, Egon. It's what makes us human. I just wanted you to understand what you'll have to face until we can all work past it."

"Can you forgive me, Winston?" Egon asked hesitantly.

"Me? Yeah. Give me a little time and I'll be cool with it. Besides, I know it tore you up inside to have to honor that old promise. We all know that. I sat Pete down last night and told him how bad you had to be feeling to make you go behind our backs like that. We're not putting all the blame of this on you because I know you were pushed damned hard. Nobody hates you, nobody wants to buy you out of the business. But you have to make your peace with Peter and Ray. And it isn't something you can wait for."

"I realize that now," Egon said. "I was so shocked and horrified that my life--my perfect life--could be torn apart so easily that I simply couldn't think straight."

"Yeah, I dig it. You couldn't see past your own misery. Not trying to be unsympathetic, but you can see past it now. Fix it, Egon."

"I'll try," Egon said softly. "I've hurt Ray, I've betrayed Peter's trust--and that was the one thing I always vowed I'd never do." He heaved a huge sigh, bracing himself for the ordeal ahead. "We'd better get back to them."

"Ray will try to understand," Winston said as they climbed to their feet and picked up their proton packs. "Pete's probably gonna make it a little uncomfortable for you at first. He'll make you work for it, but don't back down. He's hurt, sure, but he's also acting like a spoiled kid."

"With good reason, Winston."

Zeddemore nodded. "It's hard to be mature when your feet are kicked out from under you. Find a chance to talk to him alone as soon as you can."

Egon dreaded that confrontation, and that made him very sad. He couldn't remember ever dreading a talk with Peter before. Yes, he'd been frustrated, irritated, mildly hurt, but never afraid to talk to the man who had, over the years, become his closest friend. Egon had a lot to answer for.

They found Peter and Ray waiting with Ecto-1. Ray relaxed slightly when he saw Egon and Winston, even lifted his hand to wave. That gesture warmed Egon, but it wouldn't be fair to Ray or to himself to take that gesture to mean all was well. He owed Stantz a major apology and explanation, too. The fact that Ray would never press for it or blame Egon if he didn't get it did not negate the fact that it was owed. Egon lifted his hand and waved back, touched when the gesture won a smile from the youngest Ghostbuster.

Peter didn't wave or smile. He watched the two men approach, his face wary, his eyes implacable.

"I didn't know if you would wait." The words came involuntarily and Egon wished them back as soon as he'd said them.

"Well, then, there's the difference between us, Egon," Peter said in level tones. "Some of us don't run out on our friends."

Egon jerked as if he'd been neutronized.

"Peter!" cried Ray, flinching. "That isn't fair."

"Okay, I get it. Fair is only for the ones who trash people. Everybody else just gets dumped on. For a little while I forgot how things worked." Hastily, he climbed into the shotgun seat of Ecto, panic in his eyes.

"He--really minded when you took off," Ray said to Egon in a rapid undertone.

"So did you," Egon replied just as quietly. "And I am very sorry." That wasn't enough but the auburn-haired man beamed as if he'd received a present.

"You have to fix things with Peter," he urged as he started around Ecto to the driver's side. "We'll give you a chance as soon as we get back to the firehouse."

He didn't call it 'home'. For Egon, it was the place he wanted to belong more than any other. Once, he had taken his belonging utterly for granted. Now he couldn't.

Winston's hand descended upon his shoulder and his fingers gripped tightly, offering the most reassurance he'd felt all day. "Come on, homeboy," he urged, and the familiar appellation made Egon's heart catch. "Let's go home."

The journey back to the firehouse was made in deepening twilight--and in near silence. Winston tried, and Ray responded hastily to his every conversational gambit. When it seemed politic to risk a comment, Egon made one, theorizing about the ghost they had just busted, remarking on a plan he had for designing a smaller and more portable ghost trap. Ray responded to every word he spoke. As for Peter, he sat, wordless, all the way back to the firehall, a brooding presence who never turned toward the men in the back seat. His shoulders were so tight Egon knew he would be stiff there and need a neck rub before bed. He had preferred them from Egon in the past, claiming the long fingers could work out the most stubborn tension best. Tonight he'd keep the tension or turn to one of the others.

Janine was waiting at her desk when they returned, although it was a little past her quitting time. When the four men got out of Ecto, she studied each of them in turn, bit her bottom lip, then she went up to Peter. "You owe me overtime, Dr. V."

She had seen his face and she knew Peter well enough to recognize his tension and the cause of it. She was trying to goad him out of his resentment.

"Sure, okay, Janine," Peter replied absently, scarcely aware of what she had said. Oh dear.

Her eyes lingered on the psychologist's face for a second, then they journeyed to Winston. He gave her a quick shrug.

Only then did Janine look at Egon. He realized she had been less...affectionate than usual since his return. She had hugged him at Spengler Labs and been genuinely glad he was back. All of them had enjoyed their triumph over Uncle Cyrus. They had fought for him harder than he had fought for himself.

"Were you out of practice?" she asked him, and there was no special warmth in her eyes. Although he had never encouraged her to be in love with him, he found that, perversely, he missed it very much.

It must have shown in his face because she said quickly, "Well, it was only a few days. You'll be okay." Then she went back to her desk to retrieve her purse. "I'm going home now."

"Want a ride, Janine?" Winston offered. "We did keep you overtime. I'll chauffeur you out to Brooklyn if you like."

"Hey, yeah," agreed Ray quickly. "Then we could stop at Forbidden Planet on the way back. The new Captain Steel special is due out and it might have come in today. I'll ride along."

They weren't remotely subtle. From the way Peter's lips curled, he had recognized the obvious ploy. Without speaking, he started up the stairs to the second floor and didn't look back.

"Yeah, I deserve a ride," Janine remarked, raising her voice. "You hear that, Dr. V? I think it should be in my job description. Transportation to and from work."

"In your dreams, Melnitz." The words floated down to the rest of them, but they were so automatic no one relaxed.

Janine snatched up her purse and headed for Ecto, pausing as she passed to pat Egon on the arm. "I haven't let you off the hook, buster, but I could almost feel sorry for you for that. Take care of Peter first. I can wait. I'm a very patient woman."

"Janine, I--"

"Go on. Go after him before he gets himself into the shower or pretends to be asleep or something." She gave him a gentle push toward the stairs.

"Thank you, Janine." He hesitated long enough to catch up her hand and squeeze it gratefully. Her eyes warmed. Heartened, he went up the stairs after Peter, his shoulders squared for the task he was about to face.

Peter was in the lab with only one dim light turned on against the coming of night. That was the last place Egon had expected to find him, but maybe Venkman had wanted hear him out. There was so much loyalty in Peter; he always forgave his troublesome, con-man father. Egon risked a cautious, hopeful breath.

Peter tensed, then turned and looked Egon right in the eye. He didn't appear especially yielding, but Egon had seen that same look on Peter's face when, disappointed in his dad, he was considering whether or not he'd let him off the hook. To see it directed at him made a sick feeling grow in the pit of Egon's stomach.

"Relax, Egon. I'm not going to throw you out the window." Peter grimaced. "I think you got conned by your uncle, but that doesn't make me feel a whole lot better about it." He hesitated, then he turned and wandered over to the window to avoid meeting Egon's gaze. "I should know better." This time, the annoyance was directed at himself. "All those years, my dad kept letting me down. I should have figured everybody does eventually."

"I deserve that, Peter," Egon said. "Although I think it was the method of my going rather than the fact that I went that bothers you the most."

"I'm not sure what I'd do if my pop needed me, Egon. He's getting old, and he's always in trouble. I tried to consider that. All we thought about at first was getting you back. Then we go out there and find you doing lab assistant garbage. Didn't you stop to think? If it was so important that you take off for Ohio, why the hell couldn't you have told us to our faces? You didn't see the look on Ray's face when he read that letter. You didn't have to hear Janine crying--Janine, who could stand up to a Class-11 megaspecter. Winston tried to make excuses for you but he knew how lame he sounded and he just quit. Maybe if your uncle had really needed you it would have been different." Falling silent, he turned around. "I never thought you'd pull a number like my dad, Egon. I always thought, 'At least I can count on Egon.'" His voice trailed off and he whirled back to the window as if the slowly darkening city held endless fascination.

"I've always known I could count on you, too, Peter," Egon replied.

Peter steadied his voice and made it hard and bitter. "And if that means I've screwed up a few times--"

"No, or only that everyone does occasionally and it makes us human. No," he added before Peter could object. "That isn't an excuse. I'm not even sure it's an explanation. I'd like to tell you about my promise to Uncle Cyrus, if you would listen."

Peter was silent so long Peter thought he would refuse. Then he said, "I know you were caught between a rock and a hard place. When you saw us out there in the lab, I could tell how much you wanted to come home. That helped, just not enough, y'know." He gnawed on his bottom lip then he went over and leaned back against the lab table, folding his arms across his chest. "Okay, tell me about the promise. We've got too much history for me not to listen."

Egon took a deep breath. "It was when my father was dying," he began.

Peter's rigid muscles softened slightly. He didn't speak, but he nodded for Egon to go on.

"You remember when Father had his stroke?" Egon replied. "It was shortly before we started the business. I flew out to Ohio. My father and Uncle Cyrus had already begun work on the new facility for Spengler Labs. Because of my interest in ghosts and the paranormal, Father had informed me that he meant to leave his interest in Spengler Labs to Uncle Cyrus rather than to me. He didn't disinherit me. Mom wouldn't have let him even if he had been so inclined, which he wasn't. But he told me in a letter that he knew my interests went in another direction and that while he would have preferred me to join him in more conventional scientific pursuits, he would not force me to do so. Instead, he meant to leave me money, although most of his savings went to Mom, of course. I didn't care about an inheritance, as you know, and I did invest some of it into the Labs for construction of the new facility. The mortgage on Ray's house helped us buy the firehall and other expenses but I put money into our business, too."

"I didn't know your pop deliberately left his share in Spengler Labs away from you."

Egon was silent a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I was just giving you the background. When Father had his stroke, I flew out to Ohio. He was still alive, but unable to speak. He was paralyzed completely on the left side. What disturbed me profoundly was that I could see in his eyes that he was aware of his surroundings, even if he could not communicate it."

Peter shivered. "You never said anything about that before."

"No. I couldn't bear to think about it, let alone admit it. It appalled me to see his brilliant mind trapped in a useless hulk. I spent hours at his bedside, talking to him, explaining my work, perhaps even seeking approval from him, although he was unable to give it.

"Uncle Cyrus came in while I was sitting with him. Father was sleeping or unconscious. The doctors had warned us not to expect improvement. He was on a ventilator, connected to complete life support equipment. Cyrus came in, sat across the bed from me, and said, 'You let him down, you know. It was his heart's dream that you would join him in his work, his life's ambition to pass along his share of the business to you. I think he would want to know that, if I ever needed help in the business, I could count on you to help me.' What could I do, Peter? He asked my help in front of my dying father. I couldn't refuse to promise. When he came here, he reminded me of that moment. He played it up and told me he would be very disappointed to think I would break a promise, and then he...rubbed it in that I had disappointed my father by refusing to follow in his footsteps."

Peter's jaw muscles tightened. "That sucks," he muttered. "Sure, it'd have been nice for your old man if you'd gone into his line of work, but you didn't, and you weren't required to buy into that kind of emotional manipulation."

"I had made a promise, Peter."

"Your father was dying. You would have promised anything, even if he'd asked you to dress up in drag and sing the Star Spangled Banner at an Indians game."

Egon grimaced but ignored the frivolous comment. "I didn't believe he would ever call in that promise. Uncle Cyrus never approved of me. I didn't think he'd ever want me to come to his assistance. When he showed up here and asked me to go back with him, I was so stunned I didn't know what I was doing. What he asked was the end of everything that mattered to me. But at the same time, he was family. I was torn in two. I knew I had to go, but I hated it. I knew I would be letting the rest of you down, and I hated that, too. I panicked. That doesn't justify my actions. But I was too shaken to think clearly, and I knew how hard it would be to tell you what I meant to do. When he suggested I leave you a note, I took that option with relief.

"Then, when I reached the lab, Uncle Cyrus assigned me a dead-end job. I felt trapped and I almost hated him for what he was doing to me. I knew how unfair I'd been to all of you and suspected you would be quite happy to write me off--"

"Not happy, Egon," Peter said with difficulty. "Anyway, we didn't write you off."

"Because you needed my expertise," Egon said sadly. "You needed the skills I could provide."

Peter's mouth tightened. "Do you really believe that? That we'd write you off and only get you back because we were stuck on the tough busts?"

"I didn't want to believe it, but I was afraid I deserved no less."

Peter shook his head. "Punishing yourself by telling yourself you didn't deserve better? You were the one I always thought had it all together."

"I'm not perfect, Peter. I never was. What I did was unconscionable, but how fair were your expectations?"

They stared at each other, then Peter said, "I used to have two extremes, my dad and you guys. I didn't want to be like my dad, I wanted to be like you--well, most of the time. None of this opera and classical music stuff and words that aren't even in an unabridged dictionary. Sometimes Pop surprises me and it's cool. Being a pessimist at least gives you the occasional pleasant surprise. But I never thought it would give me such an unpleasant one." He sucked in breath. "You let me down, Egon. You let us all down."

"And I am very sorry. It's something I never imagined doing. I know how your father's letdowns have hurt you. I never conceived of doing the same. I don't know if I can ever expect you to trust me again." He wanted more than anything to hear Peter assure him that he would but Peter didn't.

"I don't know," he said reluctantly. "I can see where you were coming from. I can see me doing the same thing if I were in your shoes. God, this is tough." He raked his hands through his hair. "Any other promises we ought to know about?"

"Absolutely none, Peter, except one I'll make now. That I will never desert you or Ray or Winston again--or, if I must leave, I will talk to you first and explain."

"I'd like to believe you. Maybe I need some time to work up to that." He was silent a minute. "I think I owe you trust. This is the first time you screwed up, and everybody does. Knowing you, Egon, you managed to screw up world class." He finally essayed a faint smile. "I just want everything back the way it was."

"Do you think it can be?" Egon tensed, waiting for the words. He wanted Peter's forgiveness, and he thought he had that. What he wasn't sure he had, or even had the right to, was Peter's trust.

"I don't know yet. I'm glad you're back but a part of me wants to come down on you with both feet. And then I look at Ray, and I remember how he felt when he realized you were gone."

"I have to talk to Ray, too," Egon replied. "Winston already gave me the worst lecture I have ever had. But that didn't hurt nearly as much as seeing you look at me the way I have seen you look at your father when he let you down." He turned away hastily, unable to face that expression again.

Night had come upon them while they talked, and they stood in darkness, the only lights filtering up through the firepole holes from the second floor and from the streetlights outside and from the one dim light Peter had turned on across the room. Egon stared toward the shadowy bedroom, his heart aching. The only way to regain his friends' trust was to live through this period and prove himself all over again.

There was a silence behind him, then he heard Peter moving toward him. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and gave a little squeeze. "Egon, I want you back," Peter confessed, his voice warmer than it had been before. "I want everything the way it was. I know you understand better than anyone how I feel about my dad. I don't want to look at you that way. I want to say it's okay and go on from here. But I can't quite do that yet. All I know is, having you back, even a little tarnished, is better than having you gone."

Once, Egon would have known exactly the right words to respond to Peter, but now they wouldn't come. Instead, his eyes burned with unshed tears, blurring the gloom of the bedroom, and the misty figure that unexpectedly materialized there. For a long moment, Egon stood blinking at the ghost, scarcely registering its presence. "Thank you, Peter," he said, swallowing the huge lump in his throat. "I'll try my best not to let you down again."

"I'll try my best not to believe you will," Peter began, then he sucked in his breath and his fingers tightened involuntarily. "Uh, Egon, in case you haven't noticed, we've got a ghost in the bedroom and it's not Slimer."

They scurried around hastily for the spare proton pack they kept in the lab, never turning away from the spirit. "Geez, they're coming right into headquarters," Peter grumbled. "Think they heard you were gone and figured we'd be an easy target?"

The ghost drifted closer and Egon placed himself between it and Peter. Immediately, his friend stood at his side. "Come on, Egon," he muttered. "I know where you're coming from, but we do this together."

Egon didn't reply because he had gotten his first clear glimpse of the ghost, and it was provided his second sucker punch of the night. "Father," he whispered.

"Huh?" Peter threw him a sideways glance, then wheeled to stare at the approaching specter. "Yikes," he burst out. "Egon, Egon, it's your dad. Uh, anything you want to tell me, like has he ever popped in before?"

"Never." Shaken and shocked, Egon stared at the ghost. "Father?"

"My son." The voice was hollower than it had been in life, eerie and ominous. Had his father come to reproach him, too?

"Hey, Dr. Spengler," Peter greeted the ghost, the deliberate casualness of his tone belying his apprehension that another Spengler had come to evoke a promise and take Egon away again. "What's up? You don't make a habit of popping in and doing the misty sheet routine."

"Venkman," Egon's father conceded wryly. "I once considered you the worst thing to happen to my son. I now realize that I was...quite mistaken. You are an honorable man and a loyal friend. I apologize."

Peter blinked. He hadn't expected that. "Huh?"

"Father?" Egon stared at his ghostly father, too stunned to do more than gape at him. He was grateful for Peter's steadfast presence.

"You will need him at your side," the elder Spengler told Egon. "You will need someone you can trust without reservations, someone who would go to the wall for you. I thought he had led you into spurious science, but my present state negates my doubts completely."

"Well, yeah, being able to see through yourself will do that to a guy," Peter quipped, but he shot an uneasy look at Egon.

"Empiric evidence can be quite convincing," the ghost continued. "Egon, I owe you an apology. You held true to your beliefs. You pursued them with the true scientific method. I laud you."

In the face of the past few days' alarums and excursions, the words were balm to Egon's soul. He controlled his expression because his father had never approved of blatant sentiment, but he let the approval wash over him like a blessing. "Thank you, Father."

"I have come because I need your help," Edwin Spengler continued.

"My help?" Egon stared at him blankly. He was so perplexed that the words came almost without conscious thought. Was he dreaming? Delirious? "How can I help you? We do help ghosts to disperse peacefully from time to time, but I do not believe that is what you mean?"

"No. I followed Cyrus here when he came to demand you fulfill your promise to him. Egon, Egon, the way you left here was not well done, although I understand Cyrus's manipulation well enough to know he tricked you into doing it as you did in hopes of severing your ties with your friends."

Peter sucked in breath as that particular means of machination suddenly made sense to him. He shifted closer to Egon.

"Uncle Cyrus's manipulation?" Egon ventured, risking one quick glance at Peter, whose face held fewer doubts than it had held during their interview.

"You understand a part of it," his father told him. "You know that neither he nor I were wont to approve of your career as a Ghostbuster. With Cyrus, it began to rankle. He knew that to bring you to Spengler Labs was a foolish course, but his ego could not endure the possibility that his fellow scientists might consider his nephew a crank. No, Egon," he continued hastily when the physicist winced. "I do not believe that of you. The scientific community is coming around. It will take time, but you have dared to pursue the truth in the face of the doubters and scoffers. I admire you for that."

Peter's fingers curled around his wrist and squeezed. He would know how shaken and overjoyed Egon felt at his father's words. "Hang in there, Spengs," he muttered under his breath, and the sound of the familiar nickname was as much a blessing as his father's approval.

"Thank you." The words were meant for both his best friend and the ghost who stood before him. Peter squeezed once more before letting go.

"Dr. Spengler, what can we do for you?" he asked.

We. Egon closed his eyes a moment in overwhelming relief. Then his father spoke and the world changed.

"Egon, Cyrus murdered me."

"What?" Egon could scarcely register the words. He'd heard ghosts claim to be murder victims before but they hadn't been close relatives accusing other relatives of the deed. Peter didn't budge from his side.

"How did he do it?" he prompted uneasily. "Egon, listen, we'll work this out."

"You knew I had high blood pressure," Cyrus explained. "I'd been having a little trouble with the medication I'd been taking; it wasn't doing its work and the doctor was trying variations in prescription and dosage to regulate it. Katherine knew all about it and, since I was working daily with Cyrus to get the new lab facilities planned, he knew it, too. You remember your uncle is a biologist rather than a physicist. He slipped a pill into my prescription bottle that I shouldn't have had. He didn't tell me what it was or whether there were more than one, and I wouldn't have understood the fine details in any case, because it was not my field. Combined with the problems I was already having, I suffered a massive brain hemorrhage."

"And nobody could tell from the autopsy?" Peter persisted skeptically. It would take an army of ghosts to drive him away.

"I was under treatment for the condition already. Such an occurrence had always been a possibility," Cyrus admitted. "I had seen my doctor the previous day. An autopsy wasn't required."

Egon listened to his father's ghost calmly discussing his murder, but the flaw in the argument stood out like a beacon. "Father, how could you know it wasn't simply a stroke induced by your condition?"

"Cyrus told me," Edwin Spengler admitted simply. "He sat with me frequently before you arrived from Columbia. When he knew we were alone and that he could not be overheard, he bragged about it. He wanted full control of Spengler Labs. He wanted to devote more laboratory space to the biological sciences. He claimed he was on the verge of a great breakthrough that would win him a Nobel Prize. He didn't want to waste time with physics. He wanted the glory to be his alone."

"But that's insane," Egon blurted out. "How could anyone murder for such a cause?"

"People will commit murder for bus fare," Peter reminded him. He grimaced. "So Uncle Bastard sat there and coldbloodedly told you what he'd done? I knew I didn't like the guy."

"Are you sure?" Egon hesitated, not out of doubt of his father's integrity but because the concept was simply too much to absorb. "You'd suffered a stroke. Could you have misunderstood what he had said?"

"The worst part of the stroke was that I was conscious and aware," the ghost replied. "I heard everything that was said to me, and I understood it, until the end when I began to lose ground. Then images came in flashes and I knew I was dying. I heard Cyrus making you promise to help him if he needed you, using me to manipulate you, and I tried to speak, but I could not move or utter a sound. I watched him walk out of the room. I saw you take my hand, although I could not feel the touch. Egon, I was a stern, rigid father to you, pushing you to the upper limits of your abilities, but I was always proud of you. I watched you holding my hand, and it was the first time I ever saw you cry since you were a baby. You turned away when you wept so I would not see you. And I thought, that's not right, that a man expect his son to shed no tears, to surrender his emotions full measure to the cold joy of learning. I could not comfort you. I couldn't even protect you. All I could do was admit to myself how very wrong I had always been in refusing to acknowledge your brilliance, your integrity, your scholarship. No, I did acknowledge that. But I did not acknowledge the value of your work, and that was a cruel thing to do. I acknowledge it now, with all my heart."

Egon felt tears slide silently down his cheeks. That he should hear such words only now, that his father had finally given him the approbation he had always desired, now that it was too late for them to acknowledge it... Now that his father was dead... He felt Peter give him a slight, encouraging nudge, and he held out his hand to his father's spirit.

For the first time that he could remember it, his father put his arms around him and hugged him. Egon leaned into the chill embrace, unable to find words to tell his father how much those words meant to him, moved beyond the ability to speak.

It was Peter who did that. He cleared his throat. "Hey, Pop Spengler, for a ghost, you're one heck of a great guy. You can't guess how much that means to Egon." He hesitated, giving them their moment, and Egon could hear the smile that had spread across his face, even if he couldn't see it. For a long time, Egon leaned into his father's embrace, then Peter added gently, "But I think we need to get back to Cyrus now."

"Yes, of course we must do that," Edwin replied, drawing back, regarding his son with a fond, approving face.

Surreptitiously, Peter nudged Egon and passed him a Kleenex, and he mopped his eyes and blew his nose while Peter pretended not to notice. "He actually bragged that he had caused the stroke?"

"He did. He knew my share of the lab was to come to him."

"But Egon must own a share; he put money into it," Peter objected, trying to get it all straight. "So it wasn't as if he'd have it all, even after you were dead." He glanced up at Egon, measuring his reaction, his face full of concern. Even at such a time, Egon couldn't help be moved by his solicitude.

"Yes, but Egon didn't invest in the Labs until afterward," conceded Edwin, folding his arms across his chest, then raising one hand to stroke his chin. "Not enough to offer a controlling interest, only a percentage. Enough to pay him small dividends now that the lab is profitable, no more. I imagine Cyrus relished the fact that you invested the money you inherited from his victim into his lab."

"He's a scumbag," Peter groused, bristling with gung ho determination to race out and apprehend the 'villain of the piece'. "We've gotta bring him down. But--hey, wait a minute. Is he so confident that he could take the risk of Egon being around him every day?" A good question and one that Winston, the mystery buff, would have thought of right away.

"He has right to be confident; he got away with murder." The ghost frowned. He looked a good deal like Egon himself; it was almost like seeing his own ghost. "But I believe he brought Egon to the lab for three reasons. One: he did not approve of the Ghostbusters business and wished to sever Egon's association with it. He feared it would reflect poorly upon him. Two: he wanted to discover if Egon had any suspicions of what he had done, and he could not do that from a distance. And three: he wanted to remove the threat my son might pose to him before he could begin to question my death."

"Wait a minute," Peter cried, his face paling. "You mean he wanted to do in Spengs, too?" He whirled to stare at Egon as if afraid he'd been dosed with slow-acting poison.

"He knew Egon's share of Spengler Labs was to go to him in his will," Edwin continued, beaming with approval at Peter for asking the right questions, the questions Egon was still too shaken to formulate. "So he invoked the promise, manipulated Egon to leave here in such a manner that the three of you were sure to feel resentment and betrayal, thus, he hoped, blocking any possibility of his return here. After a suitable time, I believe he meant to arrange a fatal lab accident."

The psychologist's mouth twisted angrily. "He set us all up, not just you, Egon. He wanted us to resent you, so we wouldn't bother to get you back. In the end, he had to release you from the promise or we would have become too suspicious of him, am I right? It would have been irrational and selfish, not to mention just plain nutso, for him to deny we needed you here after he'd seen Mr. Stay Puft. Maybe he hoped that our job was dangerous enough to do his dirty work for him. He used us. I hate that."

Egon shook his head. "I still left you that way, Peter, no matter how he used me. I am still at fault."

"Yeah, but you were a victim here, too, Egon. I mean, I'm still feeling like you sucker punched me, but not so much now as before, and I think that's gonna go away. What matters is your life is in jeopardy and this bottom feeder took out your dad. We have to make sure he gets what's coming to him--before he can trash you."

Egon realized he had to have been wallowing in self-pity to believe that Peter's loyalty would be permanently compromised by what had happened. He'd seen Peter forgive his father over and over again. He could remember Uncle Cyrus urging him to leave the note. It had felt wrong, but he had been panicked and alone, afraid that they would hate him for running out on them. He had been so wrong. Not only Peter but also Ray and Winston would rally to his side to help him now. Trust could be earned again, and he meant to give them no further cause for doubts.

"How can we stop Cyrus, though?" he asked. "Ghosts can't testify in court."

"Can't they?" Peter asked. "Has anybody ever tried? Is there a precedent against it?"

"I think that we'd have more luck trying to pull that off in New York, Peter. The police here know our work is valid, and many of the local citizens have seen us at work. Unfortunately, in Cleveland, the skeptics will continue to doubt us. Father, how do you know what Uncle Cyrus intended for me?"

Edwin smiled one of his tight, little smiles. "He has my picture in his office on the wall behind his desk. Sometimes, when he is alone and feeling particularly smug, he talks to me. I never materialized for him, but I listened. I heard him plotting to remove you from the Ghostbusters and from the public eye. I believe he is obsessed, perhaps somewhat mad. He will never believe Spengler Labs is truly his until you are dead."

Egon stiffened, new alarm coursing through his veins. "Mom! Is she in jeopardy?"

"If I thought that for one second, son, I would have taken steps to protect her. She has no interest in the Labs; she never did although she supported my work. I loved her very much. But she has gone on to a new life and Cyrus believes he can write her off. If you had died at the lab, she might have questioned, but your friends came to your rescue before that could happen. I would have warned you if I had believed for one moment that they would not."

Peter gestured wildly, then set one hand atop the fingers of the other in the classic 'time out' gesture. "Wait a minute. Just because we got him out of Ohio doesn't mean he's safe. Cyrus thinks our work is dangerous. Maybe he figured that Egon could bite the big one just as well here in Manhattan. How do we know he won't fake something to make it look like Egon was killed on a bust? Until you showed up, Doc, nobody would ever have given it a thought." His jaw tightened and he edged a step closer to Egon in case Cyrus was hiding nearby, ready to pounce.

"That is why I came. I was not bound to Spengler Labs, but my enemy was there, my brother who betrayed me. I watched him. I thought you and Katherine well away from him, but I always hoped he would one day betray himself. When he came here after you, I watched carefully, ready to protect you. I saw how he displayed his contempt of you with that asinine assignment. I saw your friends come to take you away. So I followed. When I realized you were free of him, I knew I had to tell you what he had intended. I went back to Spengler Labs. He returned from here and told his assistants and staff that he had to fly to California to work out a deal with a drug manufacturing company there. Instead, he came here. I traveled with him. He checked into the Grammercy Park Hotel."

"Hey, one of your really five star places," Peter said sardonically, quirking an eyebrow. "He really is going undercover, isn't he? Can't see the guy in a dive like that. This is crummy. Egon, we need the police."

"Will they believe you?" Edwin asked doubtfully. Even if he had acknowledged his work, remnants of his traditional skepticism still lingered.

Peter grimaced. "I hate to say this--and I never thought I would. But I think we have to call in Inspector Frump."

Egon whirled to stare at him. "You can't be serious, Peter. Frump hates us."

Peter produced a sheepish grin. "Well, yeah, but I think he hates crime more. The guy might be a 24-caret jerk, but he knows more about us than any other cops around. He's seen a few things he couldn't explain away. Besides, if anybody's gonna put us down, he'd want it to be him, not Uncle Cyrus. Hey, Doc Spengler, will you hang out here and talk to him?"

"Yes. I am...bound until Cyrus is brought to justice. I will come when the Inspector arrives. But now, I must go. I have told you what I came to tell you. When you need me, summon me and I will return." He put his hand on Egon's forearm, a cold, ectoplasmic touch that made Egon shiver. Then the ghost faded out and Egon turned and stared at Peter.

Venkman grabbed Egon by the shoulders, fingers tightening reassuringly. "We're not gonna let this guy get you, Spengs, and that's a promise."

"I wish I deserved your loyalty, Peter."

In the glow from the Mott Street streetlamp, the dark-haired man looked him right in the eye. "You never stopped deserving that, Egon. I owe you more than I can ever pay back. You screwed up one time, and you screwed up big, but that's not enough to make me to wash my hands of you. When this is all over, I'm gonna expect you to pay me back--I think doing my laundry for a month ought to about cut it--but when my buddies are in trouble, that's my first priority. We're gonna take Uncle Scumbucket down so hard he bounces as high as the World Trade Center." He whirled toward the nearest phone. "Hey, guy, turn on some lights. Now that the ghost show is over, we don't need to sit in the dark." He hesitated and retraced his steps. "Egon, I'm glad your dad finally came through for you. I knew he had to be proud of you even if it took a little while to admit it. You okay with this?"

"As long as you stand by me, Peter." In spite of the emotional ups and downs of the day, he felt better than he had expected to. Shaken and purged, he flipped the light switch and then sat down on Ray's bed. Peter grinned at him and scooped up the telephone receiver.

"Think it's safe to go upstairs?" Ray asked doubtfully as he and Winston got out of Ecto. Winston had described his conversation with Egon at the Park on the way back from Janine's, and Ray discovered he felt sorry for Egon. He knew the physicist was sorry for running out on them. If he and Egon could talk it out, he'd be more than willing to put it behind him. But Peter had been spoiling for a good fight before they left. Ray hoped it would clear the air. With Peter, it could go either way.

Winston grinned as he closed the car door. "Well, either they've killed each other, or it's safe. I did come down on Egon pretty hard. I could tell he was gonna give working this out his best shot. That's got to matter to Peter. What about you, homeboy?" He came around the car and clapped Ray on the shoulder.

"I'm okay, Winston. As long as Egon is sorry. That's all that matters to me. Gosh, when I think of the times I've had to bail out Aunt Lois... Family's family."

"You're his family, too, Ray. All of us are. I haven't known him anywhere near as long as you have, but I can tell he never really learned how to really be a people person. I think this will teach him a lot."

"Guys!" Peter called from the top of the stairs. "You're back. I thought maybe it was Frump."

"You did kill Egon!" Winston blurted, exchanging an alarmed stare with Ray.

Peter laughed. "No, did you think I would?" He came halfway down to the landing, his grin fading. "But we've got trouble, guys. Cyrus wants to. We had a visitor while you two were hauling Janine out to Brooklyn, and you've gotta hear this." He beckoned toward the stairs. " Frump will be here eventually, ready to drill holes in us for dragging him away from his dinner."

"Say what?" Winston stared up at Peter as if he'd grown a new head. "Come on, bro, what are you talking about?"

"Is Egon in danger?" Ray demanded, horrified. He started for the stairs just as someone knocked at the door.

"There he is now," Peter said. "Winston, you better get it. I can't figure out why it is, but that guy hates my guts. No taste, I guess." He waved at the door.

Winston went over and admitted Inspector Frump. Peter hadn't been kidding. Looking past Zeddemore, the huge policeman spotted Peter on the stairs. "This better not be a stupid joke, Venkman," he snarled. "I've got a lot better things to do than come here and put up with you."

"You think I'd call you if it wasn't an emergency?" Peter countered. "It's not like I enjoy eating crow. My buddy's in trouble."

Buddy? Whatever had happened during the trip to Brooklyn had done one thing right. All the resentment that had been seething below the surface of Peter's apparent calm was gone. Ray was glad, although Peter's expression indicated more problems. "What kind of trouble, Peter?" he ventured.

"The worst kind. Come on up, Frump. You've known us a little while, right? You know our job's legit."

"I know you're magnets for weird trouble." The detective aimed his bulk at the stairs and forged upward, forcing Peter to turn and lead the way. Ray and Winston fell in doubtfully behind them. What the heck could have happened? It must be really bad for Peter to ask for Frump's help. Bringing those two together was like pouring the wrong ingredients into the test tube in chemistry class, an explosion on the verge of happening.

Egon met them at the top of the stairs, and he looked different, although Ray wasn't quite sure how. He wasn't so wary around Peter as he had been before Ray and Winston had left, though, and Peter gave him a reassuring grin as he joined him. "Coffee, Inspector?" he asked brightly.

The big man nodded, settling himself at the table while Peter brought him a cup. There was an activated P.K.E. meter lying near Egon's place, and Ray stared at it doubtfully. Winston headed out into the kitchen to fetch more cups but when Ray heard him asking Peter what was going down, Peter said, "Wait for it, Winston," and waved him back to the dining room. When they were all seated, Peter said, "Shall I tell it, big guy?"

"If you would, Peter." Although Egon looked uncharacteristically unnerved, the smile he bestowed on Peter held an element of peace.

"Okay, here's the bottom line and the reason we called you in, Frump. We got a tip tonight that Egon's uncle, Cyrus Spengler, intends to kill him."

Ray's mouth fell open. He hadn't warmed to Egon's uncle, even when the man had acknowledged that Egon belonged here and not at Spengler Labs. He'd been uncomfortable around him from the beginning, although he'd tried to befriend the older Spengler for Egon's sake.

Winston's eyes nearly bugged out. "You're kidding, right? Who called you? How do you know?"

"Good questions, Zeddemore," said Frump condescendingly. "What makes you think it wasn't a crank call?"

"It wasn't a call at all," Peter said through his teeth. "It was somebody who ought to know. Uncle Cyrus's last victim."

"Victim?" Frump started to heave himself to his feet, his mouth pursing distastefully. "His ghost, I suppose. I should have known better than to trust you four clowns. You think this is funny, Venkman, but summoning the police under false pretenses--"

"It wasn't false pretenses," Peter defended himself, waving the detective down again. "Look, just give me a break. You think I'd pull all this and set you up and put Egon through the ringer just to pester you? I've got better things to do with my time. Cyrus Spengler murdered Egon's father. Now he wants to murder Egon."

Ray stared at Egon, who nodded. "It's true, Inspector," he admitted. "And there's someone here who will tell you about it." He raised his voice. "Father!"

Omigosh, he's lost it, Ray thought fleetingly, his heart aching for Egon--just before the ghost materialized at Egon's side, firming up to near solidity. The meter went off with a squeal of power, antennae lights blinking vividly. It was Egon's dad, all right, familiar in his customary brown suit, the horn rimmed glasses sliding down his nose just as Egon's did. Egon lifted his eyes to the specter and smiled at him shakily.

"Gosh," breathed Ray, awed. "It's true. Hi, Dr. Spengler."

"Raymond." Egon's father had called him that from the beginning, but then he had never been one for nicknames. Ray had sometimes thought it funny that when his son called Ray by his full name, it served the purpose of a fond nickname.

"This is Winston Zeddemore," Ray introduced, realizing Egon wasn't quite up to handling the amenities. "He's the fourth Ghostbuster and a great addition to our team. Winston, this is Dr. Edwin Spengler."

"Uh, hi there." Winston lifted his hand in dubious greeting, his mouth hanging open.

"And this is Inspector Frump, NYPD," Ray continued. "I'm not sure why he's here yet, but anyway, that's who he is."

"How do you do?" said the ghost politely. He did not offer his hand, but that was probably just as well. Frump was already seething with annoyance. He wouldn't be very happy to have his fingers slimed.

"Decent special effects," Frump muttered, trying hard not to sound unnerved.

"I am not a 'special effect', Inspector." The ghost pointed at him. "You don't like the supernatural any better than I did when I was living. It was far more safe and comfortable to scorn what could not be proven and to maintain my belief that scientific knowledge was enough to control the world. So I believed until I lay dying, paralyzed and unable to speak, and my brother sat at my bedside gloating about how he had caused my death."

Caused it? Ray gazed wildly at Peter, who nodded slightly. "Oh, gosh, Egon." He reached across Peter and patted Egon's arm. "That's terrible. I'm really sorry."

"Yes, Ray, terrible." Egon shook his head. He looked like a man who had been given a huge purple elephant for a birthday present. Even if it stood right before him, he couldn't help but feel as if he were hallucinating or that he'd been the victim of a vast cosmic joke. He wasn't up to such a visitation.

"As Cyrus killed me, now he wants to kill my son," the ghost continued, staring compellingly at Frump. "I understand you don't like my son or his friends, but I am told you hate crime and criminals far more. Venkman, who evidently finds you extremely irritating, said that you'd be more interested in catching a killer than in, er, scoring off the Ghostbusters. If true, you must find a way to save my son's life and bring Cyrus to justice."

Frump turned and stared at Peter, who spread his hands and tried not to look chagrined. "What can I say, I'm just a force for good in our time. And, much as it galls me to admit it, I think I can trust you to stop a killer if you can."

That was pretty grudging, but a faint edge of a smile touched the corners of Frump's mouth. His expression was smug, but he glanced sideways at Egon and reined in his temper, closing his mouth over the smart remark that wanted to emerge.

"We know the murder didn't take place in your jurisdiction," Egon continued, a man who had to keep going, to maintain his balance, or he would fall into a bottomless abyss. "But Cyrus is in New York now, and he lied to his colleagues about his destination."

"He means to make it look as if Egon perished on a 'bust'," Edwin Spengler continued. "But the failure of his plan to lure Egon away from the safety of his friends into an environment where he could conveniently arrange a 'lab accident' might push Cyrus so hard he will take unnecessary risks. I believe there is no time to waste."

"Pop Spengler knows what he's talking about," Peter soothed the detective. "Believe me, we couldn't set up a fake ghost like this. Touch him. Ask him questions. All we want is to protect Egon. How do you think he feels, knowing his father was murdered and the killer got away with it? How do you feel, Frump? This jerk Cyrus committed cold-blooded murder and he walked." His hand slid sideways to pat Egon's arm. "Hang in there, Spengs," he encouraged. "It's gonna work out."

Egon's eyes warmed at the reassurance. Knowing Peter, he probably still had a few issues but, when his friends were in trouble, Peter always put aside such complaints. Outsiders weren't allowed to pick on his friends.

Ray couldn't help watching Egon as Frump asked the ghost a series of questions out of left field to prove it couldn't be a hologram or a trick. Finally, the detective made a disgruntled, hmmph-ing sound and shrugged his wide shoulders, folding his arms across his massive chest. "Okay, you got me. I'm probably the biggest fool on earth, but I think this is for real. All right, Ghost, talk. Tell me how you know this Cyrus clown offed you?"

Peter leaned over and whispered audibly in Ray's ear, "A real prince of sensitivity, isn't he, Tex?"

Frump favored him with a baleful glare. "Shut up, Venkman, or I'll forget my manners and haul you in for obstructing justice." Even Peter could tell he didn't really mean it. He made a wry face at the detective and held his peace.

Egon's father told the story of his murder while everyone hung on his words. Egon could scarcely take his eyes off the spirit, and Peter hovered at his side, offering the unconditional support he was so good at. It dawned on Ray that Peter had always thrived on being needed, even more than he had sought out fame and glory. Look at how he had befriended Mrs. Faversham. Let the team meet anyone on a bust who was distressed or miserable, and Peter would devote himself to calming and soothing them. Peter had a good heart. If he'd forgotten that for a little while in his own distress, he had remembered it now.

Ray gave Winston a faint nudge and bobbed his head at Peter. Grinning, Winston nodded. He liked what he saw, too. Oblivious to the non-verbal exchange, Peter perched on the edge of his chair, prepared to jump in and interrupt. After a confused minute, Ray caught on. Some of what Egon's father had said must have been personal stuff, the kind of thing Egon wouldn't want repeated in front of Frump. Ray grinned fondly at the psychologist, but he wasn't worried. From what he remembered of Edwin Spengler on the several occasions they'd met, he wasn't likely to let his emotions out in front of a stranger. Peter's wariness suggested that being a ghost might have loosened him up a little. Ray hoped so.

But the story! Ray was shocked down to his boot. He caught himself looking over his shoulder toward the TV room and area beyond, at the stairs leading up to the third floor, wondering if Cyrus could have sneaked in while everyone was away and was hiding on the premises. If he would doctor his brother's medication, he could already have put something in their food. Would he target Egon specifically? If so, how? Egon wasn't on any medication, and the rest of them all ate the same food. If the Ghostbusters were suddenly poisoned, there would be a massive investigation unless Cyrus was sharp enough to fake ordinary food poisoning. Ray remembered he was a gifted biologist, but he couldn't remember Uncle Cyrus's specialty. Spengler Labs produced prescription medications in their pharmaceutical section but they also did a great deal of research. Had Janine been here the whole time the guys had been gone on busts today? Had there even been time for Cyrus to get here after returning from Cleveland?

"I've gotta say, this Cyrus clown makes you four Ghostbusters look like you should be in line for the key to the city." Frump's mouth had tightened during Edwin's explanation until he looked so angry it might pass for constipation.

"Hey, we do have the key to the city," Peter said brightly. "We got it for taking out Gozer. I keep it in my desk drawer."

"Never mind, Pete," Winston chided. "Okay, Frump, it's not a pretty story but I'd bet money every word of it is true. I wouldn't put anything past that Cyrus character. If he really is lurking around waiting to kill Egon, what can you do about it?"

"I'm gonna send a couple of men over to locate him and keep an eye on him," Frump decided. "They don't have to know who my snitch is. If he moves in this direction, they'll let us know. I think I'll set up a stakeout here," he continued, then turned to Edwin. "I know what happened to you wasn't in my jurisdiction, but I don't want hitmen coming in from out of town taking pot shots at New Yorkers. I hate it when a murderer gets away with it." He eyed Venkman sourly. "Hafta say you were right about that, Venkman. It doesn't make me like you any better, but I'll do what I can to protect you four clowns."

Suddenly, Winston snapped his fingers. "Hold it, everybody. What about Janine? She's out there all alone in Brooklyn, and Cyrus has met her. Think she might be in danger, too?"

Ray realized Egon had been too shocked by the sudden arrival of his father to spare a thought for Janine. Gosh, she might be in danger right this minute. Egon's face was full of alarm.

"Your secretary?" Edwin frowned. "I should say she is in no danger at all. Cyrus would far prefer that this appear an accident, although he is volatile and might lose control. I cannot imagine losing it in her direction, however. I believe her only danger might occur if she were here and he tried something at your headquarters."

"We'll put surveillance on her, too," Frump volunteered grumpily. "At least for tonight. You four clowns just never stop causing trouble for me."

Egon's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you, Inspector." He shook hands with the big man. "I would hate for Janine or my friends to be endangered simply because I am at risk. I confess to a state of utter confusion. Tonight is the first time I have seen my father's spirit."

Peter was up beside Egon in a flash. He didn't say anything, he just planted himself at the blond's side as if defying Frump to say anything sarcastic. For once, the policeman didn't. He merely grimaced and turned away, heading over for the telephone he'd spotted on the nearby desk. In a minute he was barking crisp, clear orders into it. When he hung up, he turned back. "I don't suppose you four college geniuses thought to search the place?"

"I'm not a college--" Winston began involuntarily but Peter's elbow found his ribcage and shut him up.

"We haven't had time," Ray defended them. "We'll do it now. Only--what if he put something in the food or rigged the containment unit to explode, or booby trapped some of the equipment? He could have sneaked in already."

"Just full of jolly little ideas, aren't you, Stantz?" Frump eyed him sourly. "I'll search the place. You'll have to handle your own equipment tests. And I'd suggest you call out for pizza instead of risking anything in the kitchen." He glanced over at his now-empty coffee cup and his face went a funny color as he realized he might well have drunk poison without realizing it. "If I have to have my stomach pumped, you four will spend the rest of the night in a holding cell," he threatened.

"I'll run tests on the coffee." Egon picked up his untouched cup. "Raymond, will you assist me?"

Ray bobbed up beside him. "Sure, Egon. And we can check out the stuff in the lab while we're doing it."

"We'll help Frump search the other floors," Peter volunteered. "Ray, you might want to take a pack and thrower up there with you, just in case."

"Don't zap the guy," Cyrus cautioned.

"We can set the throwers to just knock somebody out," Ray informed the detective. "That's what I'll do. Is that okay?"

Frump snorted and shrugged. "You four are crazy."

Peter grinned annoyingly at the big cop. "If he's up there, he knows how to turn invisible. Egon and I were there until Ray and Winston came home and we didn't see anything that shouldn't have been there. But I'd rather be safe than find little pieces of the two of you after a major explosion. Go for it, Ray."

Ray hastened downstairs and returned with a proton pack, sliding his arms through the straps. Drawing the thrower, he fiddled with the controls. "Come on, Egon," he urged. The ghost drifted over to Egon, touched him lightly on the shoulder, and faded away into nothing. Frump blinked. Stiffening his shoulders, Egon started toward the spiral stairs that led to the third floor. Ray hurried after him.

Setting the cup on his lab table, Egon began to work immediately, losing himself in the task. Ray watched him a minute, smiling at the sight of his utter absorption. Sometimes, when a job had been rough or when things had gone wrong, Ray would come upstairs to watch Egon at work, and he'd think, 'Egon's in his lab, all's right with the world'. For a little while, that certainty had faded but, seeing him now, Ray discovered he had it back. Not that all was right with the world, not with Cyrus out there gunning for Egon. But it felt like maybe all could be right again between the four Ghostbusters.

While Egon worked, Ray searched the bedroom thoroughly, checking for mysterious presences, booby traps, hidden dangers in closets and under the beds. Finding none, he peeked into the bathroom, then returned to the lab and prowled around, testing equipment, taking readings of everything he could think of. If Cyrus had done anything malicious in here, he would have to be, for a biologist, a brilliant physicist and engineer for his handiwork to elude Ray. The odds were he hadn't been here--yet.

Egon lifted his head and smiled. "The coffee is simply coffee, Ray. None of us have been poisoned. I'm sure that will relieve Frump's mind."

"And his stomach," Ray countered, grinning, winning a faint chuckle from Egon. "He looked a little green. I think he's got a better imagination than he wants us to realize."

"Sit down a minute, Ray," Egon urged, waving him toward a chair. "We'll join the search shortly but, first, I wanted to talk to you about the way I left with Uncle Cyrus."

"Gosh, Egon, from what your dad said, Uncle Cyrus tricked you into leaving that way to set us all at odds," Ray reminded him hastily. "He thought if we were mad at you, we wouldn't do anything to get you back. It was really rotten of him."

"I didn't have to go along with his advice. It was so wrong I still have trouble believing I actually did it. To lose you guys' respect and friendship would be the worst possible disaster I can imagine. I know I put you into a terrible position, and I will do anything I can to repair the damage I've done."

"But Egon, you did repair it. You came back. That's what really matters." Ray played with the P.K.E. meter in his hand. "I just wish I could have figured out how to take out those poltergeists. I'm just not as good at this--"

Egon made a chopping motion with his hand. "Not another word, Ray. Of course you are not as good at my work as I am, but neither am I as good as you are at yours. Why should either of us be?"

"But, with you gone, it was my responsibility. I knew Peter and Winston couldn't figure it out."

"Why not?" Egon asked, watching Ray carefully as he waited for an answer.

"Because--because it's not what they're best at. They do other things well...."

"So do you, Ray." He smiled. "You do your own work at such a high level of perfection that none of us could ever replace you."

"But I know more about your job than either of them do," Ray protested. "I'm closer to the same kind of scientist. So it had to be my responsibility."

"That might be true. But doing what I do best is not your job. Just as it isn't your place to work out the bust strategies like Winston does or psychoanalyze us when a bust has gone sour or figure out where a ghost is coming from the way Peter does. The reason we make such an excellent team is because we each bring different skills to bear. You didn't let anyone down, Ray, and I am very sorry that my absence would make you believe for one instant that you could. No one would dream of blaming you for not being able to do my job, and I, for one, am glad of it."

The words held such an element of respect for Ray's own abilities that he felt his confidence building again. Egon was home, and everything was all right between them again. Only-- "Glad of it?" he ventured in perplexity.

"Naturally. If you had known instantly how to defeat those poltergeists, you wouldn't have needed me, and you wouldn't have come after me. I'm not sure I could have endured another day at Spengler Labs, and I was never so grateful in all my life as I was when the four of you showed up to rescue me. I am very relieved that those difficult poltergeists were outside your normal area of expertise, although I am certain you would have found a way to stop them soon."

"Oh." Ray grinned. "Well, yeah, maybe. I had a couple of ideas on the plane to Ohio--only I figured I'd better not tell anybody or Uncle Cyrus wouldn't let you go. But, gosh, Egon, if it hadn't have been that, we'd have found another excuse to rescue you, even if we had to let a nasty ghost out of the containment unit so you could figure out how to catch it again." He grinned. "That was Peter's idea."

"I'm quite certain it was." Egon gazed at him, his thoughts grave, his brow furrowed. "Ray, Peter is still not certain he can trust. But--"

Ray patted his shoulder. "Peter's already coming around," he reassured his friend. "It just takes him a little longer than the rest of us. You need help with this Uncle Cyrus thing. He's a lot more worried about you now than he is mad at you. He just needs to sound off a few more times and to get used to having you back. He needs to know in here--" He thumped his chest-- "instead of only in here--" He tapped his temple-- "that you're back to stay. Give him a few days, let him see you on busts, let him help you through this Cyrus thing, and he'll go back to normal. He wants to. We all do. When somebody makes a mistake and they're sorry, you have to forgive them. Gosh, Egon, you're like a brother to us. We might be a little mad at you and a little hurt, but that doesn't mean we ever stopped loving you. We all know you're smart enough to learn from it that you won't do it again."

Egon's eyes glistened too brightly. "Can you trust me again, Raymond?"

The question held such a wistful note that Ray jumped up and grabbed Egon in a bearhug. "I never stopped."

Egon cleared his throat and blinked hard a couple of times. "Are you certain?"

Ray nodded and let him go. "You were scared, you were in a panic, but you didn't want to go. Egon, it's the first time you ever let us down. You've still got the best track record I ever saw. It's gonna be okay, Egon. Really."

"Yeah, and we're gonna get Cyrus, too," proclaimed Peter from the doorway. Ray wondered how long he had been standing there, and he hoped it had been long enough to hear their last few comments. He clattered into the room, wearing his proton pack, his thrower holstered. "We searched the whole place from top to bottom and, according to our pet detective, there's no sign of forced entry or any evidence that anything's been messed with. We want you two to check out the containment unit just to be sure." He ventured a wary grin. "Egon, your pop has been down there bugging Frump. Old Frumpy volunteered to go on surveillance until his men got here, and your dad said he couldn't watch the back door too, so he's out there standing guard."

"It's still so hard to believe."

"I bet. Egon, we're all hanging in there for you. Winston and I configured our throwers to give old Cyrus a good zap if he shows up here, though I kinda like the idea of sending his molecules back to Cleveland at the speed of light. Winston and I decided we'd better take turns keeping watch through the night."

"That's a great idea, Peter." Ray whipped out his thrower and rechecked the setting to make sure he'd only render a human unconscious, not kill him. He didn't want to zap Egon's uncle. Although he wasn't usually a vindictive man, Ray liked the idea of Uncle Cyrus spending the rest of his life in prison. "Egon, better get your pack and reconfigure your thrower, too. I can take the first watch. I'm wide awake."

"We'll see if you still are at bedtime, Tex." Peter grinned at him. "Winston is calling out for pizza. I hope we can eat it before the Spud shows up."

"Where is Slimer, Peter?" Egon asked.

Venkman grinned and shrugged. "Not that I miss him, mind you, but I haven't seen the little guy since that day you came back when Ray threatened to blast him for hiding in the water cooler."

"Oh, gee," breathed Ray, horrified, glancing around the lab in case the little spud was lurking in a corner. "I haven't either. There was so much to think about I just forgot." What if he'd scared Slimer away?

"Not your fault, Ray," Peter said hastily and automatically. "We all needed a break. Bad enough to go around acting like idiots without getting slimed in the process. He'll come back one of these days. He's got too good a deal here not to."

Egon and Ray favored him with their standard looks of annoyance, and Peter held up his hands pacifically, grinning. Ray was pretty sure he'd been hoping for that exact response; it felt so normal.

Peter didn't exactly feel normal; he felt like an idiot. Okay, so Egon had screwed up and Peter had taken it waaaaay too personally. It shouldn't have needed the threat to Egon's life to make him come to terms with his own inner demons, should it? He, Ray, and Winston had the right to expect better from their friend than the way Egon had gone. But even if Egon hadn't been conned, he had always felt that his word was his bond. He hadn't wanted to go. He'd dreaded going. That his friends would have moved heaven and earth to get him back rather than have run ads in the Times for a new partner was a given, but an effort he must have felt doomed to failure.

Peter knew all that, but his sense of betrayal had still made him lash out and hurt Egon as he'd been hurt. It had bugged him far worse than his father's continual small treasons. Peter pondered that as he picked the anchovies out of his pizza--why the heck had Winston ordered an anchovy one, anyway? Maybe it was a welcome back thing for Egon, who had the bad taste to like the little fishes. Peter's father couldn't help himself. He lacked empathy and ethics, two things Egon possessed by the bucketful. Maybe that was why, because Egon had known better and Charlie Venkman simply didn't.

"You okay, Peter?" Ray asked, giving him a quick poke. "You're awfully quiet." He glanced quickly at Winston, and lifted an eyebrow. Winston shrugged, although his eyes slid sideways measuringly to consider Egon.

Peter glanced up and grinned. "I'm planning to send Winston out to get a real pizza. Anchovies on all the pizza, Zeddemore? Where is your brain tonight?"

Winston grinned mischievously. "Sorry, Pete, I wasn't thinking. They won't kill you. Go ahead and eat." He plucked an anchovy away surreptitiously and covered it with a napkin. Peter poked him, uncovering it triumphantly.

"This has got to be a record," he groused. "I actually wish Slimer was here. He could have my share--and Winston's too."

Egon took a bite and chewed with relish. "I think anchovies are very tasty, Peter."

"You would." He scowled at a persistent anchovy and flicked it in the direction of the trash. "Might I remind you, you also like the opera. There's no accounting for taste."

Egon frowned at him and bent to retrieve the discarded fish from the floor, dropping it pointedly into the wastebasket where it belonged.

It all felt so normal. Maybe a few anchovies were worth that, worth their ready camaraderie, the usual bantering. If only the threat weren't hanging over Egon's life. That was so much more important than anything that had gone before. Then, there was the ghost. No matter how rational and pragmatic Egon might be, no one was so much in control that he could calmly accept the ghost of his murdered father. None of Peter's hurt feelings could measure up to that.

"You missed." Egon settled himself in his chair and applied himself to the despised pizza. "Opera critics could tell you I have superb taste, Peter. At least I don't like mud wrestling."

Peter stuck out his tongue at him. "Come on, Egon, mud wrestling's great, especially when it involves babes in bikinis."

Egon pretended to shudder. "While I have no constitutional objection to the sight of women in bikinis...."

"I wouldn't think so. I remember the way your eyes fell out when we busted that ghost at the photo shoot last month."

"That was scientific, Peter. It was an amazing feat of engineering to construct bikini tops that would support such ample pulchritude."

"Oh, sure, Egon, and your tongue was hanging out because it was scientific. No way. That was Spengler in heat or I don't know anything about healthy lust." He settled back in his chair, grinning contentedly.

Winston and Ray cracked up and Egon's cheeks reddened slightly. "Have you no dignity, Peter?" he asked, reaching for another anchovy-laden piece of pizza.

"Dignity? Heck no. You think that's anything I ever learned at my father's knee?" He was sorry about the mention of fathers as soon as he made it because a slight shadow passed across Egon's face. But he couldn't stop now. "Pop was a mud wrestling guy all the way, though he didn't hold out for the bikinis."

Egon was silent for a second munching contentedly, then he gave a faint snort of laughter.

"What, Egon?" Ray asked, flipping a particularly large anchovy back into the pizza box.

"I was...imagining my father at a mud-wrestling tournament." His smile was a sad one but it was also genuinely amused.

"We'll send him along next time Pop goes to one," Peter ventured warily. "My dad won't mind. He's used to ghosts."

"Because even ghosts can have new experiences?" Egon hesitated. "Not even a ghost could change that much."

Peter set aside his picked-over pizza and grew serious. "Hey, your dad did change, Egon. He's giving you points for being a Ghostbuster."

"Yeah, Egon, I think that is really spiffy," chimed in Ray, grinning at Egon. "And what's neat is that he was able to come and tell you about it."

Egon put his last piece of pizza down unfinished. "I am very grateful for that, especially since I know that it was hard for him to find the courage to admit that."

"Didn't like to be wrong?" Winston ventured. He'd never had a chance to meet Egon's father in life.

"He approached life as an extension of the scientific method," Egon murmured reminiscently. Good, thought Peter. Let him talk. He needs it. "Everything from the price of hamburger to attending a baseball game had to measure up to his scale. His Christmas and birthday gifts to me were always scientific from my third birthday on when he believed I was capable of understanding and learning. He valued scholarship and the use of one's brain. To waste a mind was, to him, the greatest sin of all. He considered Ghostbusting a squandering of my intellect. I remember he told me once that the only value in my work was that I conducted it with proper scientific criteria."

Yikes, thought Peter. A heck of a crummy memory for old Spengs. Egon, too, valued the scientific method to the point of obsession. He'd spent endless hours keeping records, documenting test results, working with Ray over the meters and proton packs. He must have got that devotion from his father.

"But he knows better now, doesn't he?" Ray asked hastily, pushing his plate away.

A look of quiet contentment warmed Egon's eyes. "Yes, he knows better now. That means...more than I can say. And yet..."

"And yet?" Peter prodded.

Egon raised his eyes and stared at his friends. "I find that it means rather less than the acceptance of the three of you. I always knew my work was valuable, even if Father couldn't see it. A part of me hoped he would come around one day, and now he has. But my work is more than simply good science. It's...a vital part of my life. Being here, working with the three of you..." His voice trailed off. "I'm..."

Peter rescued him from his embarrassment at sounding so 'sappy'. "We all know about that, Spengs, old buddy. You think you're the only one who feels that way?" He jumped to his feet, aware of the look of quiet contentment that spread across Egon's face, an expression that wiped away so many of Peter's hurt feelings that there weren't enough of them left for him to make a major issue of them. "I don't know about you guys, but I want some real pizza. I'm going to go and call it in now."

Egon followed him over to the phone. "Thank you, Peter," he said quietly. Their eyes met and held, acknowledging the return to the status quo.

"Piiizzzzzzaaaaaa!" Slimer's scream was almost piercing enough to shatter glass as the little ghost slid through the wall and circled overhead. "Slimer wants pizza! Yum yum." The little ghost dove for the boxes, gobbling the remaining anchovy slices in less than a second.

The intense moment shattered as all four of the Ghostbusters burst out laughing.

Ray shook Peter awake in the night. "Peter," he breathed in an undertone. "It's your watch." A small lamp burned near Ray's bed, providing faint illumination and casting long, eerie shadows on the walls.

Sucked out of a nasty dream in which Egon had gone to Ohio with Uncle Cyrus and the guys hadn't arrived to rescue him in time, Peter bolted to his feet in panic. In his dream vision, they had burst into the ruins of Egon's smoldering laboratory to find his broken body sprawled on the floor, half-buried in rubble and covered with blood. The nightmare had been so vivid it had left him ice cold and shaken. He whirled around to stare at Egon's bed, just to make sure....

Startled out of what must have been a restless sleep, Egon was sitting up in bed, squinting around the room. "I am still here, Peter," he said, tugging at his nightshirt to straighten it. From its tangled condition, it was obvious his sleep had been no more peaceful than Peter's.

"I wasn't worried about whether you were still here, you doofus," Peter sputtered. "I was worried about whether you were still alive."

Egon's expression softened. "Of course I am, Peter. I don't believe the three of you would allow so much as a cockroach to get near me, let alone Uncle Cyrus."

"Cockroach?" Peter pretended panic, winning a smile from Egon. "There aren't any roaches in the bedroom, are there?"

The telephone shrilled loudly, causing Winston, who had been trying to sleep, to sit up and groan. "No justice in the universe," he complained before he snatched up the receiver from his bedside table and yawned, "Ghostbuster Central," into it. At once he straightened to attention. "Whoa, slow down. Take it easy, ma'am. What kind of a ghost?"

A bust. Peter shivered. Go out into the city in the middle of the night? Still, the cops had a handle on Cyrus. They were watching his hotel and they'd verified that he was still in there. The guys had received a call right before they went to bed to explain that Cyrus was being watched; if he ventured outside the hotel, he would be followed. Peter had instantly clamored to have him arrested, but Frump had sent out to Ohio for possible evidence. He'd complained that he had talked to two medical specialists who had an idea what type of medication might have been substituted for Egon's father's prescription. Frump didn't want to make a move until he had more evidence. He couldn't, he claimed, arrest Uncle Jerk on the word of a ghost, even if he believed it himself. But as long as he was under police supervision, the guys would have to go about their business as usual. The police had even checked to make sure the Ghostbusters' phone wasn't bugged to enable him to know in advance where they were going on a bust.

"Take it easy, Ma'am," Winston urged. A woman. So it wasn't Cyrus calling to set them up, either. "Did you try to call him back? Did you call the cops or the paramedics?" He listened. "That sounds like a bad one. We'll head over there as soon as we throw our clothes on." He fumbled for a pencil and jotted down the address on the notepad they kept beside the telephone, then hung up. "Lady says her husband is a night watchman at a warehouse down on Pier 27. He called her from work and said he was under attacked from a purple demon. She told him to call the police, but he yelled, 'Call the Ghostbusters', then he screamed and the phone went dead. She called the cops as soon as she realized she couldn't get him back, and they said to call us and they'd meet us there."

"Well, that sound pretty clear-cut," Peter decided. "We'll all feel like targets but at least we'll have police backup." He dragged himself out of bed, yawning gapingly, and started to dress.

Egon went to the rear exit to tell his father what was happening, and returned wearing that same air of shocked disbelief he had worn since his father's spirit had first appeared. "He says he can sense if Cyrus means to harm me and he will come if he does. I told him the bust seemed legitimate and he said he would help to protect headquarters while we were gone." He hesitated. "I think he knows I feel--rather uncomfortable with him."

"Only natural, homeboy," Winston assured him as he climbed behind the wheel of Ecto. "I know I'd be freaking out if I were in your shoes."

Ray ventured out to tell the stake-out cops what was going down. They decided to send one of the officers along on the bust and leave the other on duty in case Cyrus got away from his surveillance and tried to sneak into headquarters. Ray brought him in, a young officer named Joe Ryder, a dark-haired character who looked Italian and who evidently worked out regularly, from the size of his chest and upper arms. He would be a good man to have around in a pinch, even if his eyes darted around Ecto-1 uneasily as he climbed into the back seat of the antique hearse between Egon and Ray.

"Really a demon?" he queried, eyes wide. He couldn't have been more surprised if the team had told him the Martians made periodic landings on the roof of the firehouse.

"We won't know that until we arrive," Egon reassured him. "Laymen often assume a minor Class 2 is far more powerful than it really is. It could be anything but we have to be prepared. If it is one, we'll expect you to wait with Ecto. We don't take civilians into dangerous busts."

"I'm not a civilian," objected Ryder automatically.

Peter hung over the 'shotgun' seat and grinned at him. "No, but you're not a trained Ghostbuster either. You wouldn't take us into a police job. It's the same thing. We'll scope the place out and if it looks clear, then we'll bring you in and check it out."

"You think it could have anything to do with this Cyrus Spengler?"

Winston guided Ecto through traffic. "The woman who called sounded legit, really scared. I'm not sure Cyrus could fake a woman's voice, at least not that well. His is pretty deep. Unless he has a female accomplice, and Egon's dad didn't mention it, I think it's just what it sounds like. But we won't let Egon out of our sight, just in case."

Pier 27 wasn't that far away from Ghostbuster Central, west and a little north, yet south of Canal Street. At three a.m. the traffic in Lower Manhattan was fairly light and they made good time. As they approached the pier, Egon took out his meter and activated it. Nothing happened. "Hmm." They all exchanged worried glances except Winston, who didn't take his eyes from the road.

"You think it's a setup, Spengs?" Peter asked, turning again in his seat.

"The entity may have gone," Egon replied. "If it was a lesser ghost than a Class 7 the residuals might already be fading. Or it may have the ability to phase in and out of our dimensional plane." Beside him, Ryder's lip curled in doubt, but he wasn't ready to write it off simply because the meter hadn't pinged to life. Peter gave him an amused grin.

Ray leaned across the officer to stare at the meter's screen. "But then there'd be residuals, wouldn't there?"

"Yes, but they'd be faint and directly at the site." As Egon spoke, the meter's antennae stirred faintly and a faint glow illuminated their tips.

Ray gave a crow of triumph. "See! There is a ghost here."

"Class 7 indeed." Egon pushed his glasses into place with one finger, squinting at the meter's screen. "However, from these readings, I don't believe it lingered and there's no indication of a trans-dimensional cross rip on site."

Winston pulled the car to a halt and stared around in blank surprise. "That's weird. We beat the cops here."

"That's because you drove like Ray," Peter kidded him. "Never mind, we brought our own. Egon, are the readings any stronger?"

The warehouse was three stories high and blockish, devoid of all but two windows on its main facade. The main double doors stood ajar, no lights visible from within. Still quivering faintly, Egon's meter reacted too faintly to indicate the demon was still present. That didn't mean their client's husband wasn't inside--and in pieces. As he slid his arms into the straps of his proton pack Peter grimaced.

"If it's not there, then I'm going in first," Ryder decided, drawing his gun. "This guy might have been attacked by something like drug dealers or vandals or muggers and panicked. For all we knew, he just saw the 'demon' passing by and keeled over with a heart attack." Weapon at ready, he advanced on the door, silent on the balls of his feet. Peter approved of his moves, considering how they could be adapted by a man holding a thrower instead of a .38 Police Special. The policeman vanished into the warehouse, swallowed up by the blackness within after two steps. The only streetlight on the block was on the other side of the wide street, not directly across from the warehouse entrance. At the far end of the street, lights from the New Jersey shore reflected on the East River. A boat agleam with lights chugged upstream. Except for the four men waiting breathlessly, the street was deserted.

Eyes on the meter, Egon approached the door in Ryder's wake, and Peter felt a sudden shiver of apprehension. He raced to join the physicist, catching him by the arm. "Hold it, Egon. Remember, there's someone out for your blood. Let's not go rushing into dark places without Dr. Venkman to protect you."

"And Ray and me, too," Winston concurred, joining them. "I need to put a leash on you, Egon. This time, I want your word of honor that you won't take any stupid chances."

Egon looked from him to Peter and back again, nodding in confirmation. In spite of the danger, momentary joy at their protective impulses glowed in his eyes. He had to know they wouldn't display such concern for a man who had destroyed their trust and affection.

Thrower tucked under his arm, Ray took his place at Egon's side, grabbing the physicist's wrist. A crisp breeze tugged at his hair. "Cyrus wouldn't have access to a demon," he reassured Spengler. "At least, I don't see how he could. I think this is something else."

"Yeah, but it still feels wrong." Winston tightened his grip on his proton rifle. "I've got a really bad feeling, you know?" He leaned toward the square of blackness where Ryder had vanished, head cocked, listening.

"He's right, I do, too," Peter concurred. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with Cyrus, but it was trouble. Peter was glad Egon was back. He always felt better on a bust, knowing Egon was there. He wasn't quite ready to let Spengler off doing his laundry for a month, but he felt so much better about where he stood with Egon that the afternoon might have been weeks ago. Old Spengs needed him. After Cyrus had been hauled off to jail and Egon's pop did his peaceful dispersion, Egon would probably have to go through the grieving process all over again. Right now, he was so hyped with the threat to his life and energized by the guys' welcoming him back that he hadn't looked past it. When the time came, Peter planned to be there.

Glancing uneasily into the darkness, Ray lowered his voice. "Shouldn't Ryder have been back by now? You don't think the demon is still in there?" Involuntarily, the four men bunched closer together. A smaller boat chugged past closer to shore, its engine hiccuping unevenly. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, fading away in the night. Not their backup.

Egon shook his head, speaking quietly. "Not unless it's learned how to block a P.K.E. meter. I suspect the demon was not our client's problem after all. The readings still don't indicate a current presence just human biorhythms. I don't have Uncle Cyrus's readings on file, so I have no means of telling if he is in there, but several people are. Reconfigure your throwers, guys. We want to stop possible criminals, but we don't want to neutronize them."

Peter reset the dial on his thrower. He didn't like threats that could shoot back--and with bullets, too. "Think it's Cyrus?" he asked warily. "I mean, he can't fake it, not without a real ghost there." He shivered as the chill night wind sent probing tendrils down his collar and along his spine.

"There has been a ghost present, Peter, and a Class 7, too. How could he have faked that?" Egon asked reasonably, edging closer to the doors.

"Okay, then, where are the other cops the lady told Winston she'd called?" Peter persisted suspiciously. "I think it's a setup. Even if Cyrus is in New York, he doesn't have to do his own dirty work. He could have hired a hit man."

"Can you see my uncle doing that?" Egon asked as he finished the adjustment on his particle thrower.

Peter eyed the shadowy warehouse with uneasy foreboding. "I can see him doing anything." He gestured abruptly with his thrower. "I'm with Winston. It feels wrong to me, too. What do you say you sit this one out and let us handle it?" Ray bobbed his head in ready agreement.

Egon shook his head fiercely, feet planted, chin protruding stubbornly. "No, Peter. The whole purpose of my return was to prove that I would be here when the rest of you needed me. I'm here now and I intend to pull my weight. I won't ask the three of you to take my risks for me. Don't expect me to let you down again, Peter, because I will not do it." Before anyone could respond, he wheeled and plunged into the open doors.

Peter gave a yelp of alarm and followed him, Ray and Winston hot on his heels. He should have expected that because it was so--so Egon. After Cyrus had played his little mind games on the physicist, he had messed up badly but that wasn't the norm. It was such an exception Peter knew down to the soles of his feet that he could trust Egon as much as he ever had. When he raced after him into the dangerous place where at least one man and maybe two had vanished without a trace, his heart was singing.

The three of them nearly crashed into Egon, who had stopped just inside the doorway, then fell into a line, flanking him. Vast shadows enveloped the place, creating an eerie sense of multiple presences spying on them from the corners of the room and from the catwalks overhead. The bulk of crates and packing boxes rose on all sides, looming, ill-defined shapes divided by narrow walkways. Near at hand, a forklift made Peter draw back, catching himself when he recognized its faint outline. A dim glow from the distant streetlight turned the door and the two windows into pale yellow rectangles, their light etching muted patterns on the floor and on some of the higher crates. The only sound was their own breathing and a faint distant scuttling that might have been rats. Reaching Egon's side, Peter hissed, "Spengs, you idiot, don't do that."

"Ssh, Peter." Egon lifted a hand. "I see something over there. We should investigate it. Ray, you and Winston check in that direction." He waved a pointing hand. "The readings indicate a presence, but he may be hurt. Possibly the night watchman. Peter, will you come with me?"

"Everybody be ready to fire," Winston agreed. "Ray, you're with me." Maybe he wanted to make sure Ray didn't go rushing off into darkness, or maybe he'd just realized Peter didn't mean to leave Egon's side.

Egon approached the dark shape on the floor and Peter lunged after him, grabbing his arm and trying to haul him back. It was like trying to get a mastiff to heel. Egon pulled against Peter's grip.

"Take it easy," Venkman hissed in an undertone, edging in front of Egon. The form on the floor was man-sized and, as Peter knelt to investigate, he realized it was Ryder, sprawled mostly on his back, his arms outflung in an attitude of abandonment, his gun a few feet away. The faint glow from the streetlight outside glinted off his badge and nametag.

Egon dropped down beside them. "Is he dead?"

His fingers pressed against the pulse point in the cop's neck, Peter lifted his eyes. He couldn't see Egon or Ryder as more than dim outlines, their features becoming clearer as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. "No, he's breathing and his heart is beating. But his respiration's way down. I don't think he's hit. There doesn't seem to be any blood but...." He ran his hands exploringly over the cop's chest and arms. Across the room, he saw a faint glow of red, twin dots, rat's eyes. The creature scuttled away and Peter shivered.

"Maybe he was hit on the head?"

Peter felt the skull: no obvious lumps. "No, I can't tell what's wrong with him without more light." He reached for the small flashlight that hung on his belt.

Egon shook his head. "No, Peter, don't show a light."

Peter let his hand fall. "I hate to say it but I think we should wait outside until the cops show--." He paused, cocking his head. Had that been a faint thump in the distance? Someone moving around? A body falling? Ray or Winston? "I heard something."

Egon squinted into the darkness. "I wish we'd brought the ecto-scopes. They could function as night scopes." Instinctively, the two of them drew closer together. If Ryder was merely knocked out, he could wait, but Ray and Winston might be in trouble and he didn't think it was safe to yell a warning. Maybe this had nothing to do with Cyrus. Maybe they'd stumbled into an international smuggling ring or serious bad guys. Only he didn't think so. Something like that would be just as good a cover for Cyrus as a nasty ghost. Anyway, there had been a ghost here. Egon's meter had proven that.

"This way," Peter said, gesturing Egon to his feet. "Ray and Winston went this way."

"You think they were stunned, too?" Alarm trickled into Egon's voice and he aimed his proton rifle before him, ready to fire.

Peter's knuckles whitened on his thrower, his thumb hovering above the trigger button, ready to blast so much as a mouse that crossed his path. "I think something's really really rotten in Denmark."

The shape came reeling out of the darkness so quickly he scarcely had time to react, a figure in baggy coveralls--the night watchman?--and a cloth cap with a bill that shadowed his eyes. He was the right height and build for Cyrus, but he didn't have a beard or mustache and he wore a bulbous nose that had never grown on a Spengler. There was what looked like a rifle in his hand. For a stunned instant, Peter could only stare at him, then he pressed the firing stud and his particle stream lanced out, taking down the threatening stranger. The man collapsed without a sound, sliding to the dusty floor in a limp bundle.

They jumped for him, pulled off the hat, stared into the face of a stranger. "What..." Peter began.

"Peter. This is a tranquilizer gun." Egon frowned over the weapon. "Could he have shot Ryder with it?"

"He wasn't pointing it at us," Peter realized, slapping the heel of his hand against his forehead in disgust. What was going down here? Confused, he checked his victim's pulse. It was steady enough. The 'stun' setting only rendered a man unconscious for a couple of minutes. "I think I goofed here. This is probably the husband of the woman who called us." He chafed the man's cheeks. "Hey, guy, sorry. But you had a gun. What were we supposed to think?"

"He was unsteady on his feet, Peter. He must have been tranquilized like Officer Ryder and only just woke up. I have no idea how he acquired the weapon, but--"

Peter stiffened and rose, reeling in his thrower hand over hand. "That means somebody else is here zapping people and he might have got Ray and Winston." His bottom lip jutted out pugnaciously. "Think you better call your dad?"

"Perhaps I should," Egon replied just as a shot rang out. The bullet whizzed past the physicist's ear and he jumped sideways with a startled yelp. Peter sent off an automatic thrower blast in that direction, then he shot out a hand and gave Egon a hard shove. The second bullet passed between them with only an inch to spare.

"Get down, get down, get down!" Peter yelled. "Ray! Winston! Take cover." Had Egon been hit? No, Spengler was scuttling sideways for cover, moving under his own steam. Peter dived after him.

"They won't need to take cover, Venkman," purred a voice from the darkness, one so twisted with hate and fury that it was scarcely recognizable as belonging to Cyrus. "They're already taken care of."

"It is him, it is him," Peter howled, pushing Egon down behind a stack of crates. He wasn't sure they'd stop a bullet, but he couldn't see Cyrus, and if he couldn't see him, he couldn't hit him. He fired anyway in the direction of the sadistic voice. Cyrus had to be lying. Ray and Winston couldn't be dead. It just wasn't possible. "What did you do, you son of a bitch," he howled. "Did you kill them?"

"Of course not. I simply put them to sleep for a few minutes. When they wake up, they'll find evidence of a disagreement between criminals, their poor friends the victim of a gunfight."

"Friends?" Egon sounded shocked. "You stunned them like you did the night watchman and Officer Ryder, didn't you? The night watchman must have got the gun away from you."

Cyrus answered from another spot. "I had set the gun aside for a second. How I wanted to laugh when I realized you had mistaken him for the threat you faced. Did he look particularly like a demon?"

"How did you ever manage to lure a demon here?" Egon demanded. Lowering his voice, he breathed, "We need answers, Peter."

"Oh, that was simple. I didn't. When I was at your headquarters the first time, I made off with one of your P.K.E. meters. I simply turned it on and set out in my rental car this evening until I found sufficiently powerful readings to be convincing. When I came in here, a rather nasty purple creature was terrorizing your poor victim." Peter held off firing long enough to hear the explanation. "The guy had ducked into the office to call for help and I heard him talking to his wife, babbling. I stunned him, imitated his voice, and told her to call the Ghostbusters. I was going to phone you myself, but having her call made it far more believable. I knew you would get readings when you got here, and that you would venture inside even if the ghost had gone. Which it did. It evidently had a low attention span. Or maybe it prefers one victim at a time."

"I know you mean to do away with me," Egon called. "But why Peter? If you stunned the others to cover up your dirty work, why not Peter, too?"

"Your father didn't trust Venkman and I don't either. He has a devious mind. Not only did he begin you on the path that led to Ghostbusting, but I doubt he would accept that your death was random. Besides..." A silence while he shifted position yet again. "...I find him unpleasant, obnoxious, and quite intolerable. Why shouldn't he die, too?"

"Thanks, I love you too," Peter called sarcastically. "Well, I'm glad you don't like me. I don't want scumbags to like me. Besides, the police know all about it, how you tricked Egon into going to Ohio with you, how you put the wrong medication into Edwin's prescription bottle, how you killed him."

The stunned silence stretched out and Peter strained to hear any sound that might have come from Ray or Winston. "You can't know that," the man cried. He fired again and Peter ducked, letting out a yelp when he saw that the lucky shot had hit the cable connecting Egon's thrower to his proton pack. Sparks sizzled wildly.

"Lose your pack, Spengs," Peter called, relieved when Egon shucked it off and flung it as far away as he could. It didn't explode but the power cable continued to spit sparks. If only it didn't set the warehouse on fire. Cyrus fired in the direction of the crash it made when it landed but he missed. Was that three shots? Four?

Egon stood up. "You're not going to kill Peter, Uncle Cyrus," he insisted. "You did your best to end my friendship with Peter. You murdered my father. You tried to destroy my life in every way possible. I will not permit you to do another thing."

Peter grabbed frantically at his arm. "Egon, get down!" he howled. "I think he can see you." Where the heck was Egon's father's ghost? He should have been here by now, shouldn't he? How long would Ray and Winston be out? Short of blasting the entire warehouse, which might bring the ceiling down on their heads and kill everyone, Peter didn't have a decent shot. Maybe if he configured his beam to a wider angle... He reached for the control knob.

Cyrus's voice was full of gloating. "I can." He didn't fire but it must be only that he didn't have a clear shot. It wouldn't take him time to move into a better position. Peter jumped to his feet and Egon instantly shifted to place himself between Peter and the killer's last known position.

His voice was low and intense. "No, Peter. I won't let you do this."

Peter crowded in front of Egon, thrower aimed, ready to fire. "Egon, we already lost you once this week. You think I want to do it again? We could bring you back from Ohio but not from the dead." He heard a rattle amid the crates and fired wildly at the sound.

"No, Peter. You will not die for me." Egon pushed Peter behind him. Peter struggled to yank Egon back but Egon fought him. Suddenly the physicist's P.K.E. meter tucked into his belt shrilled to life and, further away, another one echoed it, probably the one Cyrus had stolen. Was it Edwin? The demon returning? Peter struggled to draw Egon into shelter, but the physicist fought him, his feet planted like trees.

"Cyrus!" the eerie cry came from overhead, among the rafters. "Stop! I will not let you shoot my son!"

With a superstitious yell, Egon's uncle fired wildly upward. Finally presented with a clear shot, Peter sent off a wide angle beam past Egon that couldn't possibly miss. Cyrus must have sensed the motion, or realized what he was about to do because he yelled almost in perfect synchronization with Peter's thumb hitting the trigger, "You won't stop me," and fired at the exact moment the proton stream hit him. With a choked cry, Egon slammed backward into the psychologist and folded in upon himself even as Cyrus collapsed in a dark heap across the room.

Peter let the thrower slide from nerveless fingers so he could catch Egon and go down with him, controlling the fall so he wouldn't land hard. "Egon, he didn't get you. Come on, tell me he didn't get you," he pleaded futilely. In a remote corner of his mind, he could hear thudding footsteps approaching his position, hear Edwin shouting Egon's name, hear a multitude of police sirens growing louder and louder, but that was off in some other reality. It didn't matter. What did was the dead weight of Egon against his chest as he sat on the floor, trying desperately to find the wound. This couldn't be happening.

When overhead lights sprang on, dazzling Peter with their sudden brilliance, he could only stare in horror at the blood that saturated the left side of Egon's jumpsuit. A familiar voice yelled, "Get those paramedics in here right now!" and more running feet approached, some toward him and Egon, some toward the fallen night watchman, who was showing feeble signs of sitting up, others in the direction of Joe Ryder. Peter spotted the cop leaning against a wall, his face an odd color, massaging his temples. None of it did more than cause a fleeting imprint upon his brain. The only thing that mattered to him was Egon, limp and bleeding, in his arms.

"Egon?" Peter worked the jumpsuit zipper down and rapidly pressed a folded handkerchief over the wound--was that a bad place? God, that was a lot of blood!--until the EMT's could arrive. He had to stop the bleeding; that took priority over everything else. Lifting the still shrilling P.K.E. meter away, Peter shut it down and set it aside with great care. Egon would not want it damaged. "Egon, why?" he groaned. "Why did you jump in front of me like that?"

Egon's head rolled back on Peter's shoulder and dazed blue eyes squinted up at him, his glasses askew. "If...one of us...had to be shot..." he gasped, wincing at the pressure Peter put on the wound, "...rather I was the one...than you..." Peter drew a sharp, painful breath, his heart twisting, goose bumps rising on his flesh. He tightened the arm he held around Egon. Worthy of trust? How could he have ever doubted it? And how was it possible to feel both elation and devastation at the same moment?

He heard voices babbling in the background, somebody yelling, "Make sure you cuff him," and a vague questioning murmur from the newly revived security guard, but none of that mattered. Peter closed his eyes, bending his head so that his cheek rested against Egon's hair. He had to give him over to the professionals but there was something he needed to say first.

"Egon, I...God, Egon, you have to know how much I trust you. If you go and die on me--I'll come after you like we did into the Netherworld and haul you back! Don't you dare die on me."

"I...shall try...my very hardest...not to..." Egon vowed shakily and went limp in Peter's arms.

"You don't have to move too far, buddy," said a calm, soothing voice in his ear. "Just let us lie him flat and take a look at that wound. If he took it front on..."

"How bad is it?" Peter forced the words through stiff lips, scared to death to hear the answer. After all they'd been through, he would do anything to keep his friend alive. "We're the same blood type," he volunteered. "If he needs a transfusion..."

"His pulse is strong," a second voice reassured him. Hands replaced his on the makeshift bandage while Egon was shifted sideways and positioned on the floor. Peter didn't really see the paramedics except as figures in uniforms. They hadn't become individuals to him. Tolerantly, they let him clasp Egon's hand and just worked around him, which had to be a good sign, didn't it? They even accepted the presence of a hovering ghost. Overhead, Edwin Spengler drifted just out of reach, winning doubtful, fidgety looks from the cops who stood guard over Cyrus and a resigned one from Frump, who was used to ghosts by now.

"Venkman," the big policeman said to him, causing Peter to turn his head automatically toward the sound of his name. The sight of Frump regarding him almost kindly made him blink in astonishment but he was too focused on Egon to question it.

"We heard most of it," Frump continued when he realized Peter was listening. "At least enough to convict him. We saw him fire. We were racing to put a man in position to get a clear shot at him. You two were in the line of fire and we couldn't burst in or he would have fired too soon--he was too much of a loose cannon to risk it. He won't walk, I guarantee it."

Peter was so unnerved that even a small kindness from a man who had almost been the Ghostbusters' nemesis made him gulp and struggle to restrain his emotions. "Thanks, Frump," he managed in such a shaky voice that the detective grumbled under his breath and moved away. The image of a tactful Frump was one of the weirdest images of the entire night.

"At least you stopped him," Edwin said. "Peter, I came late. I sensed Egon's jeopardy, but this place is strange to me. I could not simply materialize on the spot and, for that, I apologize."

"You gave me a second to fire," Peter reminded the ghost. "If you hadn't startled him, he might have blasted us both before I could stop him. I tried to get in Egon's way, to protect him, but he jumped in front of me before I could stop him. I...wanted to keep him safe."

"As did I."

"And it looks like you both did," the younger paramedic interrupted. Eyeing Edwin uneasily, he turned to Peter. "This is almost a flesh wound. I don't think it hit anything vital. It just tore along for about four inches under the skin and won't take more than out-patient surgery to remove it. Minor tissue and muscle damage and some blood loss is about the worst it did. We'll transport him so the bullet can be removed and we're countering shock." They started to administer an IV.

As Peter stared at the paramedic, he sharpened before Venkman's eyes, resolving into a young guy with coppery eyebrows that nearly met in the middle and rose at the outer edges in an inverted 'V' like a freckle-faced Vulcan. He grinned reassuringly at Peter as he pushed a tangle of curls the color of new pennies back from his forehead. A Vulcan with emotions.

It was all Peter could do to keep from grabbing the guy and planting a big, Roger Rabbit kiss on him. "He's really going to be okay?" he asked, desperate to hear it said so no one could revoke it.

"Probably home tomorrow," the man said. "Look, I can't diagnose, but he's already coming to. His vitals are strong, his color's good. Talk to him yourself while we prepare to transport. He's coming around."

Peter edged into place and tightened his grip on the lax hand. "Egon?"

Eyelids lifted. Peter settled the red-framed glasses into place. It was as if he was settling his life into place. "Egon, can you hear me?"

"Since you're shouting from perhaps two feet away--" Egon began, lifting one eyebrow in his most Spockian manner. Peter felt himself surrounded by Spock clones, then Egon's face warmed into a smile. "I couldn't let him shoot you, Peter," he defended himself. "You, Ray, and Winston were already paying my debt to Cyrus. I would not let it happen again."

"You don't owe that jerk the correct time, Egon."

"No, but I did make my promise in good faith. Even if he had not released me from it, I would feel no qualms about breaking it now. Promises should only be made to those who deserve them." He glanced past Peter. "What about Ray and Winston? Are they all right?"

Before Peter's stomach could twist in new alarm he heard footsteps. "We're here," came Ray's shaky voice from behind him.

"Yeah, we got zapped with a tranquilizer gun," Winston complained. "Man, I wish I hadn't had all that pizza. I'd like to pulverize that jerk till he feels as crummy as I do." He leaned over Peter's shoulder. "Egon, my man."

Ray flung himself down at Peter's side, his face pale, queasiness forgotten in the face of Egon's condition, and grasped Spengler's shoulder. "Gosh, Egon, they said you'd been shot. Are you okay?"

"No, Ray, I'm quite sore. But I'll be fine." He quirked that active eyebrow at the copper-haired paramedic. "I did hear you telling that to Peter, didn't I?"

"You did, and if you were listening, you already know this is not a serious wound, but now we're taking you to the hospital."

"A moment, please?" Egon looked past them at the drifting spirit. "Father? I assume from the vast collection of police officers hovering that Uncle Cyrus has been arrested."

"Yes, and he's waking up from Peter's stun blast right now. He'll be going to jail. Inspector Frump heard enough of what he said to convict him. He won't get off."

"You said you were bound until Cyrus was brought to justice? Does that mean you will...leave now?" At the question, Peter tightened his grip around Egon's fingers.

"It means I can. I am free. However, I plan to confront Cyrus before I depart." He drifted over to the handcuffed man and grasped his arm. Cyrus jerked and flinched under the icy chill of the ectoplasmic touch, raising his head and blinking. He was clean-shaven, possibly as a part of a disguise. His eyes drifted over to Egon, who was conscious and alert and surrounded by his friends, and his mouth twisted in disappointment that he had failed. He made an abortive lunge in Egon's direction, only to have Edwin park himself in his face.

"Brother," he greeted, tight-lipped.

Cyrus screamed in pure soprano, scrambling frantically backward against the two uniformed officers who gripped his arms. They looked uneasy, but they stood their ground.

"Get him away, get him away from me!" wailed Cyrus. "No! Get away! You're dead. I killed you. You can't be here."

"Yes, you did kill me, and now all these excellent policemen know it," Edwin said, gratified. "You also dared to try to kill my son and his friend. For that, I could happily haunt you for the rest of your life. However, the scandal, the trial, the loss of all you value, and spending the rest of your life in prison will prove a satisfactory substitute."

"That Venkman tried to kill me," Cyrus screeched. "He blasted me with that Ghostbuster weapon. I'll sue!"

"You won't sue," Edwin told his brother. "You were shooting a gun at him, a lethal weapon. He was firing a modified thrower, designed simply to stun. The law allows for self-defense and he had witnesses--police witnesses. I doubt very much anyone would even consider your charge anything but a ludicrous and futile attempt to exonerate yourself from crimes you all too obviously committed."

"Now I know where you got your vocabulary," Peter muttered in Egon's ear.

"It would have all been mine," Cyrus moaned. "Spengler Labs, everything, and no nephew scandalizing the name with anything so foolish as Ghostbusting. You ruined everything. All of you ruined everything."

He tried once more to yank away from Edwin, who snarled at him, took on size and stature, and expanded to a looming creature ten feet tall. "Don't think I can't haunt you, brother, hounding you through the rest of your miserable existence. If you ever attempt anything to harm my son or his friends again, I will do so." Whimpering, Cyrus cringed away from him.

Winston applauded, and Ray grinned widely. Edwin turned away from Cyrus as if he had ceased to exist and returned to his son--and to his normal size. "Egon, they will take you to the hospital now and treat you. But I will speak to you again before I depart. We shall have our private goodbye." He leaned down, patted Egon on the shoulder, and faded into transparency, then into invisibility.

"Holy shit!" blurted copper-top. "Wait till my wife hears about this."

After that it was mostly mopping up. One of the policemen discovered an abandoned disguise in an outer room. It would appear that Cyrus had walked out of his hotel right past the surveillance officers dressed as a woman, probably in hopes of providing himself with an alibi should suspicion fall upon him. When confronted with the small bag containing women's clothes, a wig, and a number of spare tranquilizer darts, Cyrus had admitted they were his. "I'd have liked to see that," murmured Winston as Egon was loaded into the ambulance.

"I never want to see that jerk again," countered Peter, standing beside Ray, his arm around Stantz's shoulders.

Peter drove Ray and Winston to the hospital. He wasn't sure either of them were up to driving. The night watchman, whose name was Fred Summers, was transported, too, although he was alert and recovering and proclaiming to all concerned that he didn't blame Peter for blasting him, once he heard Peter had taken down the creep that had broken in and stunned him in the first place. Apparently he'd sneaked the gun away from Cyrus when he bent to see if Ray and Winston were still alive, not realizing Cyrus still possessed another weapon.

Peter sat alone in the waiting room, alert to every footstep in the corridor outside. He knew Egon would be okay; everybody had said so. Ray and Winston were just uncomfortable and should be fine in the morning. But Peter needed to hear officially from a real doctor that Egon would be all right. He'd have to call Janine but he wouldn't do that before her usual wake-up time. If Egon's life were still in jeopardy, he would have phoned her right away, but he wouldn't disturb her sleep for good news, even if she would probably be on his case for a week about it.

Joe Ryder poked his head in the door. "Hey, Venkman. They're sending me home. I think you'll get your two buddies who were stunned back at any minute now." He shook his head. "I can't believe I let that S.O.B. get the drop on me."

"He was pretty sneaky," Peter reminded the shamefaced cop. "He fooled everybody for a couple of years and came this close to getting away with murder." He held his thumb and forefinger about and eighth of an inch apart. "I'm glad I got to be the one to take him down."

Ryder departed and Peter sank back on the couch. It was over. It was finally over, or it would be when they took Egon home. Peter was at peace with Egon, with himself, and with life in general.

A doctor issued Ray and Winston into the waiting room, and Peter erupted from his couch as if it were an ejector seat. "Is Egon--?"

"He's going to be perfectly fine," the doctor said. "We've extracted the bullet with no complications. He'll be sore for several days but I think that, if all goes well, he will be discharged tomorrow afternoon--this afternoon, rather. We'll keep him now, of course. He's sleeping, and I won't have him disturbed. Visiting hours begin at ten a.m. Dr. Venkman?" He nodded to Peter. "Your job is to take these two home and put them to bed. They need it. I can well imagine how you would rather lurk here all night, but these two need to sleep. It will probably be five a.m. by the time you get them home. Don't even get up before ten."

"Can't we even poke our heads in the door?" Peter wheedled.

"No. Your friend has sustained bloodloss and trauma. He needs his rest, too. I suspect his radar where his friends are concerned would awaken him and I will not have that. The best thing for him right now is uninterrupted sleep. And from the look of you, Dr. Venkman, you are about to collapse from the strain of the night. Get these two home, and then do so."

"We saw Egon for a minute in the ER before they took the bullet out," Ray said hastily. His face wasn't as green as it had been at the warehouse. "He said for us to go home and rest, too. Peter, he really is going to be all right."

"Ray called that one, homeboy," Winston agreed. "It's over. Cyrus is in jail, Egon's going to be fine, and I think the two of you have worked out all your problems, haven't you?" He waited for Peter's confirming nod and grin, and then he smiled back. Grabbing Peter by the scruff of the neck, he propelled him to the door, Ray falling in on Peter's other side. "Come on, Pete, let's go home."

Egon awakened for a restful nap to a sunny morning, the angle of the light slanting into his hospital room window suggested it must be mid-morning. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and reached over to the tray table to retrieve his glasses. There was an IV inserted into the back of his hand. He rather thought last night there had been two, but one of them had mysteriously vanished while he slept. When the room focused around him, he heaved a sigh and stretched cautiously. His side sent him a sharp reminder of his wound, but the pain was mild and bearable. Dr. Labraccio, the team's physician, had stopped in to see him first thing this morning, checked the wound, and proclaimed it improving already. He'd also told Egon that the ER had insisted on sending his friends home and instructed them not return till visiting hours, which began at ten o'clock. It must be nearly that now.

"Egon?" As the physicist watched, Edwin materialized, settling in the visitor's chair.

"Father?" Seeing his parent like this still shocked him, especially since he realized this was to be his final goodbye. What would he tell his mother about the incident and how would she would react?

"I was not a bad father to you, Egon," Edwin said solemnly, his eyes on his son's face. "But I was not a perfect father, either. I focused too much in one direction, upon your wonderful intellect. You made me incredibly proud of you. But I was stiff and rigid and found it difficult to speak of my love for you, only my approval of your scholarship. Watching you interact with your friends, I realize how fortunate you have become. You found a balanced life, you found loyal friends, and you found a career that you can do extremely well and that you love. Had I been less rigid, I would have told you that before I died. I am grateful to have the change to do so now."

"You were an excellent father," Egon said with equal stiffness, not because he meant to resist his father's words but because of a lifelong habit of avoiding emotion in front of this man. "I have always known that you were ethical, reliable, a genius, someone I could trust. Trust is a very important quality, Father. I find that to be trusted is as important as brilliance or scholarship. We're scientists, but we are human beings, too." He smiled. "Peter, Ray, and Winston have taught me that. Between their lessons and yours, I think I've done well for myself."

"Indeed you have, my boy. Indeed you have. I left the human part of your education to your mother. I thought perhaps it was a woman's job. Now I see it is the responsibility of everyone. I am very proud of you, Egon, and I...love you."

"And I you, Father," Egon replied shakily, knowing how hard it was for his father to speak those words, even now. "And I you."

Careful of the IV, Edwin reached out and clasped Egon's hands in both of his. They were cold, ectoplasmic, but not as bad as Slimer's. Egon felt no compulsion to let go. For a long moment, he and his father gazed at each other, then the ghost said, "I must go now, Son. It is better for all if I--what do you call it?--disperse peacefully? When you see your mother, if you feel she could endure this, tell her how much I loved her and how much I always valued the warmth she brought into my life."

"I will." A thought occurred to him. "Oh, and Father? One more question first?"

"Yes, Son?"

Egon explained. His father frowned, pondering, then he replied. The two of them smiled at each other in perfect satisfaction.

"The time has come for me to depart," Edwin said and began to fade into transparency. Egon tightened his grip and held on until his father had vanished from his sight.

He was still lying there smiling when a nurse came in to remove his IV and to tell him his friends were waiting to see him and would be allowed in as soon as she had finished. She smiled at him prettily and went to work.

Not three seconds after she had departed Peter poked his head around the edge of the door, in the lead as Egon had expected. At the sight of Egon propped up in his hospital bed he approached, grinning broadly. "I've gotta say, Spengs, you lead an interesting life."

"Where are Ray and Winston?" Egon looked past him, surprised that Peter had come alone.

Peter parked his hip on the edge of the bed and began to push the tray table back and forth without realizing he was doing it. "They're out in the hall holding off Janine. When she found out what happened last night, she nearly went ballistic because you didn't call and tell her you were in trouble."

Janine. Egon had done no more than worry that she, too, might be in danger from Cyrus when they had discussed it last night. She had deserved more from him than that. "Oh dear."

Peter smirked. "I sent her a dozen red roses in your name," he confessed. "So don't be surprised if she mentions them. I think you just might live."

"Peter Venkman, prime exponent of 'flower power'." Egon chuckled.

The moment was a good one, the two of them in perfect harmony, then Peter's face grew serious. "Egon, there's one more thing I've gotta ask you about. Don't worry," he added when Egon stared at him in alarm. "I do trust you. I know you'll do what's right and what's best. Now that you proved you're human and joined the rest of us lesser mortals, you can go back to being noble and high minded and all that kind of crap my pop says gets everybody in trouble. I want to ask about Spengler Labs. With Cyrus in jail..."

"I'm way ahead of you," Egon said, realizing what had put new shadows in Peter's eyes. He wasn't really worried, Egon could tell. He knew Egon would not desert the team again without warning and just wanted to bring the subject out in the open. Peter needed to hear his answer. "I talked to my father about it this morning. I believe the law does not allow a criminal to benefit from the estate of his victim. My father's share of Spengler Labs won't revert to me, but to my mother, as my father's primary heir. Mom won't want to become involved with its day to day functioning--she's not a scientist--but she can benefit from the income it will allow her. Father says the Labs' administrator is honest and reliable, and can stay there. Cyrus didn't concern himself with the actual management of the Labs, but mostly worked on his own research. In other words, while I might need to spend a day or two out there from time to time to protect my mother's interests, I can always put that time together with periodic visits to her and the rest of the family in Ohio. Mom knows I will never give up Ghostbusting" He smiled up at Peter. "You, Ray and Winston are a part of my family. I'm not leaving, not for Spengler Labs. Not for anything I can foresee. You...have my promise."

"And I know I can trust your promise," Peter replied, but his smile illuminated his entire face. Egon heaved a soft sigh of relief as Peter continued. "Last night when you were in trouble I realized what was really important. I'm okay with you now. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do know that. And I know that, if it is within my powers, I will never give you cause to doubt me again."

Peter hesitated. "So, are you okay with me? I...kinda overreacted over this whole deal."

"That's like saying the Titanic 'kinda' had iceberg trouble." Egon felt relaxed enough for teasing. "It's all right, Peter. I do understand."

"Thanks, big guy," Peter said and dropped his hand on Egon's shoulder.

A bustle at the door suggested Ray and Winston had been listening and knew exactly when to time their arrival. As he led the way in, Winston gave Egon a wink and a quick reassuring nod in Peter's direction. Ray hurried over to the bed and pumped Egon's hand with enthusiasm, beaming. "Gosh, it's good to see you, Egon. How do you feel? You look great."

"He won't when I get through with him," Janine said ominously from the doorway, pinning Egon in the full force of her glare. "You didn't even tell me you were in danger. How could you do that to me?"

"Well, because I didn't want to put you in danger," Egon said reasonably. "I knew if you heard about Cyrus, you would rush back to headquarters. Ray, Peter, and Winston were already risking themselves to protect me and it was too late to prevent their risk, no matter how grateful I was that they would choose to take it. I would not allow anyone to endanger you, too."

Janine melted, her eyes warming with that special caring meant for Egon alone. Peter leaned down and whispered, "Spengs, you dog!" before he moved aside to give Janine a clear path to the bed. She leaned down....

Egon had never been kissed like that in his entire life. After the first moment, he gave up any thought of struggling away and cooperated completely.

When Janine backed away, both of them were breathing fast.

"Now, now!" Peter chided, taking Janine's arm and ushering her into the room's one chair. "He's not a well man, remember, Miss Janine. He's not up to the full Melnitz treatment yet."

Janine made a face at him as she settled herself complacently. "Sez you."

"Really, I don't feel that bad, Peter," Egon defended himself.

"Come on, Pete, a guy would get up from his deathbed for a kiss like that," Winston chuckled.

"I sure would." Ray sputtered with laughter.

Egon suspected his face was bright red. The guys would never let him live this down.

"Okay, guys, out of here," Janine said, erupting from her chair and making shooing motions toward the door. Egon didn't miss the measuring look she cast around at the three of them. Probably judging if they were comfortable with Egon again. She always noticed things like that. "Out. All of you."

Lagging back, Peter took a firm stance near Egon's bed, quivering with silent laughter. "Come on, Melnitz, a hospital bed's no place for nookie," he chided, shaking his finger at her.

She batted it away. "Nookie! Who's talking nookie? This character owes me a world-class apology for taking off the way he did. You guys probably got yours yesterday, but it's bad enough I'm out of the loop over this attempted murder thing without expecting me to forgive him out of hand." She turned to Egon. "You'd better have a good explanation, buster. I expect you to grovel."

Winston nudged Ray with his elbow and shook his head lugubriously. "Egon's in for it now."

"He sure is," Ray agreed. "Gosh, Egon, you better talk fast." They edged over to the door, both of them laughing.

"Do you plan to abandon me, too, Peter?" Egon tried hard not to smile, even if he knew there was one more hurdle to get over before things went back to normal. He owed Janine her own apology, of course, and he was willing to pay the price of his friends' amusement without hesitation.

"You bet I do." Peter clapped Egon on the shoulder. "Be a man about it, Egon. You can do it. On second thought," he added, sliding toward the door, his eyes alight with mischief, "you can forget doing the laundry for the next month to make it all up to me, like I asked you." He winked at Egon. "You handle Janine, and I'll consider our debt paid in full."