Title: The Chosen One
Author: Brenda A
Author Page: Brenda A
Rating: PG-13
Category: gen friendship; hurt/comfort
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: The Real Ghostbusters and its characters are the property of Columbia Pictures and DIC. This story is written for entertainment. Original author-created characters, stories and story ideas are the sole property of the author and should not be archived without permission from the author.

She had waited so long...so long. But she was free at last. The spell which had been cast by humans had finally been broken by humans. She was once again free. Free to search for her Chosen One...the one who would give her new life.

Ray Stantz finished stripping the sheets from his bed in preparation for laundry day and nodded toward Peter's neatly-made, unslept-in bed. "I suppose it's too much to expect that he got up early, made his bed and is downstairs making breakfast," he said with a grin.

Winston Zeddemore answered by tossing his own armload of sheets at the occultist. "I don't think so, Ray," he said dryly.

The younger man's hazel eyes widened somewhat in awe. "Wow. That must've been some date."

"Hmm," was Egon Spengler's only comment as he passed the empty bed with a disapproving frown and headed for the stairs.

Winston threw Ray a wink as he followed the physicist, and Ray gazed at the bed once more with a soft, "Wow," before following, his arms full of dirty sheets.

The three Ghostbusters had just settled down to their first cups of coffee when the alarm sounded. Egon set his cup down with an air of mild irritation. "With Peter not here, we'll have to take this call with just the three of us."

Zeddemore grinned as he jumped to his feet. "We'll double-up his laundry duty to make up for it. That'll teach him to have a good time."

The physicist unfolded his lanky form and followed Winston out of the kitchen. "I wasn't speaking about having a good time, Winston. But responsibility is not something to be taken lightly-"

"Egon! Ray! Winston!" Janine Melnitz's sharp voice carried an unmistakable note of panic. "Hurry!"

Glancing quickly at one another, they clamored down the stairs, skidding to a stop when they reached the office area. Janine was standing behind her desk, one hand still clutching the receiver of the phone, her face white.

Egon took it all in at a glance. It wasn't like their secretary to lose control, not over a call. "Janine, what is it? What's wrong?"

Janine's voice was thin and unsteady. "That was St. Luke's hospital."

"There's a ghost at a hospital?" Ray interrupted in dismay. "That's awful! All those patients and-"

"Not a ghost!" Janine broke in frantically. "Peter!"

Three pair of eyes stared at her in bewilderment.

Winston shook his head with a frown. "Janine, what-"

"Peter's been in some kind of accident!"

That registered with them all at the same time. Zeddemore muttered something under his breath and spun away. "I'll get Ecto fired up."

"Peter's been... hurt?" Ray could barely force the words out of his tightening throat. "How bad? What happened? Did they say-"

"That's all they said." Janine's voice started to waver, and Egon quickly stepped forward and put a steadying arm around her shoulders. "I don't think the nurse who called knew much. She just wanted...someone to come down..."

"All right, Janine. We'll leave immediately." Egon had to force the calmness in his own voice. Giving her an awkward little squeeze, he abruptly turned away and took Ray's arm, giving him a gentle shake. "Come on, Ray," he said briskly, "Winston's waiting." Nodding mutely, Ray turned and sprinted for the car. Before he could follow, Janine called his name. Turning, he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes.

"Call. Let me know..."

"Of course." Somehow, he managed a pinched smile. "I'm sure everything will be fine." But he wasn't sure at all. There was a tight knot of fear forming in his stomach, and it was growing tighter and larger with each passing second. "Try not to worry." And with that, he, too, spun away and ran for the car.

Winston maneuvered through the early morning traffic with a determination and recklessness that would have made any New York cabby proud. The other two Ghostbusters sat cloaked in silence and left him to his driving.

It was Ray who finally voiced the fear that had been taunting all of them. "Do you think that's why Peter didn't come home last night?" he asked in a small voice. "Do you think he was hurt and lying somewhere, unconscious or-"

"Aww, man," Winston muttered. "That's just what I need to hear."

"Ray," Egon remonstrated quietly, "there is no point in speculation. We'll know everything when we get to the hospital." The occultist sank back into his seat without another word, and Egon resolutely turned his attention to the passing traffic, trying not to dwell on the image Ray had called to his mind. At least Winston had the driving to concentrate on; that was more than he and Ray had.

Despite Egon's long-legged gait and Winston's determined stride, Ray was the first one at the nurse's station. "Peter Venkman," he blurted breathlessly. "Someone called us about Peter Venkman. He's been in an accident-"

The plump, brown-haired nurse behind the station looked up with a smile of recognition. "You're the Ghostbusters. Yes, we have Mr. Venkman here. The doctor-"

"How is he?" Ray broke in impatiently. "How bad was he hurt? What happened to him?"

"Ray." Egon stopped him with a light hand on his arm. "Ms-" he read the nurse's name tag, "Wheeler. Who can we speak with to get some answers about our friend? Immediately ," he added in a stern voice.

Ms. Wheeler picked up the phone. "I'll page Doctor. Why don't you gentlemen have a seat over there? He'll be right with you."

Ray didn't look like he had any plans of moving, but Winston clapped him lightly on the shoulder and gently tugged him away. "Come on, homeboy, let's get out of everyone's way while the nice lady gets the doctor for us." His face pale and tense, Stantz nodded silently and allowed the other man to lead him over to the small waiting area where he dropped heavily into one of the plastic chairs.

Wrapped in his own worried thoughts, Egon followed. Automatically accepting the cup of vending machine coffee Winston pressed into his hand, the physicist found himself pacing aimlessly back and forth, sipping at the coffee without really tasting it.

Finally, Winston had enough. Planting himself in front of the taller man, he stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. "Egon," he stated with exaggerated patience, "you might have a future as a duck in a shooting gallery. But for right now, you're drivin' me - and Ray," he added, with a meaningful nod toward the slumped occultist, "nuts."

Shooting a guilty glance at the youngest Ghostbuster, Egon took a deep breath and forced his jangled nerves to settle down. "I'm sorry, Winston. It's just not knowing ..."

Zeddemore nodded, his dark face grim. "I hear you. If they'd just tell us something-"

"Excuse me. Mr. Spengler?"

Egon wheeled around. "I'm Egon Spengler," he said immediately. "This is Winston Zeddemore and Ray Stantz." The occultist had already jumped to his feet and joined them. "Are you Peter's doctor?"

"Doctor Richardson." Tall and lanky with silver-streaked hair and an open, friendly manner, the man shook hands with them all in turn. "I'm the staff psychologist."

"Psychologist?" Three voices blended as one as they started at this news.

"They said Peter had been in an accident," Egon said carefully. "Why would he need a psychologist?"

Dr. Richardson looked dismayed. "They really haven't told you anything, have they?"

Ray took a step forward, nearly elbowing Egon and Winston aside in the process, and looked like he was prepared to shake the information out of the doctor if necessary. "No one has told us anything, except that Peter was hurt. Somebody better tell us something NOW. What happened to our friend?"

Dr. Richardson held out his hands in a mute gesture of apology. "The truth is, gentlemen, we don't know what happened to him. He was brought in here a few hours ago by two policemen who found him wandering the streets in a daze. From appearances, it looked like he might have been mugged - he had some minor cuts and contusions, a lump on the back of his head the size of an egg, and he wasn't carrying any wallet or ID."

"A few hours ago?" Egon could scarcely contain his indignant anger. "Why weren't we called immediately ?"

Richardson looked at him with frank compassion. "You weren't called, Mr. Spengler, because we didn't know who he was-and neither did he."

Egon felt his mouth open, but nothing came out.

It was Winston who managed to say the words. "You mean he's got...amnesia?"

The psychologist nodded. "We didn't know who he was until one of the nurses who just came on duty recognized him. He doesn't know who he is, or what he is, or where he lives, or if he has any family..." The doctor looked frankly puzzled. "I've talked to him at length, and we've run him through a gamut of tests, but none of his injuries seem serious enough to account for such a complete memory loss."

Egon found his voice. "Then what...?"

"A severe traumatic experience could account for it."

Ray's eyes went wide with shock. "What kind of traumatic experience? What could have happened to him that was so awful it would make him blank out everything ?"

"I'm afraid we don't know that," Richardson said gently, "and Peter can't remember. He was completely disoriented when he was brought in. It took quite some time for me to even establish a dialogue with him."

Well, at least he hasn't forgotten how to be stubborn, Egon thought inanely. Then he gave himself an impatient mental shake. Keep it together, Egon. Now is no time to start losing it. Peter's in trouble, and he's going to need every one of us.

"But if he doesn't remember who he is..." Stantz's frantic eyes flew to Egon. "Does that mean he doesn't remember us , either?"

Egon turned a questioning gaze on the psychologist, although he was afraid he already knew the answer. "Doctor Richardson?"

"Yours will be the first familiar faces he's seen since he's been here," the doctor explained cautiously. "It's possible that seeing you might trigger some sort of memory."

Possible. In other words,Egon translated, don't count on it.

"Can we see him now?" Ray demanded impatiently.

The doctor's gray eyes lingered on each Ghostbuster in turn. "Only one of you at first. I'm sorry, but he's still a little rocky, as you can imagine. He's scared, confused...and we don't need to add to his anxiety. Three of you at once might be a little more than he can handle in his present emotional state."

The occultist's face fell, but he turned immediately to Egon. "You'd better go in, Egon. I'm not sure I could...you know."

Keep it together, Egon supplied silently. I know. I'm not sure I can, either.

"Ray's right, m'man," Winston said quietly. Clapping Egon on the shoulder, he forced a grin. "Go on in there and bring 'im back to us."

The physicist nodded, feeling his strained nerves quiver. "I'll do my best," he promised in a level voice. Turning to Richardson, he said hesitantly, "Doctor Venkman is a psychologist, as well. A very fine one." Richardson's eyebrows elevated slightly at this news. "Do you think that will help him in some way...?"

The doctor seemed to weigh his words carefully before replying. "Perhaps later. But I'm afraid right now, Doctor Venkman doesn't know what he knows." He tapped his own head. "It's all in there - the knowledge, the training, the expertise - but until he regains some sense of who he is and what he is, he has no way to tap into all that."

In other words, he might as well be a dry cleaner for all the good it's going to do him. Egon nodded, trying not to let his dismay show. "I see," was all he said.

"He's in Room 201. I'll take you there. We told him we were contacting some friends."

Not trusting himself to look at either Winston or Ray, Egon followed the psychologist down the hallway.

Egon stood in the open doorway of Room 201 and felt a nervous shiver run the length of his body. Across the room, his back to the door, stood Peter Venkman. The brown-haired man was staring out the window, his broad shoulders slumped, his hands hidden in his pants pockets, the picture of dejection.

Even from the back, Egon could see that his clothes were dirty and torn as if he had, indeed, been mugged, or in a street fight... or any one of a hundred other things that could happen to a person on the streets of New York. A traumatic experience, Dr. Richardson had said, traumatic enough to cause Peter to completely wipe out his entire lifetime of memories. Egon closed his eyes briefly. What did you get yourself into this time, Peter? And why did you have to go through it alone?

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Egon opened his eyes and stepped into the room. "Peter?"

The psychologist turned, and Egon had to steel himself not to flinch at the blank, lost look on the man's bruised face. Peter hadn't been responding to his name, that was clear; he had only been reacting to the sound of a voice in the room. In that instant, when his eyes locked with those confused green ones, the physicist felt his heart sink.

"I guess I'm supposed to know you, aren't I?" Peter was making a valiant effort to keep his voice steady, but Egon ached at the uncertainty he heard in the usually assured light tenor tone of his friend.

Somehow, he managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile and moved slowly across the room. Whatever had happened to Peter, it was obvious from his appearance that he had put up a fight; but right now he looked skittish enough to bolt at a wrong move. "Doctor Richardson was hoping I might be able to trigger some memory," he admitted carefully. He was aware of the dazed eyes studying him intently, then saw the disappointment settle on the lean face.

"They said they were going to call some of my friends..."

"Egon," he supplied. "And there are two more - Ray and Winston - waiting outside. The doctor felt it might be best if only one of us came in at first - he didn't want us to overwhelm you." Swallowing hard, he laid a light hand on the psychologist's arm. "You don't remember me at all, do you?" he asked gently.

The brown head shook slowly. "I'm sorry." Peter's voice was on the verge of breaking. "I know I should but-"

Egon's fingers tightened immediately. "Peter, it's all right," he said quickly. Richardson had warned him against upsetting Venkman. "You shouldn't-"

"Oh, that's right," the younger man interrupted with a tight, grim smile, "I'm not supposed to let myself get upset. Just because I can't remember who I am or what I am, or any part of my life except the last couple of hours in this hospital, that's no reason to get upset, is it?"

That touch of sarcasm was so familiar, the tone of Peter's voice so well-known to him, that Egon felt his face drain at the sudden realization that he was, in effect, a total stranger to this man. And with that realization came a surge of loneliness that was almost overwhelming. What if his condition wasn't temporary? What if they never got Peter - their Peter - back? What if they had really lost him for good?

"Hey. You okay?" Venkman was frowning slightly, a hint of worry in his green eyes. "You're awfully pale."

Egon had to force himself not to instinctively react to the concern on his friend's face. After all, it wasn't personal, he reminded himself. Regardless of how he felt about Peter - and how Peter, up to a few hours ago, had felt about him - he had to remember that those feelings, as far as Venkman was concerned, no longer existed. They were, in effect, starting over; and Egon realized he might have to prove himself all over again to win Peter's trust. It hadn't been that easy the first time around. He had learned early on that Peter Venkman wasn't a man who easily placed his trust in anyone. Given the man's emotional state right now, this time it might be even harder to penetrate the shell of self-protection Venkman wore like a suit of armor.

But remembering the beginnings of his friendship with the psychologist brought a crooked smile to his face. "I was just thinking," he said casually, "that if we don't get you back, I'm going to miss you." Raising a tapered finger, he pointed it at Venkman's surprised face. "And if you try to use that against me later," he said sternly, "I'll deny every word."

For a moment, the brown-haired man looked startled, and Egon held his breath. He and Peter had not become friends at first sight; it had taken time, persistence, and some fencing back and forth before they each finally discovered the man under the outward facade. And it had taken more time before their initial respect developed into a deep, lasting friendship. The very first thing they had both realized they had in common, Egon recalled, was a slightly off-beat sense of humor and sharp wit to match. It was their verbal sparring matches and one-up-manship contests that had first paved the way to that friendship. He had to know if something like that would still strike a chord in his friend.

Slowly, a tentative half-smile relieved the tension etched into Venkman's face. "How long have we been friends anyhow?"

Responding to the slight but definite shift in Peter's bearing, Spengler smiled. "Since college." At the question in his colleague's eyes, he added, "Columbia."

"Did I...graduate?"

"With two doctorates," Egon replied, and heard a touch of pride in his tone.

"Doctorates?"

"Psychology and parapsychology," he supplied, watching Venkman closely for his reaction.

The reaction was one of astonishment. "You mean I'm a... doctor?"

He nodded, remembering how Peter had always taken such pride in that achievement. "You earned the title," he affirmed.

The psychologist seemed to digest that for a moment, then turned away, once again staring out the window to the parking lot below. "No one's told me much of anything," he said tightly.

"Doctor Richardson thinks we shouldn't try to force too many memories," Egon explained uneasily. "He thinks we should let you try to remember on your own."

"What if I don't?"

The physicist chose not to answer that. "He said we could take you home, Peter. Maybe being back in familiar surroundings, back with your friends, will help."

"Home?" Venkman turned back, reluctant hope sparking in his dulled eyes.

Egon nodded. "Home," he repeated, with emphasis. "He said there's no real reason to keep you in the hospital. He doesn't believe your amnesia is a result of your physical injuries."

One brown eyebrow arched. "In other words, it's all in my head. Or rather..." The psychologist tapped his temple lightly, "It's not in my head." It was a pale imitation of his usual cocky style, but Egon felt a surge of admiration at the man's effort. There was a core of steel in Peter Venkman that not many people got to see. Egon had seen it on more than one occasion, and he still marveled at it.

But Venkman still hadn't responded to his offer to go back to the firehouse. "Peter," he said carefully, "if you don't want to come with us, we can make other arrangements..."

Something like panic flickered in the other man's eyes. "Other arrangements? What other arrangements?" Then, without giving Egon a chance to respond, a defensive mask slipped over Peter's features, acutely reminding Spengler of a side of Peter Venkman that he hadn't seen since college. "Look, don't feel obligated, okay? You don't have to play baby-sitter. I don't need anyone-"

"Yes, you do," the physicist interrupted, the combination of his frayed nerves and feeling of utter helplessness making him snap. "You need us - and we need you. Just because you don't remember that doesn't make it any less true." Forcing himself to stop and take a breath, he continued in a calmer tone. "We want you to come home with us. It's where you belong , Peter. But I don't want you to come unless you feel comfortable about it." Dropping one hand on the man's stiff shoulder, he gave it a brief squeeze. "We're asking you to trust us... which, in effect, is like asking you to trust three strangers. We would all understand if you-"

"I may not remember you...Egon," Peter said slowly, his intense eyes resting on the physicist's face, "but you don't feel like a stranger."

The blond man felt a genuine smile of relief spread across his lips. "I'm glad."

Venkman laughed shakily to break the tension and ran an unsteady hand through his tousled hair. "Do I act like a jerk all the time? Or just on alternate weekends?"

Egon's smile widened. "That would be telling," he said dryly. Then he glanced over his shoulder. "Ray and Winston are waiting outside. If it's all right, I'd like to bring them in. They're pretty worried."

He felt the younger man's shoulder quiver under his grip, but Peter nodded gamely. "Sure. The more the merrier."

Hesitating only an instant, Egon gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "I'll be right back."

"I'm not going anywhere," came a familiar light reply.

Smiling tightly at Peter's strained attempt at humor, Egon hurried back to where his two other colleagues were anxiously waiting. After a brief report on Peter's condition, and a gentle admonition to Ray not to expect too much from their reunion, he led them back to Venkman's room.

Peter was waiting for them by the window, tension once again apparent in his posture and the tight set of his jaw. Egon was reminded of a trapped animal ready to bolt. But to his relief - and certainly not to his surprise - it was Ray who broke the tension.

"Peter!" Bounding across the room, the occultist threw his arms around his friend in a fierce hug. "Everything's going to be okay, Peter. You'll see. Everything's going to be fine."

Venkman's eyes sought out Egon over Stantz's shoulder, and the physicist saw a mixture of helplessness and surprise there. It took a few moments, but slowly the wariness faded from the psychologist's drawn face as he hesitantly returned the embrace. Not for the first time, Egon silently blessed Ray Stantz's enthusiastic display of affection for the people in his life. More than anything right now, Peter needed assurance that there were people who cared about him and wanted to help him through this. If Ray couldn't convey that with his open and unselfconscious display of friendship, then they didn't stand a chance.

"Sure it will..." Peter threw Egon a questioning look, and the physicist mouthed, 'Ray.' "Ray."

The auburn-haired man drew back, his eyes shining. "You do remember! You knew my name-"

Venkman shook his head regretfully. "No, I didn't. Egon told me." When Ray's face fell, he added quickly, "I'm sorry. I know I should remember you, but-"

Quickly covering his disappointment with a smile, Ray shook his head. "That's okay, Pete. You will remember." He gave the man another quick embrace. "And we're going to help you."

Something like a smile warmed the despondent emerald eyes and, for the first time, Egon saw a spark of hope there. That's it, Peter, he cheered silently, allowing himself his own first measure of hope. That's the first step. Just let us in.

"Hey, homeboy."

Peter turned at the sound of the soft voice. "By process of elimination, you must be Winston, right?"

Everyone in that room realized what an effort it was taking for Peter to hold it all together at that point, and Winston came through with a broad, warm smile. "That's right, m'man." Stepping closer, he engulfed the younger man in a careful bearhug. "And don't think this means I'm going to forget about that twenty bucks you owe me."

That drew a shaky laugh from the brown-haired man.

Stepping back, Winston let his hands rest on Venkman's shoulders, his smile fading as he studied the bruises on his face and the damage to his clothes. "Man," he breathed softly, "what'd the other guy look like?"

"Wish I knew," Peter retorted with a tight, humorless smile. "I'd like to return the favor."

"Egon says we can take you home," Ray said eagerly. "You'll feel a lot better after a hot shower and some sleep. And maybe after you see everything..." Stantz let his voice trail off, his eyes blinking furiously.

Peter let his gaze travel from one to the other, and Egon cringed inwardly at the blankness that had settled once again in the man's eyes. "Just where is...home?"

Smiling softly, Egon gave Venkman's shoulder a little encouraging squeeze. "That is going to take a little explaining," he said dryly. "But if it's all right with you, we'll do the explaining on the way. I think the sooner we get you out of here, the sooner we start getting you back."

Something like gratitude flickered across the psychologist's face, and he nodded. "Then let's go," he said firmly. And in that instant, Egon noted with relief, he sounded every inch the Peter Venkman they all knew.

With Winston driving - in a much saner manner than he had earlier - Egon and Ray sat in the back of Ecto with Peter and carefully filled him in on their chosen profession. It was true that Dr. Richardson felt Peter should try to remember as much as he could on his own, but Egon had argued that they couldn't simply let him walk into the firehouse without any preparation. Finding out you were a Ghostbuster wasn't exactly the same as waking up to discover you were an accountant.

Peter met the news that he busted ghosts for a living first with disbelief, then skepticism, then growing interest. By the time they reached Ghostbuster Central, Venkman had asked a number of pertinent and perceptive questions, which Egon greeted with mixed emotions. On the one hand, it was something of a relief to have the psychologist accept the details of his professional life with such aplomb; on the other hand, it was disconcerting-and painful-to hear the man who had helped form the Ghostbusters ask questions about things Peter Venkman had known for years.

Across from him, he could see the same turmoil that he was feeling reflected on Ray's open face. He realized suddenly that he was almost as worried about Ray as he was Peter. The youngest member of the team was no more worried than any of them about their friend, but he was probably the least equipped to deal with it. As if any of us are equipped to deal with this. Spengler pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, trying to fight down the anger that kept wanting to build up inside him. Who could have done this to Peter? And why? And how ? And how long had he been out there wandering the streets, dazed and hurt, while they slept, oblivious, in their beds...

"This is it, Pete. We're home."

Winston's announcement pulled Egon out of his dismal thoughts. The physicist kept his eyes on Venkman as he slowly climbed out of the old ambulance and stood in the firehouse, turning slowly, his eyes desperately sweeping everything in sight. Ray stayed by his side, hovering anxiously.

"Recognize anything, Peter?" Stantz asked hopefully. He either hadn't seen, or refused to accept, the frustration reflected on the bruised face.

"Wish I did," Peter said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Doctor Venkman?"

The thin, unnaturally soft voice of Janine Melnitz caused Peter to turn. Egon had called her from the hospital, as promised, while Winston was bringing the car around, and explained Peter's condition.

Seeing her now, hesitantly approaching the psychologist, only rekindled Egon's anger. None of this was right! Janine and Peter sparred back and forth like blood siblings, but underneath all the bluster and pretend-animosity they had developed a deep affection. Now Janine looked frightened, and Peter simply looked lost.

"Janine." The woman held out her hand, somehow managing to keep her voice steady. "I'm the secretary here." Then, helplessly, "You hired me."

Accepting her hand, Peter shook it. "Then you must be good," he said lightly. But the tremor underlying his tone warned Egon that it was all starting to overwhelm him.

Slipping quickly to the psychologist's side, he gripped his arm lightly. "Ray, why don't you take Peter upstairs?" he suggested casually. "I think some rest-"

"Pee-terrr!"

The rapturous cry brought Egon's head sharply up. "Janine, I thought I told you to-"

"I tried, Egon, but I couldn't find him."

"Slimer, no!" Too late. The green ghost dived for Peter, his skinny arms held out in front of him. Egon turned to try to pull Peter out of the way, but froze when he saw the man's face go deathly white. "Peter?"

With a cry that broke his voice, Venkman pulled out of Egon's grasp and spun away, almost knocking Ray over. Stunned, the occultist made a reflexive grab for him, but missed. Throwing his hands over his head as if to protect himself, Peter threw himself into the wall. "No! Get off! Get off!" Bouncing off the wall, Peter determinedly plowed into it again, seemingly oblivious to the damage he was doing to his already battered body. "Can't breathe! Get off!"

Ray got to him first, planting his stocky form behind the frantic man and wrapping his arms around his chest, locking his hands in an iron grip. But even with his weight advantage, he was hard pressed to pull Venkman far enough away from the wall to stop him from slamming himself back into it.

"Winston!" Egon yelled. "Get Slimer out of here!"

In the surrounding pandemonium, Egon was only dimly aware of the black man grabbing the horrified green ghost and pulling him out of the room. Ray had managed to wrestle the struggling psychologist to the floor, but Peter was still trying to wrench his body out of the occultist's grip.

"Get off! Can't breathe! Can't breathe!" It was barely a whisper now, a desperate, hoarse cry for help, and Egon dropped down in front of him. Venkman's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, tears sliding out from under the lids, his head shaking in denial. "Please...please...please..." Then, a scream. "NO!"

"Peter." Forcing the steadiness in his own voice, Egon placed his hands on either side of the psychologist's face, holding his twisting head still with an effort. "Peter," he repeated firmly, "listen to me. It's over. It's over now. It's gone. Can you hear me? It's gone ." Venkman's head almost pulled out of his grip. "Peter!" His voice sharpened. "Open your eyes and look at me. Open your eyes!"

A part of the psychologist that was still Peter Venkman responded to the authoritative bass voice of the man who had first won his hard-earned trust so many years ago. The tightly closed eyes flickered, then blinked open. Venkman's eyes held the glassy stare of a man caught in a nightmare, and Egon swallowed hard.

"Peter." His voice was soft now, cajoling. "It's over. Everything's all right. Can you hear me? It's over now." Gently, he reached out to brush the sweaty brown hair out of the man's eyes. "Please, Peter," he whispered. "Talk to me."

Slowly, the glassiness faded from the emerald eyes and awareness began to return to the pale face. "What...happened?"

Glancing up, Egon saw Ray's eyes were wide with alarm. In the background, he could hear Janine sobbing. He forced his gaze back to the confused face of the psychologist. If he lost his composure now, he knew he would never regain it. "We're not sure," he said carefully, and eased back on his knees, giving Peter some space. He nodded at Ray, who slowly unlocked his hands from around the stricken man's chest, but did not move away. "Apparently Slimer - we told you about Slimer, remember? - triggered some sort of reaction."

Venkman wiped at his face with a shaking hand. "More like a full-blown anxiety attack," he muttered. Then he dropped his head and pressed the heels of his palms tightly against his eyes. "God, I'm sorry. I feel like such a-"

"It's okay, Peter." Ray had transferred his hands to Venkman's shoulders and began gently massaging the tight muscles there. "It's okay. It's over now. Just try to relax." Ray's cheerful tone was painfully forced. "Slimer could do that to anybody. Guess we should've told you how much he loved you, huh?"

But over the bowed brown head, Egon and the occultist exchanged an uneasy look.

It was at that moment that Winston ran back into the room. He took one look at the expressions on the scientist's faces and came to an immediate conclusion: Egon and Ray knew something, or suspected something, or at least had an idea of what just went on here. That was more than he had; all he knew for sure was that from the grim looks on their faces, it wasn't good. But he also knew what he had to do.

"Come on, Pete, m'man," he said easily, pulling the psychologist carefully to his feet. "Let's get you upstairs so I can take a look at that arm and make sure you didn't pull out any stitches." He had tracked down the Emergency Room doctor who had treated Peter and gotten a full run-down of his injuries. It hadn't been anything serious, but he was carrying around some stitches in his left arm from a nasty, jagged cut.

"Stitches?" Ray paled. "Peter, I didn't know - I hope I didn't hurt you - I'm sorry-"

Venkman turned to the younger man with a faint, quizzical smile. "Hey, take it easy. You weren't the one trying to turn his body into a racquetball. That dubious honor is all mine." Then he looked at Egon, his smile still intact, but tightening. Winston could feel him trembling under his light grip. "Do I always act like that when I see a ghost?"

"No," Egon replied, an odd note to his voice, "you don't."

"Good thing," Peter said brightly, "considering the line of work I'm in." But his voice was a little too bright, his effort at nonchalance a little too palpable. Peter Venkman was standing right on the edge of completely losing it.

"Come on, homeboy." Winston slipped his arm around the too-stiff shoulders and gently led him away. "Let's get you cleaned up and tucked away."

Egon and Ray could hear his light tenor as Winston steered him upstairs. "Sure you guys haven't latched onto a crazy person here?"

Winston's soft chuckle carried back to them. "I've been wonderin' that myself for the last few years, Pete."

Once they were out of earshot, Ray rounded on Egon. "Egon, what happened here?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Raymond," the physicist answered slowly. "Did you hear what he was saying?"

"Something about... he couldn't breathe. He kept yelling for Slimer to get off him - but Slimer never touched him!"

"I don't think he was referring to Slimer."

"Then what-"

Egon peered at the younger man over his glasses, his tone somber. "I think it was more of a... flashback. I believe Slimer's sudden appearance may have triggered some sort of memory."

"But what-" Ray broke off suddenly, his face draining. "You mean you think - Egon, you don't think some entity did this to him, do you? You don't think he's possessed or-"

"I don't know what to think," Spengler replied honestly. "All I know is that reaction from Peter was completely out of character. In fact..." He frowned to himself. "Everything about this feels wrong somehow. You and I have known Peter since college. We've both seen him through situations that would have sent lesser men screaming into the night. But he came through them intact - and stronger. It's not like him to withdraw like this. His reaction to any situation has always been to meet it head-on."

"But we don't know what might have happened to him," Ray insisted, a little too quickly. "It didn't have to be a non-corporeal encounter to cause such emotional damage. Everybody has his breaking point - even Peter."

Egon gazed at the occultist for several seconds, studying the shadows in the hazel eyes. "Ray," was all he said, his tone very gentle.

The auburn-haired man looked away hastily. "I just can't stand to think of Peter being out there all alone and something - some ghost or spirit or entity - swooping down on him and doing that to him! If that's what happened-" His voice caught. "How are we ever going to get him back? What if that - that - thing, whatever it was, really took Peter away? What if-"

"Ray." His own voice dangerously strained, Egon laid a calming hand on the younger man's arm. "The first step is to start getting some answers." Stantz gazed at him, his eyes pleading for a solution, and Egon felt his voice firming. "We are going to do everything in our power - everything - to get Peter back, whole and well. And we start now."

To the physicist's relief, some of Stantz's anxiety seemed to drain away and the stocky man pulled himself up a little straighter, his tone resolute. "Then let's do it."

As they turned away, they both saw Janine still standing off to the side, her face wet with tears. "I'd better go see about Slimer," she said in a tremulous voice. "He must be pretty upset." Then she abruptly turned and ran from the room.

Egon hesitated, torn between what he vaguely saw as his duty of going after her to try to offer some comfort and his very real anxiety over Peter. It was Ray who made the decision for him.

"I think she needs to be alone for a while," he said quietly. "Come on," he urged, tugging at the physicist's arm, "let's go see to Peter."

Winston got to his feet as soon as he heard Egon and Ray in the doorway and walked over to join them. Across the room, they could see Peter lying on his side, cover pulled up to his chin so that only his tousled hair and pale face showed. For the first time since Egon had seen him that morning, he looked relaxed and peaceful.

"He never even made it to the shower," Winston whispered. "I think he was asleep before his head hit the pillow."

"Is he okay?" Ray asked anxiously.

"He might've added a few new bruises to his collection, but nothing serious." The black man's eyes narrowed as he spotted the PKE meter in Egon's hand. "Egon..."

"We have to know, Winston," the physicist said shortly, and moved past him to walk over to Peter's bed. Hesitating only an instant, he switched the unit on and slowly passed it over the sleeping man's body, his mouth tightening as he noted the readings. He took a second reading just in case, although he knew he hadn't misread anything, then switched off the machine and walked back to the doorway.

"Well?" Ray couldn't contain his impatience. "Is he-"

"He's not possessed," Egon said flatly.

There was a hearty sigh of relief from the two other men. "Well, all right," Winston murmured. "That's one for our side."

"Not really." Egon's somber blue eyes rested on each one of them for a moment. "Peter has been in contact with at least a Class Seven - maybe an Eight - within the last several hours. The readings are minimal, but definite. There's no mistake."

"Then - then, it was some sort of non-corporeal contact that did this to him." Ray looked like he was going to be sick. "Peter ran into something supernatural out there that did this to him."

The blond man nodded. "I'm afraid so," he said heavily.

"Aw, man." Winston turned away, swiping at the air. "What kind of ghost does something like this?"

"That's what we need to find out," Egon said crisply. "Ray, you and I have some research to do. Winston..." He waited until the black man turned back. "Do you know who Peter had his date with last night?" For the life of him, Egon couldn't remember. Venkman was always going on some date or other, and his girl friends usually didn't last more than a few weeks at a time. Spengler had stopped trying to keep them straight some time ago.

"Doris," Zeddemore said with a frown. "Debbie or Donna or - Donna! That's it! Donna MacKenzie! She works at that research lab where we had the bust last week."

The physicist nodded, remembering the Class Three they had trapped but not the girl. "Do you think you can track her down, Winston? Maybe she has some answers about what happened last night."

"You think she's involved?" Ray asked.

"Probably not. But she may have seen something or heard something. At least she can narrow down the time when Peter left her and perhaps give us some direction as to where he was when he was attacked. That's more than we have now."

"I'm on it," Zeddemore announced, and left.

"Ray-"

"Research," Ray interrupted. "I know. But I still don't know what we're looking for. I never heard of any kind of entity that could do..." His shadowed eyes rested on Peter. "...that."

"Just because we never heard of one doesn't mean it doesn't exist," Egon pointed out reasonably. Besides, he had to do something - anything - besides just sitting around and worrying. And if he didn't get his mind focused - fast - that's exactly what he would be doing.

The occultist's face was tight with his own worry. "I know," he said softly. "But I really hope you're wrong, Egon. Because if you're right..."

If he was right, it meant they may have lost the Peter Venkman they had known and lived with and worked with all these years. If Peter's mind was merely reacting defensively to some traumatic encounter he had suffered by shutting off his memories then, with time and care and counseling, there was a good chance they could eventually work past the blockage. But if some unknown entity had actually attacked him and drained his mind of his memories of his life and friends... In that case, Peter would be left in a vacuum permanently; and they would be left without Peter.

"I know," was all he said.

Ray's eyes had never left the sleeping man, and he frowned now with nagging worry. "I don't like leaving him alone."

Egon's face softened as he turned his gaze on their colleague, as well. "I think he's too exhausted to wake up any time soon, but we'll check on him every half hour, just to make sure. I don't want him waking up alone."

"We'll have Janine sit with him," the occultist decided suddenly. "I know she'll feel better knowing she's doing something to help, and I'll feel better knowing someone's with him." Nodding approval to himself for the idea, he turned and left to find their secretary.

Egon found himself smiling as he followed his younger friend out the door. With people who cared this much, they had to get Peter Venkman back. They just had to.

It was mid-afternoon when Winston finally returned to the firehouse. He headed for the lab first. One look inside told him all he needed to know: Egon was still hunched over the computerized Tobin's, his angled face tight with concentration, and Ray had reference books spread out all over the table, his auburn hair in disarray from the number of times he had run his fingers through it. Silently, Winston withdrew.

He went to the dorm next to check on Peter. Janine was sitting in a chair near the bed, listlessly turning the pages of a magazine. She managed a meager smile when he came in, reported that Peter hadn't moved a muscle since he fell asleep, and politely refused his offer to take over for a while. "It's not much," she whispered, her eyes on the sleeping psychologist, "but it's something I can do." Winston nodded his understanding - he felt that way a little bit himself - gave her a hug and went back downstairs.

Twenty minutes later, he was back in the lab. "Ray. Egon."

Two heads snapped up.

"Winston." Egon's glasses had practically slipped down to the end of his nose, and he pushed them back up automatically. "Did you learn anything?"

"I'll tell you over lunch. From the looks of the kitchen, you two didn't bother to eat, did you?"

"I'm not really hungry-"

"I really don't believe I care for anything-"

"Look, guys." Winston stepped into the room and leveled a deadly serious gaze at both of them. "We're all worried about Pete. But we can't take care of him if we don't take care of ourselves. You need a break and you need to eat. Now I've got sandwiches and a salad waiting, so let's go."

Spengler looked over at the occultist. Ray's eyes were puffy, and there were little lines of strain engraved into his youthful face, but he looked like he was ready to argue the point about taking a break. "Winston's right, Ray," he said in his quiet bass. "A half an hour to regroup, then we get back to work. Besides... we need to hear Winston's report."

It was that, Egon suspected, and nothing else that persuaded Ray to drop the book he had been poring through. "All right," he agreed, rubbing his eyes. "Half an hour."

"Did you find Peter's date, Winston?" Egon demanded as Zeddemore set a plate of chicken salad sandwiches on the table between the two scientists.

Winston dropped into his chair with a sigh. "Yeah, I found her, and I talked to her."

"And?" Ray prompted impatiently.

"And, she and Peter went to a museum last night."

Egon's blue eyes widened in disbelief. "Peter took his date to a museum ?"

The black man grinned. "More like his date took him . Donna's brother works at the museum. There was some kind of special private showing last night of Aztec artifacts and her brother invited Donna, and she dragged Peter along."

A little frown gathered Egon's blond brows. "What kind of Aztec artifacts?"

Zeddemore shrugged. "I don't know. Donna's a biology research assistant and she's not into Mexican antiquities. To her it just looked like, quote unquote, a bunch of old clay pots and ugly little stone statues. But she said we could talk to her brother if you think it'll help."

"But what happened last night, Winston?" Ray pressed testily. "Did she see anything unusual or hear anything-"

" Nothing happened last night, Ray," Winston returned quietly. "She said they spent enough time at the exhibit to be polite, then left. But nothing unusual happened." He poked at his salad. "She did say Pete was kind of interested in one of the statues-"

"What?" Egon asked, immediately alert. "Peter Venkman was interested in an Aztec statue?"

"That's what the lady said. But, Egon, nothing happened . She and Pete walked out of there and went to a movie. She said Peter was fine. He took her back to her apartment around midnight, then left."

"And that's it?" Ray's face reflected his disappointment. He hadn't touched his sandwich, and Winston silently edged the plate a little closer to the occultist.

"That's it," he answered, with a meaningful frown at the younger man's plate. "I parked Ecto at Donna's apartment building and walked the route Pete would have taken..." He shook his head, scowling. "But I didn't find anything."

"That was a good idea, Winston," Egon told him approvingly, absently holding his untouched sandwich.

"Would've been better if I'd've found something useful," Winston muttered.

Egon took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully. "Perhaps you did."

Ray's hazel eyes were studying Spengler intently. "You think something happened at that exhibit, don't you?"

"What I think," the physicist said slowly, "is that we cannot afford to overlook anything-no matter how trivial or unrelated the incident may seem." He looked at Winston. "I want to see that exhibit, and I need to talk to Donna MacKenzie's brother."

"We can do both this afternoon," Winston returned immediately. "Donna wants to help any way she can. She's already called her brother, and he said he can see you today."

The blond man got to his feet. "Good. Then we can leave-"

"-as soon as you've finished lunch," Zeddemore interrupted firmly.

Egon opened his mouth, then, uncharacteristically, closed it again and sat back down. "As soon as we finish lunch," he agreed, and picked up his barely-touched sandwich. Disregarding everything his mother ever told him about properly chewing his food, he sped through his meal in record time.

Egon shook hands with the bearded man who was Donna MacKenzie's brother and curator for Mexican antiquities at the museum. "Doctor Spengler, it's a pleasure. Mr. Zeddemore told me what happened to Peter. I hope he's going to be all right." Winston had told Brian MacKenzie that Venkman had been mugged on his way home last night and that they were trying to piece together his movements in order to try to help him remember what happened. "Peter and I talked at some length last night about a variety of subjects." The curator grinned suddenly. "He has some very interesting views on some things."

Egon felt himself smiling. "Yes," he said softly, "that would be Peter."

"I'll be glad to help you any way I can. I understand you'd like to see the exhibit..."

"Yes, and your sister said there was one statue in particular that seemed to draw Peter's interest."

MacKenzie's face brightened with enthusiasm. "Ah, yes, that would be Xentol."

"Xentol?" Egon repeated blankly.

"One of the Aztecs' many gods of death. They were quite into human sacrifice, you know. Xentol was a minor deity, really, but the piece is so well preserved that it makes quite a coup for the museum. It's carved of jade and-"

"-and perhaps I could see it now," Egon interrupted politely, trying to curb his growing impatience.

The other man grinned abashedly. "Sorry. I tend to get carried away in my work sometimes."

"So does Egon," Winston put in, clapping the physicist on the back. "We just ignore him."

"Hmm," was Egon's only comment as they followed MacKenzie to the exhibit.

Egon Spengler stood in front of the squat jade figure of Xentol, god of death, and tried to imagine what about it had captured Peter Venkman's interest. Peter's idea of art was a Playboy centerfold; and the only sculpture he had ever showed any interest in was an ice sculpture of a well-endowed female nude at one of his fraternity's notorious parties. Egon saw nothing here in this statue of an Aztec death god that would snare his friend's attention.

Bending closer to the exhibit, he squinted. "There seems to be some sort of writing around the base," he muttered.

"Very observant, Doctor Spengler." MacKenzie was positively beaming. "Most people miss that entirely. Yes, it's one of the things that make this piece unique. We believe that was added later-much later. We date the writing at least a century after the statue was carved."

"Indeed. Is that unusual?"

"Most unusual."

"It's a warning," Egon murmured to himself.

MacKenzie's eyes widened in new respect. "You can read that?"

The physicist looked at him over his glasses. "Of course," he replied matter-of-factly. "But some of the carving is indistinct. I can't quite make out..."

"It's a warning not to remove the statue from its resting place," MacKenzie supplied.

"Which was where?" Spengler pressed.

The curator's face went appropriately blank. "Officially, I don't know." When Egon fixed him with a severe look, he sighed. "Unofficially, a cave in the Valley of Mexico. I can't tell you any more, Doctor, I'm sorry. The museum cannot release information regarding the acquisition of artifacts-"

"Of course not," Egon interrupted. He frowned at the statue in contemplative silence. "When did the museum acquire this piece, Mr. MacKenzie?"

"It's a recent acquisition-"

The physicist's head shot up. "Define 'recent'."

If MacKenzie was taken back by Spengler's abrupt manner, he didn't show it. "Very recent. It was a stroke of luck we received it just in time for the exhibit last night."

Spengler's frown deepened, then suddenly vanished. He stuck out his hand. "Thank you, Mr. MacKenzie. You've been a great help."

The bearded man looked surprised. "I have?"

Zeddemore looked no less surprised. "He has?"

"Yes," Egon said cryptically. "Winston, we need to get back to headquarters. We have work to do."

Ray stacked the last of the lunch dishes in the sink, then turned to head back to the lab. The dishes could wait; his research couldn't. He had just reached the stairway when Janine's frantic voice from upstairs reached him.

"Ray! Ray!"

Turning, he sprinted up the steps, almost colliding with the secretary as she bolted out of the dorm. "Janine, what-"

"It's Peter!" Her face pale and frightened, she motioned behind her. "I think he's having a nightmare. I-I can't wake him-"

"All right, all right," Ray broke in, amazed at how calm he sounded. "I'll take care of him." Squeezing her shoulder, he managed a reassuring smile as he hurried by. "Don't worry."

Stantz skidded to a halt as soon as he was inside the door, his eyes widening in dismay. The psychologist was lying on his back, completely rigid, hands clenched, his entire body drenched in sweat. His breath was coming in harsh, laboring pants as if he had to fight for every breath, and pitiful little moans escaped his lips.

"My God," Ray whispered. Rushing over to the bed, he dropped down beside the stiff form and, mindful of how Peter had reacted earlier, took a firm hold on his arms. "Peter. Peter, wake up," he ordered, careful to keep his voice calm and steady. "Come on, Peter. It's over now. It's a dream. I want you to wake up." But whatever nightmare had captured Venkman was reluctant to let go. As his distress seemed to heighten, Ray braced himself and gave the man a sharp, quick shake. "Wake up."

Suddenly the psychologist gave a hoarse cry and came off the mattress, his eyes popping open in alarm. But Ray was ready and caught him in a tight embrace. "It's okay, Peter," he murmured soothingly. "It was just a dream. It's okay. It's over. I'm here. I'm here."

For long moments, the shaking man laid against his sturdy chest, drawing in deep, ragged gulps of air as if he couldn't fill his lungs fast enough. Ray was reminded of the time a couple of years ago when Peter had been buried alive on a job. They had been chasing a Class Three at a quarry when Peter had disappeared in a mound of gravel. They had dug frantically for him, but had barely reached him in time to save him from asphyxiation. Venkman had had nightmares about it for almost two weeks afterward, and Ray had coaxed him out of more than one sweat-drenched dream. Recalling that now, and remembering how close they had come that time to losing him, the occultist tightened his grip protectively around the man. "I'm here, Peter. Everything's okay now."

After a moment, he heard the psychologist take a deep, unsteady breath, then slowly pull away. Stantz loosened his grip and dipped his head to peer into the cloudy eyes. "Okay now?" he asked softly.

Perhaps not trusting himself to speak, Venkman nodded hesitantly.

"That must have been some nightmare," Ray continued in the same soft tone. "Do you remember what it was about?" He hated asking, and hated it even more when he saw the flicker of fear in the emerald eyes, but he wouldn't allow himself to withdraw the question. If it helped shed any light on what had happened to Peter, they had to know.

Peter started to speak, then stopped. Closing his eyes for a moment, he frowned slightly, then gave his head an impatient shake. "I don't know. All I can remember are... vague impressions..."

When he didn't continue, Ray began massaging his shoulders very lightly. "Impressions of what?" he pressed gently.

Underneath his hands, he felt a shudder pass through the slender frame. "Smothering," was the mumbled answer. "Couldn't breathe."

Stantz's jaw tightened as he remembered Venkman's panic attack earlier. He didn't like the trend he was seeing. But he hid his misgivings under a forced smile. "I think maybe a hot shower and a hot meal might be in order right about now. What do you think?"

Venkman pushed his damp hair off his forehead. "Right now, I think anything would be better than going back to sleep," he said vehemently. Meeting Ray's eyes for the first time, and perhaps seeing the concern there, the psychologist managed a shadow of his usual ready smile. "Point me to that shower."

Peter Venkman. Peter Venkman. Peter Venkman. He must have said the name over and over in his mind a hundred times hoping that, just one time, he could make some sort of connection between the name and himself. But no bells rang. Nothing clicked. Nothing dropped into place. As far as he could tell, there was no connection. His name might as well be Martha Washington for all it meant to him. But it certainly meant something to the people around him.

Glancing up from his position on the sofa, he surreptitiously studied the three men surrounding him. They had spent most of the evening after dinner going through scrapbooks of the Ghostbusters and watching videos of interviews and news reports of their exploits. And prominent in all those photos and all those interviews was Peter Venkman. It was weird-worse than weird, really, it was downright scary-to see yourself doing things you couldn't remember with people you couldn't remember.

Winston was sitting in a chair off to the side, drinking a soda and throwing an occasional look in his direction. Peter had the feeling he was under constant, vigilant observation by this man and Zeddemore was very, very good at not letting it show. The thought didn't bother him though; in fact, it was kind of reassuring. The black man was pretty laid back, but seemed to give out a silent message that he was there, if and when he was needed. That was kind of nice to know.

Then there was Egon. He was sitting at his desk nearby, seemingly lost in some thick book...but he hadn't turned a page in the last fifteen minutes. There was a sort of calmness to Egon Spengler, a quiet strength that seemed to reach out to everyone around him. He felt comfortable around Spengler; if Egon told him everything was going to be all right - even if it looked hopeless - his first instinct would be to believe him. Glancing over at him now, he caught the physicist gazing at him. Egon immediately offered a small, encouraging smile, which he returned in kind. But there was a sadness behind the older man's smile, a wistfulness in his blue eyes that seemed out of place.

And then there was Ray Stantz. Ray was beside him on the sofa. The guy hadn't left his side since he bringing him downstairs and making him a meal of pancakes and bacon. ("It's your favorite, Peter.") Since then, Ray had been hovering close by, talking a blue streak, calling up every event (so it seemed) in their shared lives together in the hopes of jogging a memory.

His head was beginning to thump painfully, but he managed a meager smile as the younger man dropped yet another photo album in his lap with a hopeful smile.

"These are from Columbia, Peter. They go way back."

His mouth curled slightly as he scanned the photos of younger versions of Egon, Ray and himself. "Looks like we do, too."

"We do."

He looked up quickly at the sound of the too-soft retort, then looked away again when he saw the pain in the other man's eyes. This was almost worse than Winston's ever-vigilant concern and Egon's silent desolation. Ray looked so... hurt. And he looked positively devastated every time he held out a memory and got no response.

Suddenly it was all too much for him. His head was pounding, he felt pressed in on all sides. He couldn't look at one more photograph or watch one more video, couldn't hear one more story or anecdote, couldn't bear to see the disappointment in Ray's eyes... He slammed the photo album shut, his frayed temper exploding. "Damn it, don't you think I'd remember if I could! You think I like this any better than you do? I can't try any harder! I just can't remember !"

"Whoa, Pete." Zeddemore was out of his chair in an instant, Spengler right behind him.

Stantz's hazel eyes were wide with consternation. "Peter, I didn't mean - of course, we don't think - I'm sorry-"

"Ray was only trying to help, Peter." Egon had laid one hand on the occultist's shoulder to stop his stammering apology. "But perhaps we've all been trying a little too hard. I don't believe you've fully recovered yet-"

He shook his head mutely, feeling miserable and totally disgusted with himself. "No, no, it's not you. It's me. You're all trying so hard, but I just can't..." Dropping his head, he threaded his fingers in his thick hair. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I had no right to pop off like that. Not after everything you guys have been doing for me. I'm such a jerk ." He felt an arm slide across his shoulders and hesitantly turned his head to look at the auburn-haired man.

"You're our friend ," Ray corrected gently.

"Who is sometimes a jerk," Winston put in dryly.

"But we've learned to live with that," Egon added, in what would have been taken as a serious tone if not for the twinkle in his eyes.

That coaxed a smile out of him, and the rest of them grinned in return. Deliberately, he turned to Ray and clapped the younger man on the knee. "I am sorry, Ray," he said sincerely. And he was. 'Jerk' didn't begin to describe the kind of person who would yell at a kid like Ray, who was only trying to help. "I didn't mean-"

"I know that, Peter." Ray produced the first genuine smile he had seen on the youthful face all day. "It's been a long day."

"Maybe a little too long." He looked up at the sound of Winston's thoughtful voice. "Headache, Pete?"

He wondered if he was that transparent, or whether these guys really knew him that well. "Sort of," he admitted. Only about the size of the Grand Canyon.

Zeddemore nodded. "You took a pretty solid knock to the head last night. Maybe you should take a couple of aspirin and try to get some sleep."

At the mention of sleep, he felt himself unconsciously tense, then felt Ray's arm tighten fractionally around his shoulders. With the memory of that nightmare so fresh in his mind - just about the only memory in his mind - he wasn't exactly keen on a repeat performance. But he was pretty wiped out; in fact, he was bordering on exhaustion. Nodding, he pushed himself to his feet. "Maybe I should. Guess I'll see you guys in the morning."

Winston clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "We'll be here."

"Sleep well, Peter."

But he didn't leave at once. Something held him back. As he stood surrounded by three people he couldn't remember, but who obviously cared deeply about him, he felt a terrible loneliness, a longing that was almost unbearable. He wanted so desperately to belong , to be a part of this team, a part of their friendship. The photos, the tapes, the scrapbooks all told him he was a part of it and had been for years... but inside all he felt was an empty ache. How could you be a part of something you couldn't remember? It had all been his once, and now was gone - maybe forever. If he had to start over, what guarantee was there that he would develop into the same personality they all loved?

His gaze rested briefly on Egon Spengler, and he recalled their encounter at the hospital. He had been scared, defensive, disoriented, ready to bolt at a wrong word or move... but Egon had walked into his life, offering friendship, reassurance and direction - in short, giving him a lifeline, a guide to lead him back to who he was and what he had been. He realized suddenly that even if he never remembered anything else about Egon, he would always be grateful to him for that, and he would always treasure that memory.

He thought about Winston Zeddemore, too, and how the man always seemed to be around to offer his own kind of support. Zeddemore was a surprisingly gentle man, but something in his dark eyes hinted that he had seen worlds the others hadn't. He wasn't a scientist like the other two, but Zeddemore had his own brand of smarts which Peter discovered he could relate to and appreciate.

He sensed Ray getting to his feet to stand by his elbow, and he smiled faintly. He would never forget the sight of this man bounding across the hospital room and throwing his arms around him in open relief. He had been a little wary at first of Ray's outward displays of affection, but in a short time had come to realize it was simply a part of Stantz's nature... and that it was kind of nice. It was obvious the friendship he had shared with Ray was something deep and precious, and he found himself worrying about how his inability to remember that might affect this sensitive and caring man.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he let his eyes sweep over the three faces of the men surrounding him, noting the concern on each. He would give anything, anything ... "I really wish I could remember you all," he whispered, then abruptly turned and bolted for the door.

He was aware of Ray following him to the doorway, and stopped when the younger man touched his arm. "I'll come up to check on you in a little while if you'd like, Peter. To make sure everything's okay."

The automatic protest was almost out of his mouth before he stopped himself. Ray was so eager to help, his concern almost palpable. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt him again... and besides, if that nightmare hit again, it would be kind of nice knowing there would be someone around to pull him out of it. And it so happened that another one of the very few memories in his head was of Stantz's calm, reassuring voice coaxing him away from the Nightmare from Hell...and of the freely-given solace the man had offered afterwards.

"I'd like that, Ray."

Stantz's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "I'll be up in a little while." Impulsively, the occultist threw an arm around his shoulders and gave him an encouraging squeeze. "It'll be okay, Peter. I just know it." Then, still smiling, he turned and walked back into the living room.

He watched Stantz for a moment, then slowly made his way upstairs. "I wish I had your faith, kid," he murmured. "I wish I had your faith."

Egon listened to the exchange between Peter and Ray in silence, but looked questioningly at the younger man when he stepped back into the room.

Ray saw the look and glanced over his shoulder to make sure Venkman had left before he answered. "He had a nightmare while you were gone," he explained. "A pretty bad one. I thought it might be a good idea if I checked on him later."

Spengler nodded approval. "A very good idea, Ray." Then he frowned thoughtfully. "Did he say what the nightmare was about?"

Ray sighed as he dropped down onto the sofa and began gathering up the scattered photo albums and video tapes. "All he could remember was that he couldn't breathe."

"Hmm." The physicist walked back to his desk and slowly sank down into his chair.

Winston walked over to the sofa and eased down beside Ray. "As a mutual friend would say, that's bad, right, Egon?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Did you find out anything at the museum?"

Ray's question reminded Egon that he and Winston hadn't had a chance to brief Ray about their visit to the museum. When they got back to the firehouse, Peter had been up, and he hadn't wanted to discuss their findings in front of the psychologist.

"Actually," he replied, "we found out quite a lot." In a low, careful voice, he filled Ray in on what he had learned from Brian MacKenzie. When he finished, Ray was frowning.

"So you think that Aztec statue was involved somehow in the attack on Pete? But how?"

"I don't know...yet." Egon's tone was one of grim determination. "But I intend to find out." He looked at the occultist. "Ray, what do you know about Aztec legends?"

"Probably no more than you do," Stantz retorted, then produced a rueful grin. "But I have a feeling I'm soon going to know a lot more."

"I think that's where you should concentrate your research. I haven't been able to find anything in Tobin's yet, but I'll continue to search the spirit guides for anything that might give us a clue as to what happened to Peter."

Ray absently fingered the college yearbook in his lap. "All right. I'll start at the library first thing tomorrow. And I know someone, a professor of anthropology at the University of Mexico. I'll give him a call, too."

"All this research is great, guys," Winston spoke up quietly. "But aren't we all forgetting one thing?" The two scientists looked at him blankly. "Pete," he explained. "Don't you think we'd better fill him in on all this?"

"Under the circumstances, I don't believe-"

"No way!"

Zeddemore frowned at them both. "This is Pete we're talking about, remember? Our friend. Our partner."

Egon frowned back at him. "You don't have to remind us-"

"We don't have any right to keep this from him, Egon. He has a right to know what's going on. That's the way Pete would want it. He'd want to know what he's up against."

"Under ordinary circumstances, I would agree with you," he acceded. "But these circumstances are not ordinary. In the first place, we don't know what we're up against. And in the second place..." The physicist uttered a sigh that didn't come close to releasing the mixture of tension and frustration that had built up inside him. "I don't think Peter is emotionally equipped right now to discover that he may have tangled with some supernatural force."

"Egon's right." Ray's flat tone left no doubt as to his feelings on the matter. "Peter's been through enough. I don't think he could take much more right now. We don't tell him anything until we know what's going on...and until we know he can handle it."

The finality in the younger man's tone made Egon's eyebrows climb a fraction, but he nodded his agreement.

The yearbook still clutched tightly in his hands - like some kind of talisman, Egon reflected - the occultist got to his feet. "I'm going to check on him," he announced, and abruptly turned and left the room.

Winston got to his feet, too, turning to watch him go. "The kid's really taking this hard, isn't he?" he commented quietly. The question didn't seem to require an answer, so Egon offered none. Bending over, Winston picked up one of the many photo albums stacked on the coffee table and flipped through it. Suddenly, he threw it down with a muttered oath. "Did you see the look on Pete's face when Ray was showin' him those pictures? He didn't remember a bit of it. Nothing! He looked so... so..."

"Lost," Egon supplied softly. That was exactly how Peter had looked; like a lost, lonely, little boy. "He is lost, Winston." Picking up his book, he clapped Zeddemore absently on the arm as he passed. "I feel a little lost myself."

She had to be cunning to avoid his watchers, but six hundred years of imprisonment had taught her patience. She waited...then she came. She came to once again claim her Chosen. His will to resist had been great, but she had won. She always won. These pitiful mortals were no match for her. He was weaker now, and she could feel his strength pouring into her. Soon...soon it would all be hers.

Egon laid aside yet one more reference book on spirits, this time with a little more force than was necessary. He had lost count of how many volumes he had been through in an effort to match up what had happened to Peter with some sort of entity. So far, nothing.

Taking a moment to rest his eyes, he pulled off his glasses and mechanically cleaned them with his handkerchief. Peter had slept the night through without incident, that was something at least. But this morning he had looked terribly tired and pale; pallid and drained enough to set off an alarm in the back of Egon's mind. Like there was something he should be seeing, but wasn't.

"Pull yourself together, Egon," he muttered, replacing the glasses on his nose. Yes, he was worried about Peter, but he couldn't dwell on that. He couldn't let it interfere with his research. The best way - maybe the only way - to help Peter was to find some answers, and he would keep digging until he found them. And if he didn't find them, Ray would.

The occultist had left the firehouse early enough to be at the library when the doors opened this morning - quite a feat considering the number of times he had been up during the night to check on Peter. Egon smiled to himself, remembering how once during the night all three of them had met over Venkman's bed, checking on the slumbering man. Then slowly his smile faded and he picked up the next volume of Who's Who in the Spirit World and opened the cover.

"Egon?"

The hesitant voice brought his head up, and he had to struggle not to let his dismay show. Peter looked even more drawn and fatigued than he had this morning, although Egon knew for a fact that he had taken a nap after lunch.

With Ray and himself both occupied with their research, Peter had spent most of the day with Winston and Janine. Zeddemore had said he was going to drive Peter around the neighborhood for a while, then give him a thorough tour of the firehouse. If the psychologist was up to it, he was also going to arrange a little 'supervised visitation' with Slimer. The little ghost had been heartbroken by Peter's reaction yesterday, and Winston had had a long talk with him to try to prepare him for another encounter with Venkman.

"Do you have a few minutes?"

Egon automatically got to his feet. "Of course, Peter." The psychologist looked a little despondent and at loose ends. The tour of the neighborhood and the firehouse obviously had not sparked any memories. The physicist felt his heart go out to his friend; knowing Peter, the man was probably taking each disappointment as a personal failure. How much of that would he be able to take before serious depression set in?

The younger man wandered over to the window and stared outside. "Ray left awful early this morning." For a moment, Egon wondered where that had come from. "Wasn't something I said, was it?" Venkman turned to look at him then, and Egon saw the remorse on his thin face. "I mean, I didn't hurt his feelings or anything, did I? I didn't mean to-"

"Ray left early to do some research at the library," he interrupted hastily. "And, no, you didn't hurt his feelings."

Relief flooded the expressive features. "Good. I was afraid... I mean, he's trying so hard, and when I can't remember..." Venkman shrugged helplessly. "I think I'm really upsetting him."

"He is upset - but he's upset at the situation, not you. He'd be even more upset if he thought you were blaming yourself for all this." Egon gave him a moment to digest that, then added gently, "I know you don't remember, but you and Ray are very close, Peter. You have been ever since college. He looks up to you."

The psychologist's eyes widened. "Looks up to me? Why would he...?"

"Well, there's no accounting for taste." Tugging on Venkman's arm, he led him over to a chair. "Let me tell you something about Ray, Peter." When his friend was finally off his feet, Egon pulled his own chair around to face him. "Ray was only seventeen when he entered Columbia on a full scholarship."

"What was he, some kind of boy genius?" Peter smiled.

"He was gifted. He was also younger than his classmates, a bit naive, and had a serious self-image problem. All of which meant he had a great deal of trouble fitting in. It was a pretty fast crowd at Columbia in those days, and Ray was an easy target for all sorts of pranks and teasing."

A frown formed on Venkman's face. "Sounds like a bunch of jerks taking cheap shots," he said flatly. "What happened?"

Egon smiled. "You happened. I introduced you to Ray, and pretty soon you had more or less taken him under your wing. You weren't exactly unknown on campus, Peter," he said dryly. "Some of your... ah, exploits still stand in the record books there. And when you let it be known that Ray was a friend of yours, the teasing and the pranks soon stopped." The physicist sat back in his chair and studied the psychologist with open frankness. "I think your sense of fairness was offended by what was happening to Ray, and you decided to put an end to it. It may have started out that way, but it ended up as a friendship that has lasted through the years. And I also know that it was when you started believing in Ray that he started believing in himself."

Venkman's pale face darkened with embarrassment. "I'm sure you had a lot to do with it, too, Egon."

"Yes," he agreed, "I think I did. But I believe it was your friendship - your acceptance - that was a turning point for Ray." He paused before adding, "And maybe for you, too."

The emerald eyes were studying him intently. "Let's talk about that."

"All right." Egon sat back and waited.

"You, me, Ray and Winston... we're a team, right?"

"Yes, quite a team."

The psychologist's face was drawn in concentration. "I've been trying to figure out where everyone sort of...fits in around here."

Egon almost smiled. That would be how Doctor Peter Venkman's mind worked. "Where do you think we all fit in?"

"Smooth move, Doctor Spengler," Peter muttered, but he took a deep breath and gamely proceeded. "Well, you're obviously the brains of this outfit," he offered, with a little smile. "And maybe the conscience, too." Egon blinked once or twice at that. "Ray..." Venkman's face softened. "He's got to be the heart of this team; I can't think of a better way to describe him. And Winston... I think I'd call him the soul."

The physicist felt his smile break out in full force. Doctor Venkman hadn't lost his touch. He was as astute as anyone Egon had ever known in his perception of human nature.

"But I'm not sure..." The psychologist shrugged self-consciously. "I'm not sure where I fit in." Although he tried to keep the statement casual, Egon heard the undertone of uncertainty in his voice and immediately understood the import of the unspoken plea for an answer.

Spengler leaned forward, his eyes locking with Venkman's. If Peter had any doubts about his importance - with this team or in their lives - those doubts had to be dispelled immediately. "You, Peter," he said with undisguised feeling, "are the spirit."

Something flickered in Peter's eyes. Surprise? Gratitude? Strangely enough, it was relief. As if that answer had been the right one, the response he had needed to hear. "The... spirit?"

"The spirit, Peter," he repeated, as a rush of memories flooded in: he remembered emerald eyes twinkling with mischief; practical jokes ("It's in his sock, Slimer."); a lean face set with determination ("Full stream, guys!"); banter over the dinner table; good-natured arguments over whose turn it was to empty the traps; and what seemed like a lifetime of other memories. For a moment, Egon felt like a drowning man whose entire life was flashing before his eyes. He wanted it all back - the practical jokes, the easy banter, the close camaraderie, that hard-won trust between them... he wanted Peter Venkman back. With a shaky smile, he added, "You might say, the krazy glue that holds us all together."

That drew a dry smile out of the other man. "Krazy glue, huh? That helps clear things up." For an instant, there was a spark of real humor in Venkman's eyes; then, just as quickly, it was gone. The change was so sudden Egon didn't have a chance to react when Peter abruptly jumped to his feet and again walked over to the window, his movements jerky and nervous. "It's not happening, Egon," he said in an unsteady voice. "Nothing's coming back."

Pushing himself quickly to his feet, Egon moved to join him. "You have to give it time," he insisted gently. "It's only been two days."

"How much time? Two days? Two weeks? Two years?" Reaching out with one finger, Peter began tracing a square on the glass that progressively got smaller and smaller. "What if I never remember?"

"I think we all have to keep hoping you do," Egon replied carefully, "but if you don't..." He laid a hand on the man's slumped shoulder. "...then we'll deal with it - together. You won't go through this alone, Peter. I promise you. We will be here for you every step of the way."

Peter's hand curled into a fist, and for an instant, Egon was afraid he was going to smash it through the window. "But, damn it, I am going through it alone! You don't understand! You can't understand! I am alone! None of you can-" Breaking off suddenly, the psychologist leaned his forehead against the glass of the window and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he apologized hoarsely. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You're all trying so hard, and I'm just..." His slender body shook with a deep sigh. "Why don't you guys just kick me in the backside when I act like this?" he mumbled.

There were many possible answers to that question, but Egon just smiled. "Because we wouldn't get anything else done around here."

The brown head turned, and Egon saw the beginnings of a reluctant smile in Venkman's eyes. "Why do I think there's probably a lot of truth in that statement?" Then the emerald eyes flicked back to the window. "I feel like... like I'm letting you all down."

Egon felt a pang of dismay at the uncharacteristic confusion he heard in his friend's tone. The Peter Venkman he knew and loved was cocky, irreverent, self-assured, playful, rash, courageous, unpredictable... and a hundred other things. Egon had seen him drunk, sick, in love, in despair, on top of the world, scared to death, and insufferably pleased with himself. But never had he seen his friend so lost, so unsure of himself and of his place in the world.

The physicist remembered his confession to Winston last night, that he felt lost himself. How long had Peter been a part of his life, someone he could turn to and depend on and confide in, no matter what? To an outsider, Peter Venkman might seem to be a self-absorbed, self-centered, egotistical personality - which he could be, Egon admitted wryly. But he had proved himself to be a generous, caring and completely loyal friend. Friendship with Peter was hard-won, but it was something to be treasured.

If Peter never regained his memory of his self, of what he was and who he was, would that friendship also be lost? No, Egon resolved firmly. No matter what it took, he would not let that happen - for his sake as much as Peter's.

"Peter." Egon pulled the younger man around to face him and had to resist the urge to give him a sharp shake. "You have never let us down," he said seriously, "and you are not letting us down now. What you are doing is something you've been trying to break Ray of for years - you're blaming yourself for something that is totally out of your control."

A tight, humorless smile touched the psychologist's lips. "That's part of the problem, Doctor. It's all out of control. Remember that play, WHOSE LIFE IS IT, ANYWAY? Well, I don't know whose life it is. I feel like someone's dropped me into the middle of a gigantic jigsaw puzzle and I can't make any of the pieces fit."

"I know," he said softly, "and I'm sorry, Peter. I wish there were more we could do." For an instant, Egon was tempted to tell him what they were doing, then quickly discarded the idea. It would be small consolation to Peter to find out he had possibly been attacked by a supernatural being.

The brown-haired man took a deep breath. "I want to try something, Egon. Something that might help."

"Of course," he agreed immediately. "Anything we can do-"

"I want you to hypnotize me."

"Peter-"

"I know you can do it. Ray told me about one time in college-"

"Yes, the one and only time." Egon smiled slightly at the memory. "You're not exactly an easy subject."

"But you can do it," Peter pressed. "And you can use the hypnotism to make me remember what happened-"

"Wait a minute, just slow down."

The other man rolled his eyes in frustration. "What?"

Before answering, Egon placed his hands on Venkman's shoulders. "Sometimes," he said carefully, "there are very good reasons why our minds block out certain things. You may not be ready to remember-"

"Egon, please. I've got to remember. No matter what it is, I've got to know." Green eyes searched his face, pleading for help. "Please."

Spengler closed his own eyes, but he couldn't shut out the memory of the anguish on his friend's face or the barely contained desperation in his voice. When he opened his eyes, Venkman was still watching him, his thin face tense. "All right," he agreed finally, and reluctantly. "I'll try, but-"

"Thank you." A genuine smile broke out on the younger man's face, transforming it completely. "Thank you."

"But there have to be ground rules, Peter. For example-"

"And I want you to videotape it."

"What?"

"I want it taped, so I can see for myself-"

"No," he interrupted. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Venkman demanded.

"I said there had to be ground rules," Egon stated firmly. "I meant that. For example, I will not force you to remember anything. If the memories come without undue stress, that's fine. But the second I think you're in trouble, I'm going to pull you out of it-"

"You can't do that!"

"I can," he said flatly, "and I will. And that is the only way I will agree to let you go through with this."

The psychologist's eyes flashed with anger. "Fine," he snapped. "Then I'll just have to find someone else, won't I?" He spun around and started to stalk from the room.

"Peter!" Spengler caught up with him in an instant, snagging his arm. "You can't do that."

"I can and I will," Venkman shot back with perfect mimicry.

Egon tightened his grip. "No, you can't."

The younger man pulled his arm free with an angry yank. "Why not?"

Egon looked at him for a long moment before answering. "Because," he responded with unaccustomed acerbity, "I don't know what putting you under hypnosis in these circumstances might do to you, and I am not about to trust your well-being to some stranger who doesn't know you or your background or what your reactions might be. If you insist on going through with this - and knowing you, you'll find a way whether I agree or not - then we are going to do it here where I can be with you and at least have the delusion of maintaining some control."

The slight widening of his eyes was Venkman's only outward reaction during Egon's version of an outburst. Finally, he raked his fingers through his hair, the slight tremor of his fingers giving away his emotions. "Maybe now would be a good time to apply that boot to my backside," he mumbled.

The physicist regarded him sternly. "It is tempting."

A long silence followed, during which the psychologist wouldn't meet his eyes. When Peter finally did look up, the despair in his eyes was almost like a physical blow to the physicist. "I'm scared, Egon. I wish I could say I've never been this scared before in my life... but I can't because I don't know if I've ever been this scared before." Turning away, he walked back to the window yet again and stared blankly at the sidewalk below. "Something happened to me the other night. Something that... stripped my mind." Unconsciously, he fingered the lump on the back of his head. "I know what the cops said and I know what the doctors said - that I'd been mugged..." He swallowed hard, and when he continued, it was obvious he was trying very hard to maintain control. "But I don't think that's what happened."

Stepping up beside him, Egon studied his taut profile with a slight frown. "What makes you say that?" he asked cautiously.

The brown head shook briefly. "It's not a memory. Just a... feeling."

Spengler didn't think it judicious just then to mention that Venkman's 'feelings' were nearly always every bit as accurate as a PKE meter.

Suddenly, the psychologist turned to face him, grim determination overriding the fear in his eyes. "I want my life back, Egon," he declared tightly. "But I can't get it back until I know what happened to me. Please..." His voice caught, and Egon sensed immediately that Peter was in danger of finally losing his tenuous grip on control.

With no conscious thought of his movements, he stepped forward and put his arms around the younger man in a quick, hard embrace. Warmth flooded his chest when he felt Venkman's arms tighten around him in response. "I will do anything - and everything - I can to help you, Peter," he promised, his voice rough with emotion. Moving his hands onto the slumped shoulders, he gripped them firmly and stepped back. "But you have to trust me to handle this in the way that I think is safest for you. I won't do anything that I think may endanger you."

Venkman took a deep breath, but those few moments had given him time to regain his composure. He nodded, lean face serious. "Fair enough. As long as you trust me to be able to handle whatever it is you find out. I need your word you'll tell me everything - whatever it is."

Egon hesitated an instant too long before answering and saw the flash of doubt in the emerald eyes. "Are you sure?" he questioned, praying fervently he hadn't lost that trust for good.

But the mistrust faded almost immediately. "I'm sure."

The physicist took a deep breath of his own, then nodded. "Then you have my word." And if this backfired, he would have Ray to answer to, he thought grimly, remembering the youngest Ghostbuster's insistence they not tell Peter anything yet.

Some of the tension had drained from Venkman's pallid face, and his eyes brightened with enthusiasm. "When do we start?"

Egon glanced at his watch. "Ray won't be home for another couple of hours-"

"I don't think we should wait for Ray," Venkman said quickly.

The physicist's eyebrows rose slightly.

Peter started to stammer. "It's not that I don't want him here-it's just-he's too-I don't think-"

"Peter."

The younger man blew out his breath in frustration. "He's already so upset-"

"And he would be a great deal more upset - with both of us - if we went ahead without him," Egon pointed out. "He would want to be here for you, Peter... just as you would want to be here if it were him."

The emerald eyes disappeared briefly behind closed lids. When they reappeared, Egon caught a glimpse of relief along with the apprehension there. "All right," Peter conceded, acknowledging the point. "I guess we're all in this together, aren't we?"

Egon smiled. "Just don't forget it."

Now that they were actually going to do something, the psychologist seemed full of nervous energy. "Okay, you're the doctor. What do we do first?"

"What you do first," Spengler replied, turning him around and steering him to the door, "is get some rest. Winston and I will set up the camera and get everything ready. And then, I'm going to put you through some relaxation exercises-"

"Relaxation exercises?" Venkman echoed in dismay.

"Relaxation exercises," Egon repeated sternly, leading him to the bedroom. "You may not remember how long it took to hypnotize you in college, but I do..."

Ray's reaction was pretty much what he had expected.

"You shouldn't have promised him that, Egon."

The physicist finished hooking the cable to the monitoring television before looking up to meet Stantz's disapproving frown.

"We agreed we wouldn't tell him anything until we thought he was ready."

"He thinks he's ready, Ray," Egon responded quietly. "I had to respect his wishes. Besides, he really didn't give me much choice. If I hadn't agreed, he would have just gone to someone else."

"Yeah, you know how Pete is when he gets something in his head," Winston commented, flicking on the TV. "Dynamite can't blast it loose. If he's determined to go through with this, then I for one am just as glad he's here with us."

The occultist looked at both of them, the look of hurt betrayal on his face slowly giving way to reluctant acceptance. "Yeah, I am, too." Misery flooded his hazel eyes as he turned to the physicist. "I'm sorry. I know you think this is the right thing to do-"

"I hope this is the right thing to do," Spengler corrected, frowning at the picture of Peter on the tube. He had set the video camera up in the bedroom and switched it on a few minutes ago. From their position in the living room, they could monitor the psychologist's progress as he listened to a relaxation tape. Peter's eyes were closed and his body seemed a lot less tense now, but Egon decided to give him a few more minutes.

Ray walked a little closer to the TV and stared at the image for some time before speaking. "He doesn't look good," he said, worry pinching his face. "I know what that doctor said, but maybe they missed something at the hospital." His worried gaze rested on Egon. "He didn't look this bad yesterday."

Spengler had been hoping all along that it was only his own worry that had planted that suspicion in his mind; but a glance at Winston's grave expression confirmed Ray's statement. Peter hadn't looked this bad yesterday. For some reason, he was getting worse. "I know," he said finally, his voice betraying his own distress. "If he's no better in the morning, we'll take him to Dr. Michaels." Michaels was both their physician and close personal friend, and Egon trusted him implicitly.

Zeddemore ginned slightly. "Think he'll go?" They all knew how Peter felt about hospitals in general and doctors in particular.

"He'll go," Ray declared flatly. "If I have to tie him to the hood of Ecto to get him there."

Despite the situation, Egon and Winston exchanged an amused look over the younger man's head. It was usually Peter who made that kind of remark - usually about Ray - but the tables were turned now, and Stantz had taken over the role that Peter so often played.

Egon let his gaze wander back to the TV, took a long look at Peter Venkman, and drew a deep breath. "Let's get this over with," he said abruptly, and quickly left the room without looking at either Winston or Ray.

It didn't take as long as Egon had anticipated to put Peter under. The relaxation exercises must have worked, he surmised; that, and Venkman's desperation to make this succeed.

Egon started out slowly and carefully, leading the psychologist backward through the past two days. It didn't take long for him to establish that Peter's memories began on a dark New York City street two days ago. Everything before that was a black void. It was a painful confirmation of what he had suspected, but he forced himself to put it aside for now; they would have to deal with that part later.

"All right, Peter, that's good," he prompted in a calm, steady voice. "You're walking down the street."

"Um hm."

"I want you to stand on the other side of the street and watch yourself, and I want you to tell me what is happening." He had tried to reinforce in Peter that he was only an observer in this and nothing could hurt him, but he found himself wishing he was better at this. Venkman was an excellent hypnotist, and always seemed to know how to put his subjects at ease and ask the right questions. He could use a little of that confidence right now.

Peter, who had been lying quietly up to this point, suddenly got restless. Egon could see his eyes moving rapidly under his closed eyelids and his muscles begin twitching. "Wha... What the..."

"Tell me what's going on, Peter," Egon repeated, gently taking the younger man's wrist to monitor his pulse. It was slightly elevated, but still steady.

Venkman was frowning, his features twisted in confusion. "Something...out there. Feel it... It's all around me, trying to..." His body jerked suddenly, his breath catching. "Oh, Egon, you're not gonna believe this one." Spengler stiffened at the unexpected mention of his name. "Gotta be a Class Seven at least..." He was mumbling, and Egon had to strain to catch all the words. "My kingdom for a proton pack... Hey!" The shout almost brought him off the bed. "Back off, lady! What is this - open season on Mama Venkman's little boy?!" Peter twisted suddenly, pulling out of Egon's light grip. "I said - back off! What do you think you're-" Suddenly his entire body arched and a terrified scream was torn from his throat.

"Peter! Peter, listen to me." Quickly grabbing Venkman's arms to hold him still, Egon struggled to keep his voice calm and firm. "It's not happening to you. It's just a memory. You're standing on the other side of the street and you're watching this. It can't hurt you!"

But Peter didn't - or couldn't - hear him. He began gasping for breath. "All over me... can't breathe... can't breathe..."

"You can breathe, Peter," Spengler insisted sharply. "Listen to me-"

"No-No-No-No-No-No." The brown head was twisting back and forth, and the psychologist broke out of his grasp and began thrashing his arms as if he was trying to push something away. "Off.. off... off," he panted. "Don't, please don't, please... please... please... oh, God..." He screamed again, a harsh broken scream torn from his soul.

"Peter-"

"Egon!"

His head snapped up at the sound of Ray's voice. The occultist and Zeddemore were standing in the doorway; Ray's face was white and scared, and Winston's mouth was set in a tight, grim line. So much for monitoring the session from a distance. And so much for scientific detachment.

"Egon, you've got to bring him out of it!" Ray pleaded.

He shook his head sharply. "I can't," he whispered. "Not until I get him calmed down." Quickly turning back to the psychologist, Egon snagged one flailing hand and held it tightly. "Peter, can you hear me?" he asked, pitching his voice louder. "It's Egon."

His handsome features twisted in agony, Venkman turned his head slightly in the physicist's direction. "Hurts, Egon," he whimpered brokenly. "God, it hurts. My head... make it stop. Please... make it stop."

The younger man squeezed his hand suddenly in a painful grip, but Egon barely noticed. "Peter. Peter, there is no pain." He hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. "This isn't happening to you. You're just watching it, remember? It's just a memory. It can't hurt you." During his struggles, Venkman's thick hair, damp with sweat, had fallen into his eyes, and Egon gently brushed it back, letting his palm rest on the warm forehead. Thankfully, Venkman began to settle down. Relieved, Egon continued to murmur soothing words until the psychologist's breathing slowed and the lines of agony in his face relaxed. "Peter?"

Venkman mumbled something and turned his head in the direction of Egon's voice.

"How do you feel now?"

"Tired. Feel tired."

"Bring him out of it, Egon," Ray whispered urgently. "He can't take much more."

Egon fought a heated battle with himself in a matter of seconds. Had they come this far just to give up now? If he brought Peter out of it now, what would they have gained? If there was a chance - even a slim one - that they could break through his memory block, Egon knew what his friend would say. What he had said a hundred times before when faced with what seemed impossible odds and a stupid, useless, or suicidal plan: "Let's do it." In the end, it was that, and the memory of the despair in Peter's eyes, which made the decision for him.

"I think he's through the worst of it, Ray. If I can just keep him separate from what he remembers, I think he'll be all right."

"And if you can't?"

But Ray turned away before he could think of an answer to that. He closed his eyes briefly, tried not to think about the question - and the possible answer - and returned his attention to Peter. "Peter, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

There was a moment's pause before Venkman answered in a drowsy voice, "Standing on the sidewalk."

"What are you doing?"

"Watching."

"Are you in any pain?"

"No."

"Good. There will not be any pain, Peter, because you're just going to watch and tell me what's happening. Do you understand?"

"Um hm."

"Good. Now look at it like you would watch a movie and tell me what's going on."

"All over me... can't breathe..."

"You're past that now," he said quickly. "Go on."

Venkman's head tilted a little on the pillow, as if he was listening to something. "Chosen one," he whispered in an almost lilting voice. "Chosen one... waited so long..."

Stantz turned around sharply, his eyes flying to Egon's face. He opened his mouth, but Spengler gave his head a warning shake. "Go on, Peter."

"All over me...trying to... get into my head..." Venkman gave his head a sudden, fierce shake. "No, damn it! I won't let you!"

"Easy, Peter. It can't hurt you."

"If I had a thrower, you'd be toast!" Suddenly, Venkman curled his arms over his head as if trying to protect himself. "I'll get you off!"

Capturing one of Peter's hands, Egon held it firmly in one of his. "Tell me what you're doing, Peter. Watch it like a movie and describe it to me."

Venkman's pale features tightened in grim determination, and his breathing once again quickened to almost panting. "Gotta get her off me... trying to smother me... no way to... Okay, see how you like this, lady!"

"What are you doing, Peter?" Egon pressed, alarmed that he was once again losing Venkman.

A tight, grim smile appeared on the psychologist's lips. "Teach you to pick on a kid from Brooklyn. Not gonna take me without a fight. Big ol' brick wall. If that doesn't work... all those steps. You won't get this body in workin' order! Kill myself first... with any luck, I'll take you with me..."

The awful realization hit them all at the same time. Egon heard a choked oath from Winston. When he raised his eyes, he saw Ray staring at Peter in horror, tears standing in his eyes. He felt a burning in the back of his own throat. That's how Peter had gotten the bruises, the scrapes, the cuts. They had all been self-inflicted. When the entity had attacked him, he had realized almost immediately that the situation was hopeless. Unarmed, he was helpless to defend himself. But he wasn't going down without a fight.

Somehow, Egon found his voice again. "Peter."

"Umm."

Peter's hand had slid from his loosened grip and he picked it up again, sensing a need for contact - but whether from Venkman or himself he wasn't sure.

"Where are you now?"

A look of bewilderment crossed the thin face. "Don't know... dark, hurts..."

"No, it can't hurt. Remember that-"

"Different hurt."

Venkman's voice was so soft Egon had to lean closer to hear him. "What kind of hurt, Peter?" he asked gently.

Slowly, silently, two tears slid out from under the psychologist's closed lids. "Alone," he whispered, his tone curiously child-like. "All alone. There's nobody." His hand spasmed suddenly in Egon's. "Scared. There's nothing... in my head. I don't know who... I don't know... I'm all alone-"

"No, Peter. No, you are not alone." But more tears slid down Peter's bruised face, and he turned his head away with a little whimper. "Peter, this is important. You must listen to me." Laying his fingers on the side of Venkman's face, he turned it firmly toward him. "You are not alone. I'm here." He glanced up at Ray. "And Ray's here."

His cheeks wet with tears, Stantz immediately moved closer and took Peter's other hand in his, squeezing it tightly. "I'm here, Peter," he whispered. "I'm here."

"And Winston is here." Egon glanced at the black man, but Zeddemore was already moving over to the head of the bed.

With a small smile, Winston reached out and lightly tousled Venkman's hair. "Hang in there, homeboy," he said softly. "We're here for you."

The psychologist's hand automatically tightened around Egon's. "We're all here, Peter. You're not alone. We would never leave you alone. Do you understand that?"

The pain on Venkman's face began to ease. "Never?" he murmured.

"Never. I promise." Egon waited until he felt the hand relax in his grip, then asked, "Peter, how do you feel?"

"Tired," was the mumbled reply. "Sleepy."

"Are you in any pain?"

"No."

Egon sat back in relief. "Good. That's very good, Peter. You've done fine. Now I want you to go to sleep. And when you wake up..." He hesitated for only an instant. "...you won't remember any of this." Conscious of the sharp look Ray threw him, he kept his eyes on Venkman's face. After a few moments, he was aware of Stantz gently replacing Peter's hand on the bed and leaving the room. Still he continued to sit there with Venkman's hand in his long after he was certain the psychologist was asleep. Finally, he felt a warm pressure on his shoulder.

"Come on, Egon," Winston whispered. "He's asleep. We've got to talk."

Reluctantly, he slid the lax hand under the covers and pulled them up a little higher on Venkman's chest. Then, silently, he got to his feet and walked over to the camera. Without saying a word, he switched it off, removed the tape and slid it into a cassette box.

He was only dimly aware of Winston's hand on his arm shepherding him out of the room.

Ray was sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the monitor which now held no image. Zeddemore unobtrusively switched it off as they passed, then guided Egon over to a chair and gently pushed him down. The next thing he knew, a glass of water was being forced into his hand, and he absently took a sip, wondering why his mouth was so dry.

"Egon."

Spengler looked up to find Zeddemore frowning at him.

"I said, are you all right?"

"Yes. Of course," he replied, wondering why he was asking. He should be asking Ray that question. The occultist hadn't moved or said a word; he just sat on the sofa staring at the floor, his face ashen.

"I think we'd better talk about what we've learned here." Winston sat down beside Stantz and clapped him lightly on the knee to get his attention. "Ray?"

The auburn-haired man raised his head and gave a little nod. He looked like he was going to be sick.

"Egon." Winston turned it over to him.

The physicist straightened a bit and took a steadying breath. "All right, we know Peter was attacked by at least a Class Seven entity. He identified it as such and my readings of the residue confirmed it."

Zeddemore scowled. "And I can see why his mind blocked it out. But what I don't understand is why you couldn't get him past that. Why couldn't he remember anything before the attack-"

"Because it's no longer there, Winston." Ray spoke up for the first time, his voice thin. "Whatever that thing was, she wiped his memory clean."

Winston looked sharply to Egon, and he could only nod his confirmation. "I'm afraid so."

"Then why could he remember the attack?" Zeddemore demanded.

"I think," Stantz said slowly, "whatever attacked him took what was already there. That's why his memory starts two days ago. He was left with... 'her' impressions."

"Yes," Egon frowned thoughtfully, "he referred to it as a female presence more than once. And, did you hear-"

"Chosen one," Ray broke in. "Yes. I've seen that reference somewhere, but I can't remember..." His voice faded as he frowned in concentration.

"At least we have something to go on now, right?" Zeddemore asked hopefully.

"More than we had before," Egon agreed, fingering the cassette box absently. "I'll start cross-referencing Tobin's-"

"-and I'll try to find that reference again," Ray finished.

Winston nodded and got to his feet. "And I'm gonna sit with Pete for a while."

"He'll probably sleep until morning," Egon commented.

"Probably," Zeddemore agreed, heading for the door, "but I wouldn't want him wakin' up alone, not after..." He gave his head a little shake, as if trying to rid his mind of an unpleasant memory, and quickly left the room.

Egon and Ray sat in silence for some time, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, the physicist pushed himself stiffly to his feet; he was tired beyond belief. "I'd better get started..."

"Egon?"

He looked down into the earnest face of Ray Stantz.

"Why did you tell Peter to forget all that? I'm glad you did, but you gave your word..."

"I gave my word that I would tell him everything we found out," Spengler replied in a level voice. "And I will." Then his fingers tightened on the cassette box as he struggled to maintain his composure. "But I could not let him wake up to that memory. If he wants to condemn me for that-"

"He won't," Ray said quickly, jumping to his feet. "Peter wouldn't do that." Walking over to the older man, Stantz slid an arm across his shoulders. "You did the right thing, Egon. Those memories...they wouldn't help him. It's better if we just tell him."

The physicist nodded, grateful for the support. "I think so, too."

Ray looked uneasily at the tape. "What about that?"

Egon grimaced. "I'd burn it immediately, but it's possible we may have to refer to it before this is all over. So, for now, I'm going to lock it away where Peter will never find it."

A sad little smile touched the younger man's face. "Is there such a place? We've never been able to hide a birthday present from him. It's like he's got some kind of radar - he's as bad as Slimer is with food."

Egon looked at him, his blue eyes solemn. "Then let's hope we find some answers, Raymond, before he tries to find it."

She drank deeply, savoring the taste, reveling in the feel of his vitality as it poured into her. He was indeed worthy. She had chosen well.

It was the smell of coffee that filtered through the layers of wool and brought Egon to awareness. When he finally pried his eyes open, he discovered a cup of the steaming brew only inches from his nose. With a groan, he lifted his head off his arms; his back was going to see to it that he paid dearly for falling asleep at his desk.

"Ray didn't make it to bed last night, either."

Blinking blearily, Egon fumbled for his glasses and settled them on his nose to bring Winston into focus.

"Do you feel as bad as you look?"

"I don't know," he yawned. "How bad do I look?"

"You don't want to know." Zeddemore nudged the cup of coffee a little closer to him. "Drink up. There's a whole pot where this came from."

The physicist took a cautious sip of the hot liquid, then raised his eyes quickly. "Peter...?"

"Didn't make a sound all night," Winston assured him. "Janine's with him now in case he wakes up."

Spengler relaxed. "Good. He shouldn't be left alone."

Zeddemore settled on the edge of the desk and turned an understanding gaze on him. "That little session last night was pretty rough on you, wasn't it?"

Egon took another sip of coffee before answering in a restrained voice, "It was very...difficult seeing him go through that. Knowing what he went through... how he felt..." He stumbled to a stop and looked up at Zeddemore, his professional facade in danger of crumbling. "I miss him," he admitted frankly. "He's been in my life for so long, and I'm afraid..." His throat closed and it took him a moment to recover. "I'm afraid we really may have lost him, Winston."

"I hear you." Winston gripped his shoulder in sympathy. "Every time I look at him, I expect him to break into a big grin or try to get out of laundry duty or threaten to blast Slimer... and it just doesn't happen."

Egon nodded, realizing this was the first time since this nightmare began that he had actually talked about how he felt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he suspected that he thought if he didn't verbalize his fears, didn't actually acknowledge them out loud, they couldn't come true. A small, tight smile pulled at his lips. Doctor Venkman would have had a field day with that. He blinked suddenly, bringing himself out of his thoughts with an effort. "How is Ray doing?"

Winston accepted the abrupt change of subject with equanimity. "'Bout the same as you. I'm about ready to hook both of you up to coffee IV's. Why don't you finish this, then go grab some real sleep-"

"Egon! Winston! I found it!" They both jumped as Ray burst breathlessly into the lab clutching a small bound book. "Peter's in terrible danger!"

One look at Ray Stantz brought Egon to his feet. The occultist was pale and frenzied, his auburn hair in disarray, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes testifying to his lack of sleep. But it was the look in his eyes, and the very real alarm in his voice, that sent a chill through Egon's body.

"I can't believe I didn't see it before! It was right here, but I couldn't put the pieces together! I should have seen what was happening-"

"Ray, calm down," Egon said sternly. Striding over to the distraught man, Spengler took him by the arm and firmly led him over to the chair he had just vacated. "Sit down," he ordered, "and start at the beginning. Now, what have you found?"

Ray dropped into the chair with the force of a man whose legs couldn't support him any longer. But he took a deep, calming breath before he tried to speak again. "Okay. I found that reference to the 'chosen one.' It's tied in with a very rare Aztec legend. I finally got hold of my friend in Mexico - the anthropology professor - and we've been on the phone most of the night trying to track it down." He took another gulp of air. "We finally did it."

Egon and Winston didn't press him. They both waited tensely, if somewhat impatiently, for him to gather his thoughts and continue.

"There is a legend," Stantz continued in a slower voice, "about a creature that was sort of an Aztec version of a vampire. She would choose a victim - always a man, always young, strong, virile; but instead of drinking his blood, she fed on his energy. Just like a vampire would bleed a victim of blood, she would bleed her victims of their strength."

Too agitated to sit still, Stantz jumped to his feet and began pacing around the room. "Her name was Azuit-Quetzana. She was a very powerful being. No one knows how long she existed before an Aztec priest, using some spell, managed to imprison her. That's why the legend became sort of lost, because she hasn't been around for almost six hundred years-"

"Imprison her?" Egon interrupted for the first time. "How?"

Ray raised the small book in his hand. "All the legend says is that she was 'bound to a god.'"

"Xentol," Spengler breathed. "The priest bound her to the statue and carved that warning on the base not to move it. But when the statue was removed from the cave-"

"-it released Quetzana," Ray finished grimly.

Winston held up his hands to stop them both. "All right, all right. We know what happened to Pete. So now we do what we probably should have done two days ago - we get him back to a hospital and-"

"No." Stantz shook his head impatiently. "It's not that simple, Winston. He's still in danger."

"Explain," Egon ordered.

Stantz rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "That first night, the night she... when Peter..." He gave his head a sharp shake. "That was only the first attack."

Spengler stiffened. He had a sudden terrifying thought...

"According to legend, when Quetzana chose a victim, she 'bonded' with him, invaded his mind... it was a way of testing him, to see if he was worthy. Some men went mad... some never survived the first attack. But for those who did..."

"She came back for more," Egon finished, his voice a whisper.

The occultist nodded, anger sparking in his hazel eyes. "She returns three times, each time drawing more strength from her victim. As he grows weaker, she grows stronger. And she only comes at night. Don't you see?" he burst out. "That's what's been happening to Peter! She's been back twice-"

"But we've been with him every night," Zeddemore protested. "How'd she get past us?"

"We checked on him throughout the night," Egon reminded him. "We weren't actually keeping watch. She could have just waited until we were all asleep before she..." He broke off suddenly and threw a sharp look at Stantz. "You said she comes back three times?"

The younger man nodded, his face white. "Tonight will be the third time, Egon. The last time." His voice caught. "Peter won't survive another attack-"

"There won't be another attack," Winston broke in flatly. "Now that we know about this lady's little game, we put an end to it."

"It may not be that simple," Egon said slowly. "Quetzana is a Class Seven, and our proton packs will probably be ineffective against her."

"Plus, she's been getting stronger," Ray added.

"We've fought Class Sevens before," Winston argued. "And Class Eights and Nines-"

"But not with just our proton packs," Spengler interrupted, his mind already working on the problem. "I have a theory... but I need time..." He frowned to himself as a thought danced through his head too quickly for him to latch onto. "Nuts."

Stantz was watching him. "What?"

"I thought I had something, but...never mind. I need some time to think about this."

The occultist nodded. "I've got some ideas myself. I'm going to-"

"You," Egon said flatly, "are going to get some sleep." Stantz opened his mouth to protest, but the physicist silenced him with a look. "If we're to fight this thing, Raymond - if we're to save Peter - we're all going to have to be at our best. That means you get some rest. And Winston-"

"Equipment check," Zeddemore said grimly.

Egon nodded. "I don't know yet exactly what we'll need for tonight, but-"

"-but whatever we need, it'll be in top working order," Winston promised. Turning, he strode from the room, purpose evident in every step. "I'll be in the basement if you need me."

Ray hadn't moved yet, and Egon walked over and touched him lightly on the arm. "Get some sleep, Ray."

Stantz raised bloodshot eyes to lock with his. "What if we can't stop her, Egon? What if-"

"We'll stop her," he declared firmly. "No matter what it takes, we will stop her. Now come on, Raymond," he urged, his voice softening, "you can't think clearly if you're out on your feet. And Peter's going to need us all to be thinking very clearly if we're to help him."

At the mention of Peter's name, Stantz's slumped shoulders straightened a little. "You call me if you need me."

The physicist nodded. "I promise."

The auburn head bobbed slowly, then the occultist left the room, his dragging feet a testament to his exhaustion.

Egon waited until Stantz closed the door behind him before he allowed himself to drop heavily into his chair. He could almost hear Peter asking, as he had so many times before, "This is, like bad, right, Egon?"

"Yes, Peter," he whispered. "This is very bad."

Ray came awake with a start.

"Sorry, buddy," Winston apologized. "We let you sleep as long as we could, but-"

"No, that's okay," he said quickly, pulling himself up. He was still tired, but wide awake. He remembered crashing on the sofa because he hadn't wanted to disturb Peter upstairs. "What is it? What's wrong? Is Peter-"

"Egon wants to talk to us." Winston looked grim. "I don't think it's good news, Ray."

Ray felt all his tiredness come back in a rush as he climbed to his feet. "Oh, God," he mumbled, and followed Winston to the physicist's lab.

Egon's face was carefully neutral as he turned to face Winston and Ray. That, in itself, was enough to set an alarm off in the back of Ray's mind. "All right, Egon," he heard himself saying, "let's have it."

The physicist nodded, looking a little relieved that he didn't have to try to ease into it. "The way I see it, we have two options. I think, with the proper adjustments to boost the power of our proton packs we should be able to protect Peter from Quetzana."

Winston let out an explosive sigh. "Well, all right!"

But Ray knew what Egon was very carefully not saying. "Protect him. That means we can keep her at a distance. But we can't trap her."

"If she's become as powerful as I fear, our traps would never hold her."

"Then all we can do is try to keep her away from Peter?" Zeddemore asked. "What if she decides to come back?"

Ray kept his eyes on Egon's face. "She will come back. She has to. Once she's chosen someone..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

The blond man nodded. "She's bonded to him now. She'll keep coming back, night after night, until..." He didn't finish the sentence, either.

"Then that doesn't seem like much of an option," Winston said bluntly. "What do we have behind door number two?"

Spengler let his somber gaze rest on each one of them in turn before answering. "I believe," he said slowly, "there is one point at which Quetzana will become vulnerable enough and weak enough for us to use our proton packs against her and actually trap her."

"Now you're talkin'!" Zeddemore enthused.

Ray watched the physicist uneasily. "Egon..."

"When she joins with Peter to draw his strength that final time-"

"No!"

Egon ignored Ray's outburst. "I believe for that time - and it may only be an instant - she is using so much energy of her own for the attack it may leave her weakened enough that we can-"

"That's just a theory, Egon!"

The physicist looked at him steadily. "Yes, Ray, it is."

Winston was watching them both with growing apprehension. "Wait a minute. You mean we let her attack Peter? Then what? How do we blast her without taking Peter out, too?"

Egon's voice was very level. "You remember when Peter was possessed by Watt. We used two particle throwers, one set at Peter's electrometabolic frequency, and the other at Watt's, to separate them."

"Egon, that's crazy!" Ray was horrified that he would even consider such a thing. "Peter was in perfect health when we did that! What chance do you think he'd have now in his condition? A blast like that could kill him!"

"Wait a minute. Slow down, both of you." Eyes narrowed, his face grim, Winston looked at each of them. "Let's say we choose Option Number One and keep this Quetzana away from Peter. What then? What happens to Pete?"

"Nothing," Egon answered, but his voice was strangely hollow. "Absolutely nothing happens to Peter. She's got his memory, most of his strength... he'll go on just as he is. He'll never really remember who he is, or who we are, or his life up to this point. And he will never regain the strength or the vitality she has taken from him."

"But he'll be alive," Ray pointed out firmly.

"Yeah," Winston muttered, "if you can call that livin'. And, from what you're tellin' me, we can look forward to a repeat performance from Quetzana every night until she finally succeeds in finishing the job." He blew out an explosive breath. "Okay, so tell me again, what will happen to Pete if we use the throwers-"

"Winston!" Ray rounded on him. "You can't-"

"I want to hear the whole story, Ray," Zeddemore said flatly. "What'll happen to Pete, Egon?"

"What do you think will happen to Peter?" Stantz corrected.

The physicist turned away and walked over to the window. Keeping his back to them, he answered very carefully, "If my theory is correct, and we manage to separate them at the precise moment she blends with Peter, then he should be left with his memories - and his strength - intact."

Walking over to stand behind the tall, unnaturally stiff figure, Ray laid a gentle hand on his arm. "And if you're wrong," he said softly, "we could kill him." He could feel the physicist shudder under his touch.

"I know," Egon whispered, his voice laced with pain. "I know."

The occultist's fingers tightened on the thin arm. "We can't take that kind of chance with his life, Egon. We could lose him for good."

"Or, we could get him back," the physicist countered. But the strain was obvious in his voice. "Whole and well."

Ray's eyes slid shut. He felt like he was being torn in two separate directions. On the one hand, he understood Egon's desperate need to believe they had a chance to get Peter back - whole and well. But on the other, the thought of unleashing two particle beams on their friend, in his condition, on the slim chance that...

"No," he said finally, his hand dropping away. "I won't let you do it. I won't let you risk Peter's life that way."

"As long as we're votin'," Winston spoke up quietly from behind, "it seems to me there's one member of this team we haven't heard from yet."

Ray wheeled around. "No," he snapped.

There was a frown on the black man's face. "Ray, he has a right-"

"To do what? To commit suicide?" The flash of anger on Zeddemore's face only fed his own. "Winston, he doesn't remember anything about being a Ghostbuster. He doesn't know what he's up against here! How can you expect him to make a decision when he doesn't understand the risks?"

"Then why don't you explain them to me?"

The three Ghostbusters spun around guiltily at the sound of the weak tenor voice from the doorway. Ray felt his heart drop at the sight of Peter Venkman. The psychologist was leaning heavily against Janine, his face ashen, his green eyes sunken. The secretary's own face was pinched with strain as she struggled to keep him on his feet.

It was Zeddemore who moved first. Striding across the room, he slid one strong arm around Venkman's waist and pulled the younger man's arm over his shoulders. "Come on, m'man," he said easily, "you look like you could use a chair." Even though Winston kept his tone light, Ray saw the glint of alarm in his dark eyes as Venkman sagged against him. Even the short trip downstairs had all but depleted his meager supply of strength.

Janine hadn't moved from the doorway. "I told him to stay in bed." She tried to sound stern, but the underlying worry in her tone gave her away. "But he said he was coming down whether I helped him or not."

"Then it's a good thing you helped him, Janine." Egon's voice was quiet and steady, but his eyes were troubled as they rested on Venkman. "You shouldn't be up, Peter."

Peter ignored the comment as Winston carefully lowered him into a chair. "Couldn't miss the party, could I?" He let his glare touch each one of them in turn and didn't try to conceal the bitterness in his voice. "Although my invitation seems to have gotten lost in the mail. Or do you always hold group meetings behind my back?" Before anyone could respond to the accusation in his tone, he looked directly at Egon. "Or, to put it another way, is this the way you usually keep your word, Doctor Spengler?"

The physicist flinched as though he'd been slapped. "Peter, no, I-"

"Don't blame him, Peter," Ray broke in quickly. "It was my idea. Egon and Winston wanted to tell you everything. It was me... my fault." The occultist's voice trailed off and he looked away, unable to meet Venkman's eyes any longer.

His face softening, Peter felt his resentment fade as he studied the younger man's slumped shoulders and considered the self-recrimination in his tone. Egon was right; the kid had a bad habit of blaming himself for all sorts of things. Even for caring too much. "Ray."

The auburn-haired man looked around reluctantly, as if afraid of the censure he would have to face.

"I'm here now," Peter pointed out reasonably. "So why doesn't someone just tell me what's going on?"

There was a mixture of relief and apprehension on Stantz's face, but he nodded and looked to Egon. Peter found his eyes traveling to the physicist, as well. Spengler looked at them both, then silently accepted the responsibility and pulled his desk chair over in front of the psychologist. Only when they were face-to-face and at eye-level did Egon begin to speak, his manner as calm and dispassionate as if he were delivering a dissertation. Only the anguish shadowing his eyes gave Peter a hint of the turmoil churning inside this outwardly stoic man.

When he had finished his narrative, Spengler sank back in his chair as if exhausted, his eyes never leaving Venkman's face. Peter was only too aware of the fact that everyone else's eyes were on him, too, and that they were all waiting for him to say something. Egon's story had been a lot to take in all at once, but to his surprise, he didn't have any difficulty believing it. It was kind of a relief to really know what was going on. At least it explained why he felt like shit.

"So, what you're telling me is I was mugged by a ghost, right?"

The slight joke brought a small measure of relief to Egon's tense face. "Something like that."

"And she enjoyed it so much the first time, she's been coming back for more." He produced a cocky grin. "Guess I should be flattered. The lady must be crazy about me." Ray made a little choking sound and turned away. Peter turned a puzzled face to Egon. "Something I said?" But the physicist had gone a little ashen himself, and Venkman quickly changed the subject. "All right, so it comes down to two choices, right?"

Egon looked pained. "Peter, I wish I had more options to offer, but-"

"Hey, come on. Under the circumstances, I'd say you did pretty well to come up with two." Looking down, he noted with annoyance that his hands were shaking again; and he was sure Egon noticed it, too. Every muscle in his body felt like jelly. If Winston hadn't gotten to him when he had, he would have collapsed in a heap on the floor and taken Janine with him. So his choice was to let these guys try to chase off that creature - and stay like this for the rest of his life - or stand and fight for what he had lost. Winner take all.

He raised his eyes to lock with Egon's. "I told you before, Egon, I want my life back." Trying to mask the terrible weakness in his voice with determination, he said, "I haven't changed my mind. Get together whatever you need-"

"No!"

Every head in the room turned at the sound of Ray's agonized objection.

"Peter, you can't!" The occultist rounded on Spengler. "Egon, tell him! Explain it to him! We could kill him-"

"Ray." As weak as his voice was, it still stopped Stantz in his tracks. "I know the risks," he said with as much steadiness as he could muster. "I understand-"

"No, you don't!" Ray burst out. "If you did, you'd never agree to this! I'm not going to let you-"

"Ray." This time there was enough sharpness in his tone to get everyone's attention. When he was sure he had it, he continued more calmly, "Would you guys mind if I talked to Ray... alone?"

Egon shifted in his seat, looked like he wanted to say something, then merely nodded and unfolded his lanky form from the chair. Peter felt a brief pressure on his shoulder as the physicist passed by, then heard Winston and Janine file out of the room behind him. When he heard the door close softly, he looked up at Ray, who seemed to be absolutely fascinated by an invisible spot on the floor.

"Ray." It took a long time for the occultist to raise his eyes. "This would be a whole lot easier if you'd sit down," he said, nodding toward the chair Spengler had just vacated. And even then, it wasn't going to be easy, he mused as he watched the younger man shuffle over and slump into the chair. He was still wondering how to begin when Ray solved the problem for him.

"You have every right to be mad at me, Peter," he blurted. "I'm sorry-"

"You know, you have a real bad habit of blaming yourself for just about everything that goes wrong in this world. Did anybody ever tell you that?"

A small, sheepish smile touched the occultist's lips. "You. Only about once a week for the last ten years."

"Guess it never sank in, hmm?"

Ray was twisting his hands in his lap and he frowned at them. "I guess not." Then he raised his head, his eyes pleading. "Peter, please don't do this. You don't know how dangerous this is! We could..." His voice caught. "We could really lose you!"

Leaning forward, Peter laid a firm hand on Ray's restless ones to still them. "You've already lost me, Ray," he said gently. "I've lost myself." The auburn head started to shake in denial, but he stopped him by lightly squeezing the hand under his. "Egon tells me you and I are... real close," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But I don't remember you." Forcing himself to ignore the flash of pain in the other man's eyes, he continued relentlessly, "I want to remember you, Ray. And Egon and Winston and Janine - and me. I want to remember me. I want to be able to wake up in the morning and know who I am and what I am and where I've been and what I've done and-" He broke off and took a quick breath. If he didn't stop, he'd be crying.

"I want that, too, Peter. More than anything." Hazel eyes searched his face, imploring him to understand. "But if this doesn't work-"

"I happen to think it is going to work," he interrupted firmly, "and I'd appreciate it if you'd think so, too." Giving the younger man's hands a quick pat, he added with a lopsided grin, "Good thoughts can't hurt, right?"

He was rewarded with a shaky smile. "Right."

Peter studied him for several moments in silence, trying to come to a decision. If things went all to hell tonight - and they just might, he admitted grimly - he had to make sure they all understood that this was his choice and that the responsibility for whatever happened tonight was his alone. Ray seemed all too willing to accept blame for almost anything, Peter had noticed. He had to make sure he didn't try to accept blame for this, too.

"But just in case good thoughts and proton packs aren't enough... Remember it was my call, Ray. My decision. Egon explained the risks, and I accepted them. Do you understand that?" Stantz's face crumpled, but Peter gave his arm a little shake. "Listen to me, Ray," he said sternly, refusing to let him fall apart. "Egon's going to need you. I think...I think Winston will be all right." He nodded to himself; yeah, Winston would be okay. Somehow he knew that. "And you'll be all right, too," he added with a soft smile. At Ray's wide-eyed surprise, he said, "Know how I know that? Because I'm countin' on you, and I know you won't let me down." Stantz began blinking furiously. "But Egon..."

The occultist nodded. "If he's wrong," he whispered, "he'll blame himself."

"But you can't let him do that," he pressed. "Promise me that."

Understanding flooded the youthful face, followed by determination. "I promise, Peter."

Venkman sagged back in his chair in a combination of relief and exhaustion. He had succeeded in giving Ray something else to focus on other than his own pain - which, from the look in his eyes, was considerable. But he suddenly realized he no longer had the energy to keep his own eyes open. No sooner had they drifted shut than he felt Ray's strong arms gently pull him to his feet.

"Easy, Peter," Stantz murmured from somewhere near his ear. "I'm going to get you back to bed so you can rest; you're exhausted. Then we're going to get some hot food into you..."

Venkman smiled contentedly to himself as the occultist half-carried him out of the room, his soft, reassuring voice sounding in his ear every step of the way. As he leaned against the strong body supporting his, he wished with all his heart that he had more than three days' worth of memories of Ray Stantz, Egon Spengler, Winston Zeddemore, and Janine Melnitz... and even that little green ghost they called Slimer.

All eyes turned to Dr. Stan Michaels as he stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door softly behind him. Peter's age, a little taller than Venkman, and with thinning hair, Stan was their physician, personal friend, and Peter's racquetball partner. He was also the only doctor Venkman would go to without a long, loud argument... most of the time. Although Michaels shared Peter's irreverent sense of humor, right now there was no humor at all on his boyish face.

His blue-gray eyes took them all in, then came to rest on Egon. "I'm glad you warned me," he said quietly, but with a trace of restrained anger. "Two weeks ago when I gave Pete his annual physical, aside from his usual annoying tendency to be slightly anemic, he was in perfect health. Now..." He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. "I've seen POW's in better shape."

Ray could feel Egon stiffen beside him, but the physicist kept his voice calm, if a bit formal. "That's why I explained the situation to you, Stan. I - we need to know, in your professional opinion, if you think Peter can withstand-"

"Right now I don't think he could withstand an attack from a three-day-old kitten," Michaels interrupted bluntly. "Egon, you're talking to me about vampire ghosts and particle beam throwers and electrometabolic frequencies and..." He ran a hand through his sparse hair and let out an explosive sigh. "That's science fiction, guys, not medicine. The truth is, I don't know what that will do to him. My professional opinion is that he belongs in a hospital."

"Stan, I've already explained-"

"I know, I know." Michaels held up a hand to stop the physicist's explanation. "Putting him in a hospital isn't going to do any good if you can't get rid of this... thing. Leave it to Pete to get involved with a six-hundred-year-old female vampire." He sighed again, and rubbed his eyes. "Look, Egon," he continued, his tone now deadly serious, "what I do know is that you would never do anything to intentionally endanger Peter's life; and I know, too, that you wouldn't be doing all this if you thought there was any other way."

The blond man nodded, but Ray could see the uncertainty clouding his eyes. "I appreciate you coming over, Stan." The preoccupation in his tone told Ray that Spengler was once again turning everything over in his mind, searching for alternatives and options that just weren't there. "If we... need you tonight, can we get in touch with you?"

"No 'ifs' about it. You are going to need me, and I'm going to be right here. I'll stay out of your way while the fireworks are going on, but I don't plan on leaving until this whole mess is over with and I've got Peter tucked away safely in a hospital where I can keep an eye on him."

Ray broke out into a grateful smile and heard the small, but definite, sigh of relief from Egon. The physicist tried to thank him, but Michaels waved it aside.

"Hey, I'm not about to lose the only racquetball partner I've found that I can actually beat three games out of four." The humor was familiar - it sounded very much like something Venkman would have said under the circumstances - but the determined set to his jaw left no doubt that Michaels took his responsibility very seriously. "Janine, do you have some place I can crash 'til I'm needed? Someplace, preferably, with some coffee?"

"I just put a fresh pot on, Doctor Michaels. Just follow me." The secretary produced the first smile Ray had seen from her all day as she led the doctor from the room. His heart felt a little lighter, as well, just knowing Stan was going to be nearby.

Their footsteps had barely faded before Egon had turned back to their equipment, methodically going over everything again. Ray traded a look with Winston, then walked over to where the physicist was kneeling beside their proton packs, his slender fingers checking the various switches and controls. "Egon, you should get some rest," he urged gently.

But the blond man shook his head. "No time, Ray. We've got less than an hour before darkness. We have to check the equipment-"

"We've already checked the equipment," Zeddemore interrupted in a quiet voice. "Three times. Everything is in perfect working order."

Spengler never looked up from his task. "We might have overlooked something," he muttered to himself.

Kneeling down beside him, Ray slipped an arm across his shoulders. "We haven't overlooked anything." And they hadn't. With so much at stake, they could be forgiven for so much second-guessing, but as plans went, this one was as tight as they could make it.

From their position outside the bedroom, they would monitor the room for Quetzana's arrival. Egon would take a reading of her frequency and adjust his thrower accordingly. Ray's thrower was already calibrated for Peter's frequency. By some unspoken agreement, he and Egon were going to handle the throwers to be used on Peter; Winston had the modified proton pack to use against Quetzana. Using his PKE meter, Egon would be able to tell the exact instant the entity blended with Peter, which was when they would have to make their move. No one knew how much time he would have to recalibrate his thrower before she attacked, but Ray had an uneasy feeling that once Quetzana arrived, everything was going to happen at once. If they miscalculated, even by a matter of seconds...

As if reading his thoughts, the physicist turned to him, uncertainty reflected in his dulled eyes. "I just wish I could be sure," he whispered.

Ray tightened his arm. "Peter is sure," he said firmly.

The blond head nodded slowly, but the haunted look never left Spengler's eyes. "I know."

"I'm ready."

All three looked around at Janine's announcement and found her dressed in her jumpsuit, proton pack firmly in place.

Slowly, like an old man, Egon got to his feet. "Janine, I don't think this is wise. This is going to be very dangerous-"

"-which is why you're going to need help," she said stubbornly. "Egon, you're not going to keep me out of this one. This is Peter we're talking about." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm staying."

Ray had to smile at the determined glint in their secretary's eyes. Peter and Janine might spar back and forth like a pair of incompatible siblings, but if either one of them was in danger, the other one would be the first to jump into the fray.

"We could use the extra firepower," he reminded Egon.

Spengler couldn't argue the point. With a sigh, he conceded. "All right, Janine. But stay near Winston."

A very unladylike smile touched Janine's lips. "I just want a chance to pay my respects to the bimbo that did this to Peter. Nobody picks on Dr. V. but me."

That even brought a smile to Egon's lips.

It was a sound they had all been expecting, hoping for and waiting for. But when the PKE meter in Egon's hand suddenly whined, it caused everyone to jump. The physicist's sharp eyes took in the reading in an instant, and he shoved the meter into Ray's waiting hands with a terse, "Watch it!"

And watch it Ray did, as if it were the most important thing in the world. At that moment, as far as he was concerned, it was. The somnolent, wavy line at the bottom of the display represented Peter, registering what little energy there was left to measure from the sleeping man. It had been flowing lazily across the small screen for the last two hours. But there was a new line now, just above it - a frenzied electrical disturbance that seemed to be all over the place. Quetzana.

Ray held his breath as that jagged, frantic signal closed with Peter's slumberous one, but didn't dare take his eyes off the instrument to see how Egon was doing. "Hurry, Egon, hurry," he murmured under his breath, knowing even as he did so that the physicist's fingers were moving as fast as humanly possible to reset his thrower to Quetzana's frequency. Then, to his horror, the strong, rampant signal suddenly engulfed the weaker one.

"Egon! It's-"

"Done!" Spengler shouted. "Go!"

That was all Winston Zeddemore needed to hear. With a yell that must have gone a long way toward releasing his hours of pent-up tension, he raised one booted foot and kicked the door in. Egon was the first one inside, Ray right behind him. But the occultist was scarcely inside when he skidded to a halt, his eyes widening in disbelief. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. Peter was sitting on the side of the bed, alert, relaxed and engulfed in a soft, amber mist. When they burst through the door, he raised his head... and he smiled.

"Now, Ray!" Egon ordered sharply. "Fire!"

Still he hesitated. He had been prepared to see Peter struggling or under attack or in pain or... something. But to just open fire when he was sitting there, smiling at them...

"We have to do it together, Ray! Fire, or it will be too late!"

Then he looked into Peter's eyes, and what he saw there wasn't Peter. Anger like he had never known before flowed through his body. "Let him go!" he cried and opened fire with his modified thrower. Immediately, he heard the crackle of Egon's thrower joining his. The two streams caught Venkman in the center of the chest, throwing him back onto the bed. The psychologist's body convulsed, and an agonized scream was torn from his throat. Ray felt himself falter, then clenched his jaw and hardened his resolve. It took every ounce of courage he possessed not to switch off his thrower at the sound of the screams that were being ripped from his friend. But he forced himself to keep firing, blinking away the tears that stung his eyes, and prayed he wasn't killing the man he was trying to save.

It certainly looked as though they were killing him. Peter's body was caught in a seizure, and his handsome face was twisted in what Ray took to be pain. Then, abruptly, Venkman went limp on the bed, one slack arm dropping over the side. Almost immediately, the amber mist rose from his body and floated upward, spinning violently. Within seconds, it had taken form. It was a woman. A woman with long, flowing hair, a beautifully formed body, a delicate oval face... and eyes that burned red with pure hatred.

"Winston, Janine, NOW!" Turning his own thrower on the entity, Egon threw a quick glance over his shoulder. "Ray, recalibrate your thrower. Hurry!"

While the other three turned their streams on the screaming Quetzana, Ray quickly reset the switches on his thrower, setting it to maximum capacity. They were going to need at least four throwers to hold this creature. Once he had his own stream locked on Quetzana, Egon would break off long enough to adjust his to maximum. Using four throwers in this close area, three of them set to maximum, was dangerous, at best; but neither he nor Egon could offer an alternative.

Adding his own proton stream to Winston and Janine's, he found just how powerful Quetzana was and just how hard she was going to fight. His proton rifle fairly bucked in his hands, and he felt his shoulders straining as he tried to keep it under control. Even while she was screaming and twisting in their streams, the entity kept trying to lunge at Peter.

"Noooo! You cannot! He is my chosen one! My chosen one! I must have him! He's mine!"

Struggling to keep his thrower on bead, Ray began inching over to where Peter was lying bonelessly on the bed. "Don't let her get to Peter!" he shouted, and deliberately placed himself between the struggling creature and his unconscious friend. "He's not yours," he gritted out, tightening his grip on his weapon, "and you can't have him."

"My chosen!" The whirling entity made another dive for Peter and nearly pulled free of their streams.

Ray felt Egon beside him and realized the physicist had taken up a defensive stance with him over Peter. She'd have to come through both of them to get him. And it looked like she was prepared to do just that.

"Janine!" Egon had to shout over Quetzana's screams to be heard. "The trap! We can't wait any longer!"

But Ray saw immediately that this part of their plan wasn't going to work. With the three Ghostbusters working with throwers set to maximum, none of them could handle a trap and keep their throwers aimed. That left Janine, who was using a proton pack set to normal strength. But the creature was fighting them so violently the secretary was having trouble just holding her thrower on target. If she tried to throw out a trap, she'd lose her grip altogether; and it was taking all four proton rifles together just to hold the entity. All Quetzana needed was an opening and she would break free.

Winston was trying to work his way over to Janine. "Maybe I can..." But as soon as he moved, his stream wavered and, screaming fresh threats, Quetzana tried again to break out of their containment.

"This isn't working," Egon commented to no one in particular.

"No shit," Winston muttered under his breath. "We can't keep this up, Egon. Sooner or later, we're gonna run out of power, and when we do-"

"She'll go right for Peter!" Ray finished frantically. "Egon, think of something!"

"I am trying, Raymond." Spengler sounded remarkably calm, but his face was white and lined with strain. "I'm afraid it's a standoff. And our power is going to give out long before hers. There's no way to-"

The physicist broke off as something green popped up through the floorboards and flew toward Janine. Slimer snatched the trap from her belt and threw it flawlessly under the writhing amber ghost. "Baaad ghost," he spat, his features as fierce and angry as Ray had ever seen them. "Hurt Peter." Not even waiting to be told, he plopped down firmly on the pedal to open the doors. The flash of white light from the trap engulfed Quetzana, triggering a fresh a shriek of fury. Ray firmed his protective stance over Venkman as she tried to break free and dive toward the downed psychologist. He had seen many ghosts fight their beams and struggle against entrapment, but he had never seen one fight as hard as this.

"No! Mine! My chosen! My-"

That was all she had a chance to say as she was pulled downward and the trap doors finally snapped shut on her. Suddenly, the room was plunged into silence.

"Peter!" The sound of Egon's broken whisper brought them all around. The physicist was bending over the psychologist, his fingers pressed under the unconscious man's jaw. Spengler's face already pale, had drained completely. When he looked up at Ray, his face was strangely blank and uncomprehending. "I'm not getting... he's not..."

It was Janine who snapped to life. "I'll get Doctor Michaels-"

"Doctor Michaels is here." Michaels strode through the room and leaned over Venkman, his movements precise and professional as he examined him. But the grim set to his mouth and the anguish in his blue-gray eyes was enough of a reminder that he was more than just a physician to the stricken man. "No pulse," he announced tersely. Positioning himself over Venkman's chest, he snapped, "CPR, Egon. Now."

Bobbing his head in acknowledgment, looking like a man caught up in a nightmare, Egon tilted Peter's head back to clear the airway and waited for Michaels' signal as he began the steady, methodical compression of Venkman's chest. At the physician's nod Spengler picked up the rhythm of breathing into Peter's mouth. Without breaking his tempo or looking up, Michaels ordered, "Call 911."

Ray turned to run for the phone, but Winston was already there, receiver in his hand. Turning back to the scene at the bed, he felt a small hand slip into his and squeeze it tightly. He squeezed back, grateful for the support. Janine looked scared and angry at the same time. And no wonder. Had they really come this far, fought this hard, cared so much, to lose Peter now? He gave his head a sharp shake. No. He wouldn't think about it. They couldn't lose him. They just couldn't.

The whole scene took on an aura of unreality. The only sounds in the room-besides Slimer's soft sobbing - were of the two men working over Peter's slack body. Instead of counting out loud, Michaels was now muttering, "Come on... dammit... Peter... breathe... Come on... dammit... Peter... breathe..."

Ray found himself repeating the cadence in his own mind, as if by force of will he could make the psychologist begin breathing again. Oh God... His eyes slid shut suddenly. How long had it been? How long had before they got to him had Peter stopped breathing? The battle with Quetzana seemed to go on forever, but how long had it been really? Three minutes? Five? Ten? Longer? How long could the human brain survive without oxygen? How long before irreparable brain damage-

Michaels interrupted his thoughts with the terse order, "Winston, spell Egon."

So it went. First Winston took over for Egon, then Ray took over for Winston, then Egon took over for Michaels, and Michaels took over for Ray. They kept pumping life into Peter Venkman until the paramedics arrived and took over for all of them.

After two of the longest hours of their lives, all three Ghostbusters and Janine jumped to their feet when Stan Michaels stepped into the ER waiting room. Ray was sure, he was absolutely certain, that Stan had come to tell them Peter was dead. The paramedics had still been giving him CPR when they loaded him into the ambulance. How long would they keep that up before some ER doctor decided it was hopeless? Unconsciously, he moved closer to Egon and felt the older man slip an arm around his shoulders and brace himself for the blow he, too, felt must be coming.

But Michaels' fatigued face relaxed into a slight smile. "He's breathing on his own," he announced.

Winston's whoop sounded through the waiting room as he and Janine hugged tightly. Beside him, Ray felt Egon's body shudder as he let out an unsteady breath. Half-turning, he gave the taller man a fierce hug. "He's okay, Egon! Peter's going to be okay!"

There was pure relief on Spengler's pale face. "Can we see him, Stan? When can we take him home? Is he-"

He broke off as Michaels held up a hand. The faint smile had faded from his face, and he looked somber. "I said he's breathing on his own," he repeated, but in a very careful voice. "And that's a good sign. But he hasn't regained consciousness, and he's not responding to external stimuli."

When he didn't continue, Egon said hesitantly, "I don't understand..."

"Frankly, Egon, neither do I. There doesn't seem to be any physical reason for it." The physician stopped and looked away for a moment, as if he were trying to decide how best to continue. "Look," he said finally, turning back, "I told you at the beginning I didn't know how all this was going to affect him. It's possible those proton blasts were just too much for his body to take in his condition. It's like he's just shut down, like he's not fighting back-"

"That's impossible," Ray broke in immediately. "You know Peter, Stan. He'd never give up. Not ever."

Michaels looked at him thoughtfully. "No," he agreed, "Pete wouldn't give up. He's the most stubborn man I've ever met. But from what you've told me...that might not have been Pete."

"But when Quetzana blended with him..." Egon's voice was unsteady. "For that instant, he should have gotten all his memories back, all his strength..." The physicist faltered, clearly at a loss.

The doctor's eyes softened in compassion. "I know that was your theory, Egon," he said gently, "but perhaps your theory was wrong." Beside him, Ray felt Spengler flinch as if he'd been struck. "You yourself told me you've never encountered anything like this before-"

"Where is he?" Egon interrupted urgently, as if he had just thought of something important.

"We've moved him to a private room. Room 302-" He broke off as Egon snapped around and began striding purposefully down the hallway. "Egon, wait!" Hurrying after him, Michaels snagged the physicist's arm and brought him around. "He won't know you're there. I think it would be best if you all went home for now-"

"He shouldn't be left alone." Egon's voice was unwavering, but there was a note of desperation in it that no one missed. His stark eyes locked with Ray's, pleading for understanding, and the occultist nodded his agreement. Politely, but firmly, Egon removed his arm from the physician's grip and continued down the corridor to room 302.

Sighing, Michaels looked back at the remaining Ghostbusters and Janine-and even Slimer, who had been bobbing up and down anxiously over their shoulders ever since they had arrived. "I understand how you all feel, but-"

"We're staying, Stan," Ray declared flatly. "We're staying until we get Peter back."

"That may be-" Michaels broke off, then finished in a softer tone, "a very long time." The physician rubbed his eyes tiredly, then straightened a little. "Look, guys, he's my friend, too. But I don't want to hold out any false hope. The fact is, he's unconscious, we can't wake him up, and there doesn't appear to be any medical reason for it."

"You already said you don't know how to help him," Winston pointed out quietly, but without accusation. "Maybe we can do something that medical science can't... just by being here."

The physician seemed to consider that, then nodded slowly. "I hope so, guys. I really do. Because right now, medical science is at a loss."

"Stan, what about..." Ray had to swallow before he could force himself to finish the question. "Brain damage?" He couldn't bear to think about it. The thought of losing that quick, inventive mind, the sparkle that was Peter Venkman...

Michaels' response was carefully neutral. "Let's worry about getting him back first, Ray. Then we'll worry about that." He started to walk away, then stopped and looked back at the occultist. "And I don't think Peter is the only one who shouldn't be left alone," he said meaningfully, nodding in the direction Egon had gone. They all watched him as he walked away, rubbing the back of his neck wearily.

"When he's right, he's right," Zeddemore said, a worried frown on his face. "I've never seen Egon like this."

"He's blaming himself, isn't he?" Janine spoke for the first time since they arrived at the hospital. "He thinks this is his fault. Did you see his face when Doctor Michaels said he might have been wrong? I thought he was going to pass out."

Ray nodded to himself. Actually, passing out sounded like an awfully good idea right now. At least it would get him out of this nightmare for a while. Closing his eyes, he took a long, deep breath. He felt like his whole world was crumbling around him. First Peter, now Egon. For a large part of his life, these two men had been his supports, the people he automatically and immediately turned to share the joys, triumphs and sorrows of his life. They had encouraged him, sustained him, and offered him total and unconditional friendship. Now... he may have lost Peter, and Egon was foundering.

You'll be okay, Ray. Know how I know that? Because I'm countin' on you, and I know you won't let me down.

Opening his eyes, Ray took another, steadier breath. "I'll talk to him." He had made Peter a promise. It was time to keep it.

Ray stopped in the doorway of room 302, his breath catching in his throat. If it hadn't been for the reassuring steady beeping of the heart monitor in the corner of the room, he would have thought Peter was dead. The psychologist's face was relaxed and peaceful - almost too relaxed - and his skin had a translucent cast to it. Beside the bed, one of Peter's hands in his, sat Egon. He was staring blankly at the lax face, and Ray could see him absently massaging Venkman's hand.

Wordlessly, Stantz walked into the room and pulled another chair over beside Spengler. Egon never looked at him, and Ray wondered if he even knew he was there. Sliding an arm across the older man's shoulders, he gave him a little squeeze. "It wasn't your fault, Egon."

"It was my plan, Raymond." The physicist's voice was flat, almost without emotion. "My idea. My theory. Therefore, it was my fault."

Egon had a way of making everything sound like a logical mathematical equation. "No," he disagreed firmly. "It was not your fault. Peter made the decision-"

"He was in no condition to make such a decision. You were right. How could I have expected him to understand the danger? He chose this way because he trusted me-" Spengler's voice broke.

"Of course Peter trusted you. Don't you understand? That was Peter who made that decision. He may not have had all of Peter's memories of us, but it was Peter. That's why he trusted you - and that's why he decided to stand and fight Quetzana." Ray gave the physicist a gentle shake to reinforce his words. "Because, with or without his memory, that's the choice Peter would have made."

But his words seemed to have no effect on the wounded man. "I miscalculated," he whispered, almost to himself. "I miscalculated badly. The blasts were too much for him to withstand. You were right; we never should have told him-"

"I was wrong, Egon," Ray broke in sharply. "You were right - and Winston was right. Peter had a right to know. He understood the risks. I tried to talk him out of it, but he..." Stantz almost faltered, remembering his last conversation with Venkman, then finished steadily, "He understood."

"How could he?" Egon asked softly. "I didn't understand them myself. If I had..." He squeezed his eyes shut suddenly, reflexively tightening his hand around Peter's.

"Ow."

Two heads shot up.

"Did you hear-"

"Did he say-"

Confused green eyes blinked sleepily. "You guys mind takin' this argument somewhere else?" Venkman mumbled. "I'm tryin' to get some sleep here." Actually, he wasn't sure where 'here' was or why he felt like hell... or why there were tears in Ray's eyes or why there was a big, loopy grin on Egon's face.

But first things first. Why was his head pounding like some ghostly blacksmith was using it for an anvil? He groaned. "Oh, man. I haven't felt like this since Woodstock."

"Woodstock? Peter, do you remember Woodstock?"

The urgency of the question made Venkman blink at Ray's anxious face. The question seemed terribly important to the occultist.

"Yeah... well, kind'a." He probably remembered it as well as anyone who had been there could... all things considered.

"Peter." Egon was leaning over him, his whole manner radiating a rare intensity. "What's the last thing you remember?"

From Woodstock to 'the last thing he remembered.' What the hell was going on here? Then as the memories started to trickle back, a cocky grin touched his lips. "That must've been some date if it landed me in the hospital." Then, just as abruptly, his grin faded as new thoughts intruded. "Wait a minute. Donna. Was Donna hurt or-"

"Donna's fine," Egon interrupted hastily, patting his arm reassuringly. Then, in an almost too-careful tone, he repeated, "Peter, what is the last thing you remember?"

He frowned a little. Things were taking their own sweet time falling into place. "I remember... going to a museum and this ugly little statue of some death god..." A sudden pain in his hand made him grunt. With a start, he realized Egon was squeezing his fingers in a painful grip. "Spengs, you look like shit," he said, suddenly worried. "Are you okay?" When Spengler's face drained, the psychologist looked at Ray, alarmed. "Ray, is he okay? What's going-"

But his question was choked off when Ray Stantz threw his arms around his neck in a fierce hug. "Oh, Peter!" He could feel the warm wetness of Stantz's tears as the younger man caught him up and held him tight.

"Hey, Ray," he said softly. "Easy, kid. Easy. It's okay." He used his free hand to pat the occultist reassuringly on the back, although he, himself, was feeling far from certain about anything. Okay, he reasoned, something awful must have happened. And since he was the one in the hospital, it must have happened to him. That would certainly account for Ray's choke hold around his neck. Throwing a helpless look at Spengler, he was treated to the disconcerting sight of Egon Spengler surreptitiously wiping his eyes. "Egon, what's going on?" he demanded, shaken by their reactions.

As an answer, Egon squeezed his hand again, this time gently. "You called me 'Spengs'," he said simply, as if that explained it all.

Peter watched Stan Michaels as he removed the blood pressure cuff and made a note on his chart. "Well?"

Stan raised his eyebrows as he tucked his pen into his jacket pocket. "Well. I declare you officially alive. Although, don't ask me how." Sitting back, he studied the psychologist's face soberly, all traces of humor gone. "You gave us quite a scare there, pal."

Venkman cast a concerned look toward the door; he knew the rest of the team and Janine were standing outside, waiting. "The guys were pretty shook up," he said uneasily.

"The guys had every reason to be shook up," Michaels returned grimly. "You damn near died, Pete."

Peter considered that. He had been considering little else for the last three hours while Michaels ran him through a battery of seemingly endless tests. The guys - well, Ray mostly - had told him about the last three days of his life, about Quetzana, about how she had sucked out his memory and then come back to take everything else. But his mind was a complete blank with respect to that. He didn't remember anything after dropping Donna off at her apartment the night they went to the museum.

What he did remember was the look on Egon's face when Ray was telling him about how they had used the proton guns on him to separate him from Quetzana. Spengler wouldn't even look at him. In fact, he had been unusually quiet during Ray's almost frenetic explanation, not stopping him to clarify a point or add a detail as he usually did. Venkman felt his brows gather in a frown. Something serious was bothering Egon... and it was more than just reaction to his close call. If he could just remember...

"I still don't remember anything about the last three days," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"Considering what Egon has told me about the last three days, I think that's probably for the best," Michaels said quietly.

Venkman never heard him. "If Egon hypnotized me to recall the attack, maybe he can hypnotize me again to remember-"

"Whoa. Hold it, friend. I think it's a little soon to be thinking about that."

"Stan, I've lost three days of my life-"

"They're not lost, Pete. They're just temporarily in storage. You know that." Laying both hands on Venkman's shoulders, Michaels said seriously, "And you don't need me to tell you that when you're ready to remember, you'll most likely remember. I know it's frustrating, but for now, just let it lay, okay? Give yourself time to heal."

Venkman flashed the doctor his brightest smile. "Hey, I'm healed. I feel fine. A little tired, maybe, and a headache... but it's no worse than a hangover."

Michaels pulled out a penlight and ignored Venkman's grimace as he flashed the slim beam into his eyes. "Don't kid a kidder, ol' pal. This is Stan, remember? You've got some serious shit to work through here, and you know it." He switched off the light and gave him a solemn look. "Those people out there are family, Pete. Don't think you're protecting them by shutting them out of the process. Let them help-"

"Stan, my man, I've got a psychologist on call twenty-four hour a day," Peter interrupted flippantly. "Any time I want to be psychoanalyzed, I just talk to myself."

Michaels didn't smile. "I'm serious, Pete."

"So am I," Venkman returned, doggedly maintaining his casual, confident tone. "I can handle it."

Michaels sighed, as if he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere this way and held up three fingers. "How many?"

"Seven," Venkman returned promptly, then grinned. "Come on, Stan, admit it. You can't find a thing wrong with me." The slight scowl on Michaels' face confirmed it. "I do have one question, though," Peter added, his grin fading.

Michaels waited expectantly, if somewhat warily.

"Why didn't I die?"

Eyebrows climbing, the physician gave his shoulder a friendly shake. "Complaining, Peter?"

His smile was a little strained. "Hardly."

Michaels looked at him a moment longer, then dropped his hand and his attempt at humor. "My theory - and it's only a theory - is that those proton streams sent your body into a kind of reactive shock when they hit you. First physical, then emotional when that..thing left your body and dumped all your memories back. You came out of the physical shock when your heart kicked in again, but the emotional shut-down took longer to overcome. Of course..." He looked thoughtful. "There is one other possibility."

"What's that?"

A slow grin creased the physician's face. "That you're just too stubborn to die, Venkman."

A matching grin touched the psychologist's lips. "I think I like that one better."

"Thought you might," Michaels said dryly, getting to his feet.

"So, can I go home now?"

The physician stared at him in disbelief. "Pete, your heart stopped tonight-"

"And now it's started again. Come on, Stan," Venkman wheedled, trying to sound reasonable. "You admitted you can't find anything wrong with me. And it's not like I had a heart attack or anything." He blinked innocently. "I had a ghost-attack. And she won't be coming back. So, what do you say?" Getting to his feet, he fixed the other man with his most pleading look. "Let me go home, Stan. Please." Nodding toward the door , he added, "I think they need it almost as much as I do."

Michaels threw a glance at the door as well, his face softening. "You might be right about that," he murmured. Then, ungraciously, "All right." But before Peter could whoop at his success, the doctor poked him in the chest with his index finger to make a point. "But you, pal, are officially on sick leave until I release you for duty, got it? And I'm going to make sure Egon, Winston and Ray all know that."

Peter threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, do I look like I'm complaining? A little vacation sounds like a great idea to me."

"Just remember that," Michaels growled and strode over to the closed door. But before he opened it, he looked back at the psychologist, his face serious. "I meant what I said, Pete. Don't try to shield them-they're part of the healing process."

Venkman smiled his brightest smile. "And I told you, Stan, I can handle it."

"You can't handle everything alone, Pete," was the doctor's disquieting retort. Yanking the door open, he came face-to-face with three Ghostbusters, one secretary and one green ghost. Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he ordered, "You want to get this guy out of my hair? I've got sick people to look after."

Peter stepped inside their bedroom and slowed to a stop, his eyes traveling over the remnants of the battle with Quetzana. Proton packs lay where they had been dropped when Janine and the guys had shrugged out of them to come to his aid; the covers on his bed were all but on the floor, his mattress slightly askew; there were empty plastic containers and other unidentifiable plastic things strewn on the floor, left behind by the paramedics; and in the center of the floor, in a blinking trap, was the lady herself.

Slowly, he walked over to the small containment unit and gave it a gentle tap with his foot. "So, we meet again, old girl," he murmured.

"You're never going to meet her again, Peter," Ray stated resolutely from somewhere near his elbow. He could almost hear the shudder in the occultist's voice.

He turned slightly to look at the younger man, fresh guilt swamping him as his eyes locked with the worried hazel ones. Ray looked haggard and drawn from too much worry and too little sleep, and he hadn't budged from his side since they left the hospital. The last three days would have been hard on all of them, but they must have been hardest on Ray. The way he kept hovering anxiously by his side - like he was afraid he was going to disappear or something - wasn't a good sign.

Turning the rest of the way, he engulfed the occultist in a sudden, protective hug, wishing with all his heart that he could wipe away the pain and the stress of the last three days. "I know," he whispered. "Thanks, pal."

Stantz tightened his arms in a fierce embrace and, although it threatened to cut off his air supply, Peter rode it out until the younger man finally felt reassured enough to ease away. "It's good to have you back, Pete," he said in a husky voice, hazel eyes damp.

Hoping to lighten the mood, Venkman reached out and rumpled the auburn hair, grinning when he was rewarded with a smile. "Good to be had, kiddo."

"I'll second that." As Peter turned at the sound of Winston's voice, Zeddemore reached out and tousled his hair.

"Winston!" He grimaced. "I hate that!"

The black man grinned broadly. "Glad you remember it, homeboy." Hooking one arm around Venkman's neck, he pulled him into a hard hug. "Welcome back, m'man." When he finally released the psychologist, he jerked his head toward the trap, his grin turning into a scowl. "Think I'll see this lady safely to the containment unit."

Peter cut a quick glance at Egon as Zeddemore went to retrieve the trap. No one - not even Janine, and she tried - had been able to coax anything other than monosyllables out of the physicist all the way home. When they had dropped her off at her apartment, she had whispered a quick, "Egon's really upset, Peter," in his ear. Not that he had needed to be told. Spengler was standing a little apart from them now, hands in his pockets, looking around the room with an air of distraction.

As Winston left the room with the trap, Peter caught Ray's eye and nodded toward the door. Casting a worried glance at the physicist, Stantz announced, "I'll help you, Winston," and quickly followed him out the door.

Alone in the room with Egon, Peter sauntered up beside him, copying his stance. "I haven't really had a chance to say thank you for what you did," he said in a casual, but sincere tone. "I know it wasn't easy for you. I also know," he continued, stepping in front of Spengler so the physicist would have to look at him, "that you're the only one who could have done it. Winston doesn't have the scientific training to figure it out, and Ray...he might have figured it out, but he could never have gone through with it on his own." He paused. "That kind of left it all to fall on your shoulders, didn't it?"

The blue eyes that had locked with his flashed with pain and flicked away. "Peter, I nearly killed you." The physicist's voice was clearly unsteady. "If Stan hadn't been here-"

"But Stan was here - because you brought him here. And I didn't die." Laying both hands on Spengler's shoulders, Peter tightened them in a firm grip. "You saved me, Egon. You brought me back from... from wherever I was. From limbo. You gave me my life back."

But the blond man shook his head, unwilling to let go of what he considered his culpability in the near-tragedy. "I let you make a decision based on a theory-"

"No," Venkman interrupted firmly. "I made that decision based on trust."

A deep sadness settled into the usually placid blue eyes. "I know," Egon whispered. "That makes it even worse."

"Because I trusted you?" Venkman gave him a little shake, his voice sharp, "Egon, I trust you with my life every time we go on a call. We all trust each other. That's why we're still alive. This time was no different."

Pulling out of his grip, Spengler turned away as if unable to face him any longer. "No," he disagreed. "This time was different."

Peter considered his friend's straight, stiff back for several moments, perceiving suddenly this wasn't going to be the quick fix-it job he had originally thought it would be. Then again, maybe all this went a little deeper than he had originally thought. That suspicion made him frown. He wasn't used to Egon needing this sort of reassurance. His phlegmatic friend was always so confident, so self-assured, so certain of his own abilities... Venkman's eyes widened suddenly as the realization hit him. He, Ray and Winston had come to depend on Egon's incredible intelligence, his seeming infallibility in always coming up with the perfect plan whenever one was needed to save their lives. They trusted him to be right when they needed him to be right. It hadn't occurred to him until this moment how much of a burden that could be.

Laying a hand on his friend's stiff shoulder, Peter gave it an understanding squeeze. "You weren't sure, were you?" he asked softly, suddenly certain of what was so deeply troubling the physicist. "You weren't sure it was going to work." The abrupt tightening of the muscles under his hand gave him his answer.

"What I did," Egon stated flatly, "was unconscionable."

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Peter would have smiled at the idea of Egon Spengler doing anything 'unconscionable'. "And why was that?" he pressed, very gently.

At that, the physicist turned, his lean face tight with anger. "You trusted me to be right, Peter, and I knew I could be wrong. I let you make a decision based on that trust."

When he didn't continue, Peter supplied carefully, "And you think that was some kind of betrayal."

Pain sparked in the taller man's eyes. "The worst kind of betrayal." Reaching out, Egon gripped the psychologist's arm, tightening his long fingers until it was almost painful. And the deep voice that was always so calm, so composed, so unruffled, suddenly cracked. "I risked your life, Peter, and I had no right to do that. I wanted you back so badly that I put my own emotional desires ahead of scientific objectivity."

Peter felt a gentle smile touch his lips, and he leaned forward to wrap his arms around the older man, pulling him into a tight embrace. "And I'm damn glad you did," he whispered. "Or I wouldn't be standing here today - and we both know it." After a hesitation that seemed to last an eternity, Peter felt his friend's arms encircle him and tighten into an almost desperate embrace. Realizing his need for reassurance - and forgiveness, although there was nothing to forgive - Venkman shifted to pull him even closer. When Egon's arms tightened also, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He held him that way until he felt some of the tension at last drain out of the slender body. Only then did he loosen his grip and allow the older man to step back, but still he kept his hands on his friend's shoulders, needing to maintain that contact. When he saw the glistening moisture in the blue eyes, he tightened his fingers in a reassuring squeeze.

"We all put a hell of a lot of pressure on you, big guy," he said solemnly. "We count on you always being right, no matter what; and that's not fair. You're not always going to be sure, Egon. Sometimes you just have to go with your instincts. That's exactly what you did, pal, whether you realize it or not. And there's nobody's instincts I trust more than yours."

Giving him a moment to let that sink in, Peter dropped his hands and folded his arms across his chest. "And I'll tell you something else," he said sternly. "If it happened again, and I had to make the choice all over again - even knowing everything that could go wrong, knowing all the risks - I'd paint the damn bull's-eye on my chest myself. You got that?"

Slowly, very slowly, the painful guilt began to drain from the other man's eyes. "Thank you, Peter," he said softly.

Venkman smiled affectionately. "No, thank you, you mad scientist, you, for bringing me back." Stepping forward again, he engulfed the physicist in another warm embrace, trying this time to communicate through that hug all the gratitude he owed this man. If it had been up to him to have to decide to pull the trigger on one of the others under those circumstances, he wasn't sure he would have had the guts. "Thanks, Spengs," he murmured.

Long, strong arms encircled him tightly. "Welcome back, Peter," the other man whispered. "I missed you."

It was the time of early evening when the oppressive July heat began to fade along with the light. If you timed it just right, you could stand on the roof of Ghostbuster Central and watch lights all over the city pop on in a majestic, silent choreography. It was an awesome sight. But Egon Spengler doubted Peter was up here on the roof, alone, for the scenery.

The physicist stood in the open doorway for some time, studying the solitary figure. He wasn't surprised to find Peter up here; it was a favorite haunt of the psychologist's when he wanted to be alone to work through something. And he had a lot to work through right now. The brown-haired man was standing with his back to the door, shoulders slumped, hands in his pockets. For one instant, the physicist flashed back to his first sight of Peter in the hospital in that same pose. Then he gave his head a sharp shake, banishing the image. That was over now, he told himself firmly. It was over and they had Peter back. But as his eyes rested on the psychologist, he reluctantly acknowledged the unease he felt inside himself: Did they really?

Worry gnawed at the edges of his mind. Their battle with Quetzana had been four days ago... yet he, Ray and Winston were still tip-toeing around Peter, reluctant to say anything that might trigger his memory of the days he had been under attack by the entity. And as for Peter... Egon's brows drew together in a frown. He had asked no questions about the missing three days, showed no inclination to discuss it, and expressed no curiosity as to what may have happened.

Not only was that not like Peter, it was so unlike Peter that Spengler's concern had finally prompted him to leave his lab in the middle of an experiment and come looking for him. As he stood now gazing at the man, he had to wonder if their years of close friendship and working together hadn't allowed him to develop some sort of internal barometer where Peter was concerned. Would that explain his sudden unease, the impulsive departure from his lab and almost compulsive need to make sure he was all right?

He purposefully made some noise as he closed the door behind himself so as to not startle him, but he saw Peter jump nevertheless at the sound. Peter Venkman's nerves were not exactly made of steel these days.

"Nice evening," Egon observed casually as he moved up to stand beside him.

Venkman nodded absently and returned his attention to the lights of the city. "Ray fell asleep on the couch, so I thought I'd come up for some air."

It was a simple statement, spoken in a carefully neutral tone, but Egon heard the meaning behind the words. Ray hadn't let the psychologist out of his sight since the night they had captured Quetzana. He had been concerned about how Venkman was handling the occultist's continuing anxiety. The answer seemed obvious now inasmuch as Venkman had bolted the first chance he got.

"He's been very worried about you, Peter," he said in his quiet bass. "We all have."

In the soft glow of the overhead lights, Egon saw his friend's lean face tighten. "I know. I really put you guys through hell, didn't I?

Egon frowned and took Venkman's arm, pulling him around to face him. "That's not what I meant," he said firmly, disturbed by his response. "It was Quetzana who did this to us - to all of us. And she's now safely in the containment unit where she'll never hurt anyone again."

Deliberately, Peter pulled out of his light grasp and looked away again. "Yeah, well, I guess that's something."

"It's a very big something," When the psychologist didn't comment, Egon moved in front of him so Venkman would either have to acknowledge his presence or turn and leave. He was close enough to sense the change in Peter's breathing and feel the tension radiating off him.

"I'm really not looking for company right now, Egon," the brown-haired man said in a very controlled voice.

Egon unlocked his knees slightly so he was looking directly into the shadowed green eyes. "I have found, Peter," he said solemnly, "that is usually when you need it the most."

Venkman's eyes darted away quickly, but he made no move to leave. Egon waited, instinctively knowing Peter needed him here, now, and he would continue to wait for however long it took Peter to realize that, too. Finally, the younger man reached up to rub at his eyes, and Egon saw without surprise that his hand was shaking. "Egon... I saw the tape."

He stiffened. "You... what?"

Venkman wouldn't meet his eyes; he was staring blankly off at some distant point beyond Egon's right shoulder. "I saw the tape," he repeated, but with absolutely no emotion.

"Peter!" Egon felt a rare urge to curse. He settled for mentally counting to twenty, in Sumerian. "That cabinet was locked," he said finally, angry both at himself and Venkman. Himself for not burning the damned tape the minute he had taken it out of the camera, and Peter... for what? For being Peter? He should have known the psychologist couldn't let it rest; should have known he would be trying to piece together the fragments of his life that he had lost. Should have known he was just waiting for an opportunity. And they had given it to him: Janine had gone for the day, Ray fell asleep on the couch, Winston was tuning up Ecto, and he was shut up in his lab. His eyes slid shut. Why hadn't he simply burned it?

"You know your problem, Egon? You just don't have a devious mind. You always hide stuff in the same place. Every birthday present you ever got me ended up in that filing cabinet, do you realize that?" Peter was starting to babble. "And you really ought to get a better lock for that thing. I can pick that one with my eyes closed-"

"Peter." Spengler stopped his rambling by placing both hands on his shoulders. "If you wanted to see that tape, you should have come to me." Giving him a little shake, he chided gently, "You shouldn't have watched it alone."

Haunted green eyes locked with his. "I know." Venkman's voice was a whisper. "But I couldn't watch it with you."

"Why not?" Egon demanded, exasperated.

Peter looked at him a moment before answering. "You had the tape locked in a drawer, Egon. That's not the action of a man who wants to sit down and pop it into the nearest VCR." Quickly, the troubled gaze flicked away again, but not before Egon saw the pain in it. "Besides, from the looks of it, once was enough for you."

The guilt-laced tone of his voice cut through Egon like a knife. "Stop trying to blame yourself for something that wasn't your fault," he said sharply. "Peter, how many times do we have to tell you-"

"I remember that night, Egon." The psychologist's flat monotone stopped Spengler in his tracks. "After seeing the tape... it all came back. All of it."

Egon felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. "Oh, Peter," he breathed, compassion swamping him. "I was hoping you wouldn't..."

But the psychologist shook his head, his face contorted in anguish. It was as if his emotional floodgates had broken at last and he couldn't stop the torrent of words. "I remember the attack, and trying to fight her off, and... afterwards. I remember waking up and feeling this..." Venkman's slender frame shuddered, "This awful loneliness. Like there was no one in the world but me. I was all alone. I didn't have anyone. No one." Finally, his unsteady voice broke. "And I remember how that felt, and how alone I was, and I'm scared that some day maybe-"

"No!" The physicist's slender fingers tightened suddenly on Venkman's shoulders. "That will never happen, Peter."

In an unexpectedly savage move, the psychologist knocked Egon's arms away. "You don't know that!" he hissed. "This life doesn't come with any guarantees, professor. It can happen any day on any job. All I have to do is screw up just one time and any one of you could be-"

"All you have to do?" Egon broke in sharply. "Peter, listen to what you're saying! Think about what you're doing to yourself!"

Venkman ran a trembling hand through his wind-tossed hair. "That's the trouble, old buddy," he admitted shakily. "I can't stop thinking." Suddenly his knees gave out and he dropped cross-legged onto the roof, both hands tangled in his mass of brown hair. "Egon, if I go on a job like this, I'm gonna get somebody killed."

Lowering himself down beside the younger man, Egon draped a strong arm across his slumped shoulders. "None of us," he declared quietly, "are going out on any calls until we're all ready."

Venkman's voice was a hoarse whisper. "What if I'm never ready?"

"I don't think that will be the case, Peter," the physicist answered honestly. "I've known you too long and seen you come through too many other tough situations to believe you won't come through this one, too." Absently, he began massaging his friend's tight shoulder muscles, waiting until he felt them relax a fraction before suggesting, "I think you should talk to someone..."

The brown head shot up, and Venkman's eyes narrowed. "A shrink?"

Egon smiled at the psychologist's disparaging use of the term. "No. I think you should talk to us."

Venkman shook his head immediately. "No. No way. I don't think Ray could handle that-"

"Ray has handled quite a lot in the last few days," Egon reminded him somberly. "And quite frankly, I think we need to talk about this as much as you do. We went through it, too, you know. The loss wasn't just on your side."

The rebuke was gentle, but it hit the mark. The younger man drew up his knees and dropped his head into his arms. "I know," he mumbled, his voice muffled. "I know, I know." Egon continued to move his hand over his friend's knotted muscles and waited patiently as Venkman struggled with the suggestion and with himself. Finally, the psychologist raised his head. "So, what do you think? Group therapy, Doctor?" he queried, a tight smile barely touching his bloodless lips.

"What do you think, Doctor?" Egon countered.

Peter appeared to consider that for a few moments, then sighed. "I think," he answered with scrupulous honesty, "that as resident psychologist of this loony bin, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't get off my butt and do something to help us all get past this."

"We've just been waiting to hear you say that, Peter."

Two heads shot up at the sound of Ray's soft voice. The occultist was standing in the open doorway, Winston right behind him.

Stantz walked over to where they were sitting and looked down at Peter. "I don't think any of us are going get past this without your help."

Egon felt a tremor pass through the wiry body next to his. "I'm not sure I can help you, Ray." Only because he knew the psychologist so well did Egon understand just how much that confession cost him. "I'm not even sure I can help myself."

Unperturbed, the auburn-haired man dropped down in front of Venkman. Leaning forward he placed both hands on Peter's knees and waited until the green eyes reluctantly rose to meet his. Then he smiled. "I'm sure."

For the longest time there was no reaction at all from the psychologist. Then the barest ghost of a smile touched his lips. "You sure have a lot of faith in me, kiddo."

Stantz's hazel eyes were warm with affection. "That's right, Doctor Venkman, I do."

Peter's gaze rested on the younger man for a moment, his shadowed face unreadable, and Egon held his breath. Finally, Venkman leaned forward far enough to lightly punch the occultist's knee. "I'll try not to let you down." Then before anyone could respond to that, the psychologist turned a stern gaze on Winston. "And what's your excuse, Zeddemore?"

The black man strolled over to join them and lowered himself fluidly to the floor between Ray and Egon. "Figured if we were going to rap, I wanted to be a part of it. I have a few things I wouldn't mind talkin' about...providing the right people are listenin'." Winston gave him a sly look. "What d'you say, homeboy? Are we in session?"

Peter let his scowl touch each of his three companions, letting it finally rest on Egon's impassive face. "Why do I get the feeling I've just been set up?" he asked sourly.

"Paranoia?" Egon suggested smoothly.

Venkman grimaced. "Well, if you're going to be paranoid, I guess this is the place to be," he muttered. "There always seems to be some ghost out there with our names on it." Then, as if he'd just realized what he said, he looked around at his audience and lightened his tone, "Well. I guess it's my quarter, isn't it? All right then. I'd like to thank you all for being here tonight..." Then his eyes locked with the compassionate hazel ones opposite and his determinedly breezy manner faltered. "I'd like to thank you all," he repeated in a very different tone, "for being here. Every time I need you."

No one said anything. No one had to. It was as if they all sensed Venkman's need to unburden himself of some of those ghosts that just wouldn't let go. And it was as if, Egon mused, they all realized that their own healing had to begin with his. Watching Peter in the growing shadows, he sensed that Peter knew that, too.

"I've been walking though the past four days trying to convince myself that since I didn't remember what Quetzana did to me, it didn't matter. That it didn't matter what she did to me and it didn't matter that I couldn't remember." Stopping, the psychologist took a deep, steadying breath before admitting, "But it does matter. And now..." He glanced at Egon as if seeking reassurance. "I think I need to talk about it."

Egon responded with an approving smile and patted him encouragingly on the arm.

"We all need to talk about it, Peter." Venkman looked back at the sound of Ray's gentle voice. "We were all scared." His eyes dropping, Stantz added in a low voice, "I still am."

That was the turning point. Egon could almost hear Peter's defenses shattering. Across from him, he could see Winston watching Venkman, a small, understanding smile on his face. Oblivious to that and everything else except Ray Stantz, the psychologist leaned forward, and put a hand under the occultist's chin, gently lifting it until he met his eyes. "So am I," Venkman confided in a dead level voice. "So why don't we all talk about that?"

Egon caught Winston's eye and allowed himself a pleased smile in response to the wink the black man tossed him.

"And since I'm the krazy glue around here..." Egon threw the psychologist a startled look and was rewarded with a blessedly familiar mischievous grin. "...why don't I start?"

The discussion on the rooftop of Ghostbuster Central lasted well into the night. But that night, more than a few ghosts were laid to rest.