Ghostbusters The Return (6 page)

"And a dope," she told Oscar.

He munched happily on his pasta in reply.

Dana filled a sippy cup with tap water and set it down beside the pasta on his tray.
That should keep him busy for a few minutes,
she thought.

She took advantage of the brief respite to finally take off his jacket. She went inside and hung the two coats in the closet beside the front door. She started back toward the kitchen and then, almost as an afterthought, flipped on the television so she could listen to the news while unpacking the rest of her groceries.

Returning to the kitchen, Dana asked Oscar, "What do you say, kiddo? Ready to keep the title of best - informed two-year-old on the block?"

She started to pull groceries out of the bag, taking care to bypass the potato chips that were near the top of one. She knew that if Oscar saw the chips, he'd refuse to eat anything else. Instead, she took out a banana and held it out toward him. "Banana?"

"Yah. Nana," he said, with his mouth full.

Dana peeled the banana, broke off the top half, and handed it to him. She took a bite from the other half, watching Oscar eat with pleasure. She exhaled through her nose as she chewed, finally letting her body relax.

Slowly, she became aware that Peter's voice was filling the apartment again. "That's funny," she told Oscar. "Did I bump into the answering machine?"

As Peter's voice was replaced by a reporter's, though, she realized that the source was someplace else. Curious, she stuck her head into the living room to look at the television and see what was going on.

She stared at the screen.

No,
she thought.
It couldn't be...

"Geeziil!"

"No need to holler, o infinite master of trepidation. I'm right here beside you."

Xanthador flexed every one of his many claws. His tail swept slowly from side to side, then suddenly whipped out to shatter a rock outcropping that stood behind him. Geezil threw his arms over his head to protect himself against the ebony rubble that rained down on the barren plain.

"Attend, Geezil. Gaze in abject awe. Already, I begin to succeed. Already, I can feel my power beginning to grow."

"I am so pleased to hear it, o venerable overlord of fright."

"With every strike executed by my minions, the fear increases. The barrier between worlds weakens. It is only a matter of time until the Earth shall fall beneath the shadow of Xanthador."

Geezil started to edge away from his master before Xanthador could bring down another outcropping. "Very good, o formidable ruler of misgiving. I'll go prepare for your final triumph."

Xanthador reached out and stopped him. "Patience, Geezil. The time is not yet upon us, but it shall come."

Geezil managed to croak out a response, despite Xanthador's hand wrapped around his throat. "Not...yet?"

"No. The prophecy has not yet been met. My power grows, but slowly."

"I guess that's...why...my head's still...attached..."

"Hmm? Ah." Xanthador released his grip, as though he hadn't even noticed what his hand was doing. As Geezil gasped for breath, Xanthador continued without so much as a pause. "For now, I regret to say that I must content myself with localized incursions. Yet, each individual's terror adds to my might. The fear of one fuels assaults on ten. The fear of ten fuels assaults on hundreds. The scope of our efforts shall expand, the fear shall multiply, and my power shall thrive."

Geezil cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Works for me."

It had been a long night - and morning - by the time Rudy Hamilton dragged himself back into the lobby of his hotel. He'd long since lost track of the number of bars he visited over the course of the night. Through it all, he hadn't managed to pick up a single woman, but he had much better luck picking up glasses of scotch. Rudy had stuck around long enough to hit closing time at several nearby bars, then moved on to close the after-hours clubs as well.

Now that morning had come, he made his way to the elevator, stumbling a bit along the way. He hit the UP button and ran his hands through his various pockets, searching for his room key as he glanced idly around the lobby. He could see that foot traffic was light at this early hour of the morning.

Just as Rudy found his key, something caught his eye. Across the lobby, the door to the hotel bar was ajar...and the lights were on. Could it be? Was the bar open at this hour?

The doors of the elevator parted as the car arrived with an electronic bell tone. Rudy looked down at the room key in his hand, then back at the door that led to the bar.
Well, I guess I could just check whether they're open,
he thought.
Just out of curiosity.

Pocketing his key, he headed over to stick his head inside the open door. Sure enough, a bartender was standing behind the bar, polishing glasses with a white cloth. There was only one patron inside: an attractive, languid woman who was sitting at the far end of the bar.

He pushed the door open a bit more and stepped inside. The bartender looked up and saw him approaching. "Can I help you?"

Rudy climbed onto a stool. "Scotch and water, please. Neat."

The bartender smiled, but shook his head. "Sorry. We're not open. I'm just cleaning up." To punctuate his point, he gestured toward the chairs that were stacked upside down on top of tables around the room.

"You're not serving?"

"Can't. It's not legal, this early. I could lose my license."

Rudy looked over at the drink that was nestled in the hand of the woman at the end of the bar. She looked back at him, the corner of her mouth curling into a lazy smile. "Not even one last nightcap?" he asked the bartender. Or morningcap, or whatever?"

"Sorry," the bartender replied with a shrug. "'Course, if you were to help yourself to something while I wasn't looking, well, there wouldn't be much I could do about it, now would there?"

Rudy caught the bartender's knowing smile, and nodded. He started to ease himself off the stool, but the woman at the end of the bar raised a hand. "Don't bother yourself," she said, in the sort of throaty voice that often came with a little too much alcohol. "I'll get it for you. I need a refill anyway."

Thanks," said Rudy.

Watching her get off her stool and move around to the back of the bar, Rudy guessed that she'd had quite a few refills already. But then again, after the night he'd had, he supposed he wasn't really in a position to judge.

"Scotch and water, right?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Still, despite her blurry-eyed look, Rudy had to admit that she was a good-looking woman. Long hair and pale skin - maybe a little too pale, but no big deal - that was offset by a silky black dress, cut low across the front and slit high up the side, revealing just enough to keep him interested. He glanced at himself in the mirror behind the bar and straightened his hair with his hand.

"Here we are." She came back around the front of the bar with a pair of amber drinks in her hands. She set one glass down on the bar and sat down beside him.

Rudy raised his glass toward her in a toast, and looked deeply into her eyes. "To early risers," he said.

"Or late bedgoers," she said, slurring her words a bit.

They took a swallow from their respective drinks.

"So," Rudy said, "are you staying in the hotel?"

"Mm-hmm."

"In New York for work or pleasure?"

"Oh, working, unfortunately." She took another sip. Then, in a meaningful tone, she added, "Not that there's anything wrong with mixing in a little pleasure too..."

"I couldn't agree more."

"Really..." she said. "And you? Are you here with anyone?"

Bingo,
Rudy thought. "Nope, just me. Finished off my sales quota yesterday. So now I'm all by my lonesome, looking for a little fun before I head home this afternoon."

"Lucky you. I've got miles to go before I hit my quota."

"Poor baby. What's your line?" 

"It's...hard to describe."

"Technical, eh?"

"Something like that. But I could show you...if you'd like to come up to my room."

Rudy's heart was pounding in his chest. "I thought you'd never ask."

She turned to the bartender. "I don't suppose you could be a dear and send room service to room 1218? We're going to need some ice. A
lot
of it..."

Rudy's eyebrows rose. "Oh, really?" He wasn't quite sure what she had in mind, but he quickly decided that he'd like to find out. The next few hours could turn out to be very interesting.

The bartender chuckled and reached for the phone beneath the bar. "Sure. No problem."

She eased herself off the bar stool, brushing against Rudy as she rose. He was right behind her.

"Hang on a minute," he said. He pulled a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and dropped it onto the bar beside his empty glass. "Oops," he said, sliding the bill toward the bartender with a wink. "I think I dropped some cash."

"I'll keep an eye out for it," the bartender replied. He tossed Rudy a little two-fingered salute before slipping the bill into his pocket.

Rudy turned back to his new friend. He slid his right hand into her left, their fingers intertwining. "Shall we?"

"Mm-hmm."

The two of them walked to the door, hand in hand. As they passed a tall window, they were enveloped in the warm glow of a shaft of sunlight. Rudy closed his eyes momentarily against the glare. As a result, he didn't notice the other effect that the light had on his companion.

It turned her body translucent.

Perhaps more important, Rudy also didn't notice the other change that was gradually taking place as they left the bar. While he held her left hand, the fingers on her right hand began to glisten. Slowly, they grew long, hard, and metallic, until they resembled a set of razor-sharp blades.

"By the way," she purred, "How are your kidneys?"

"My...kidneys? They're fine," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

CHAPTER 6

"I'm telling you," Ray said, "There's something going on."

"Why?" Egon replied dryly. "Just because in the last seventy-two hours, we've had to deal with twelve freefloating vapors, six class-four poltergeists, eight fullbody apparitions, and a swarm of ectoplasmic, urban-legend alligators that I'm still not sure how to classify?"

"No, it's more than that. You have to consider the forms they've been manifesting, too. Sewer gators. Kidney thieves. Hook-handed killers. Heck, we had three vanishing hitchhikers this morning alone! When's the last time that happened?"

"So you're saying that they're all connected."

"They have to be, don't you think?"

Egon nodded. "I'd say so. As coincidences go, I'd place the probability of this happening by chance as...just slightly less likely than all of the plankton on Earth suddenly jumping up and singing 'Hello, Dolly.'"

"Which would make it slightly
more
likely than the plankton jumping up to sing 'Ice, Ice Baby.' "

Why do you say that?"

"Even plankton have some taste."

Egon smiled at that. Ray always took it as a personal triumph when one of his jokes made Egon smile. It was the closest Egon ever came to laughing out loud.

"Someone's bringing urban legends to life," said Ray. "We're not going to be able to stop this for good until we figure out who and why."

"You're probably correct," Egon agreed. "But it'll have to wait until Peter and Winston return from their meeting, and we're back to full strength. For now, I think we'd better table the discussion and turn our attention to the matter at hand."

"Right."

Throughout the conversation, the pair had been slowly inching up toward a four-foot, potted cactus, their nutrona wands held loosely but ready. Large potted plants were not uncommon along the streets of New York, but this one was different. Ordinarily, it would have been strange enough that this particular plant stood in the middle of the street, or that both the cactus and its pot were a pale, chalky white. Or that the afternoon sun shone partially through it, rendering the cactus translucent. But in this case, all of those considerations were overshadowed by the thing that was even more unusual:

The cactus was moving.

It wasn't that it was floating or walking around or anything like that. It wasn't even jumping up to sing "Hello, Dolly." But it was pulsing and bulging in various places, with an organic motion that made it seem alive.

Ray and Egon stopped walking and maintained a respectful distance of about three feet from the spectral cactus. Egon shifted his nutrona wand to one hand and took out his PKE meter with the other. He waved it slowly in front of the cactus, moving it up and down, then side to side, as he scanned the plant for supernatural energies. Not surprisingly, the readout on the meter was going through the roof.

"Readings in the red zone?" Ray asked.

"Infra-red," Egon said.

"And here we are, shorthanded."

"Apparently, Peter and Winston chose a rather inconvenient time to start moonlighting in politics."

Ray edged a half-step closer to the pulsating cactus. Without taking his eyes off it, he asked, "Ever hear of dead plants leaving ghosts behind?"

"Not in the last fifteen centuries or so," said Egon. He was keeping an equally close eye on the cactus. "There's the legend of the Deadly Night Shades, but that's about it."

"Sounds right. How about urban legends about cacti?"

"No, but I'm not really up on the literature. I've never had much patience for things that aren't real."

"Why's it moving like that?"

"I'm not sure. Um...does it look to you as though it's starting to move faster?"

It was true. The pulsations were coming fast and furious now, as though it was reaching a fever pitch.

"Shoot it!" cried Ray.

But before they could trigger their weapons, the cactus exploded. It burst into a spray of...something...that filled the air and splattered across their bodies.

For a split-second, the two Ghostbusters assumed it was ectoplasmic slime. Immediately, though, they both realized that it wasn't slimy, and it wasn't a single mass - the "it" was really a "they."

And "they" were alive.

Egon looked down at his chest in alarm. "Ghost spiders!"

"Thousands of them!" cried Ray.

The spiders were everywhere. On the street. On the walls. And most important, on Ray and Egon. More out of reflex than anything else, they flailed wildly, trying to swat the spiders away. But their hands simply passed harmlessly through the insubstantial bodies of the ghostly arachnids.

"We can't blast them!" Egon realized. As long as the spiders were swarming on their bodies, zapping them would mean zapping each other - and with weapons that could blow holes through concrete, that just didn't seem like a good idea.

"They're on the clothes! Ditch them!" Ray shouted back. He was already stripping off his gear and coveralls, carrying the bulk of his spiders with it. He stomped on the pedal of a fallen trap and tossed his coveralls into the brilliant white light that poured out of it. In a flash, Ray's spiders were gone...and his coveralls were, too.

A moment later, Egon followed suit. Standing in their underwear, the pair snatched up their proton packs and looked around at the waves of spectral arachnids that seemed to be everywhere.

"I wish I thought to thank my mother when she was alive," Ray muttered.

"Thank her for what?" Egon asked.

"For teaching me to always wear clean underwear."

"Let's get to it." Egon gritted his teeth and took aim. "Where the hell are Peter and Winston?"

I could get used to this,
Venkman thought.

He adjusted the silk necktie they'd given him, straightened the lapels of his new Armani suit, and struck his most mayoral pose. Lights flashed as the photographer snapped another picture.

"Excellent," said the photographer. "Now, let's get a few of the two of you together."

Winston joined Venkman in front of the cameras. It was funny how different Winston looked in an expensive suit; Venkman had rarely seen him in so much as a tie. He had to admit, his fellow Ghostbuster cleaned up nicely. In Venkman's opinion, at least, the two of them genuinely looked like candidates.

Winston was grinning madly, like a kid on Christmas morning. "Can you believe this?" he asked.

"You know me," Venkman replied. "I'll believe anything."

The photographer raised a hand to catch their attention. "How about a few warm smiles? Good. Hold it." He snapped off several photos in rapid succession. Venkman fought the temptation to hold up two fingers behind Winston's head. "Okay, now put an arm around Mister Zeddemore's shoulders. Great. Just like that."

The past couple of days had been a whirlwind. With so little time to catch his breath, it all still felt like a dream to Venkman. However, even if it did turn out to be a dream, he had absolutely no intention of pinching himself to find out.

"Okay, we need some serious shots now. Let me see some confidence. Come on, you call that confidence? There you go. Excellent."

Growing up as the son of a pair of carnival barkers, Venkman had never really pictured himself taking a job that meant wearing a suit every day, let alone running for office. Then again, he hadn't really imagined himself on the faculty of a major university or chasing spooks out of Madison Square Garden either. And those jobs hadn't turned out too badly. Sure, they kicked him out of the university eventually, and Ghostbusters did go bankrupt a few times. By and large, though, it had been an incredible ride.

"Good. Let's get the two of you shaking hands now. Doctor Venkman, can you move half a step to your left? That's it."

Venkman wasn't really sure what his chances were in the election. Still, considering the free suits, free meals, and who knew what else that he'd be picking up along the way, it looked like he'd come out of this ahead either way, regardless of whether he won or lost the election. And if by some chance he did win...well, then the fun was just beginning. Not that he'd ever try to hurt anyone - well, maybe just that woman at the Motor Vehicles Bureau who kept sending him to the back of the line - but he had no doubt that he'd have ample opportunity to pick up a few perks along the way. After all, he'd have the New York City checkbook in his pocket and a deputy mayor who didn't know anything more about city government than he did. 

"Annnnnnnd that's the last of them. Thank you, gentlemen."

Venkman and Winston clapped each other on the shoulder and stepped away from the backdrop that had been erected in the conference room. "A splendid morning's work, my friend," Venkman said. "How about celebrating over some lunch and cocktails?"

"Sounds good," Winston replied, as they moved toward the door. "But maybe we should check in with Ray and Egon first, to make sure they don't need us."

"Hey, they're professionals. They can handle things for a few hours. Why would they possibly need us?"

"I guess. Can't hurt to check, though."

John Fielding was waiting for them at the door. He shook his head. "Sorry, fellows. Not so fast."

Uh-oh,
Venkman thought. In his experience, the words "not so fast" were never good. For a moment, he wondered whether they'd at least let him keep the suit.

"You're not done for the day yet," said Fielding. "Not by a long shot."

Oh, is that all,
Venkman thought with relief.

"You still need to go through your first briefing session, and then we have to start your media training. Here." Fielding handed each of them a thick binder. At a guess, Venkman would have figured that each binder was filled with a couple hundred pages. His estimate would have been short by at least another hundred.

"What's this?" Winston asked, opening the cover to glance inside.

"Your platform," said Fielding. "That book contains your position on every issue that's likely to arise during the election. The blue page at the front of each section is a brief on the substance of the issue. After that, you'll find your position, the positions of your various opponents - you'll want to pay particular attention to Mayor Lapinski's, of course - and your three or four key message points."

Suddenly, Venkman felt himself getting nervous. This was starting to sound like work. He held up a hand in mock defense. "Whoa, whoa, Johnny. Hold up a minute. Don't you think we're veering just a tad into overkill here?"

Fielding looked puzzled. "Why's that?"

Venkman hefted the thick notebook. "Well, this doorstop here. I'm sure the guys and gals in the back room put a lot of work into this. The binding alone is very attractive - you don't find this kind of black vinyl, three-ring binder just anywhere. But if all this thing does is list the candidate's opinions, then I think we can probably do without it, don't you? I am the candidate, after all. Who knows my opinions better than me?"

Fielding's look of puzzlement had been replaced by an eyebrow raised in skepticism. "Oh. When you put it that way..."

"I knew you'd come around."

"Where do you stand on the Brooklyn sewer treatment bypass legislation?"

"Huh?"

"The Brooklyn sewer treatment bypass legislation. You're the candidate. You must have an opinion..."

"Well, uh, sure," Venkman stammered. "In the, uh, matter of the Brooklyn sewage treatment..."

"Bypass legislation."

"...bypass legislation, I'd have to say that, uh...sewage plays a major role in the City of New York. And one thing's for sure: If you have sewage, you're going to have to treat it. And, uh, treat it well. So if you want to, uh, bypass the sewage..."

Fielding watched Venkman with his arms crossed and a bemused smile on his face.

"Yeah, all right," Venkman said, deflated. "I'II read the book."

"Thank you."

Venkman flipped idly through the binder, pausing at individual pages more or less at random. "But I'm not so sure about this whole business of you guys telling me what my opinions are. Over the years, I have managed to come up with one or two of my own, you know."

Fielding sighed. "Peter, you're a smart guy. You hold two Ph.D.'s, right?"

"Right. Psychology and parapsychology."

"Good. Then I'm sure you can follow this: The candidate is the public face of the campaign."

"Right."

"But that's just the
public
face. The candidate's not a one-man show. He's representing the needs and interests of the entire party. That means the things that come out of his mouth have to be aligned with the positions of the party." Fielding tapped his finger on the cover of the binder. "Every word in here was crafted by experts working behind the scenes. They understand these issues far better than you and I ever will. You just need to trust them, okay?"

"I suppose."

Just then, Winston chimed in. "Actually," he said, "the sewage treatment legislation is pretty important. If it passes, it runs the risk of raising toxicity levels in the water by a good forty percent. Not to mention the possible health risks for children living around there."

"Yeah?" said Venkman. He started to flip through the binder. "What page is it on?"

"Oh, I don't know," Winston replied. "I didn't read about it in here."

"Then how do you know about it?"

"They were debating it in last week's city council meeting. I saw it on cable."

"You watch those things?"

"Absolutely. Don't you?"

"Uh..."

"Peter, those guys on the city council are making decisions that affect all of us. It just makes sense to stay on top of it," Winston said. "Like that whole budget fiasco in the Transit Authority a few months back. Now, that was a mess. Money being mismanaged left and right... I'll tell you, if I'd been there, I'd have been all over those guys."

Fielding nodded in appreciation. "That's very impressive, Winston. More and more, I can see that we made the right choice bringing you onto this ticket."

"Thank you, sir."

"We're all going to be working together closely for the next several months. Call me John "