Ghostbusters The Return (15 page)

And that's when he saw it. The blaze had spread past the camp stoves. It was closing on the tanks of butane fuel that stood behind them.

"Egon!" he shouted. "We've gotta get out now! It's gonna blow!"

"On my way!" came the reply.

With one arm around the saleswoman's shoulders and his other gripping the cord attached to his ecto trap, Ray started to run. He had a fairly good idea of where the front of the store was, as long as he stayed on course while dodging around pockets of fire along the way. But he had no idea how they'd get out once he got there.

Their path converged with Egon's as they approached the front of the store. Egon was still towing the ghost in his ion stream as he ran.

"I'm open to ideas!" said Ray.

"That makes two of us!" Egon replied.

Keeping one arm around the saleswoman, Ray pulled out his nutrona wand with the other. He blasted the window, shattering it into a hail of tiny glass fragments.

"Out the window!" said Ray.

"It's still burning up there!"

"No choice! On the count of three... "

Just then, a powerful jet of water blasted in through the broken window. It sizzled into steam as it came in contact with the fire.

"The fire department!" said Egon.

Ray brought the saleswoman into the outer edges of the jet of water. On the fringes, there was enough water to get soaked, without getting bowled over by the force of the pressure. Egon followed close behind.

"There they are!" shouted a voice from outside.

"Try to stay in the spray on your way out!" Egon told Ray.

"Right!"

The soaking wouldn't protect them from the fire for long, but then again, it didn't have to. The trio took a running start, jumped up into the window display, and kept going. They burst out into the sunlight, arm-in-arm, with Egon towing the last ghost behind. A rush of cool, fresh air hit them as they reached the pavement. After the inferno in the store, the change in temperature felt like bathing in ice water.

"Keep going!" shouted Ray. "We need distance before those tanks blow!"

They had just cleared the curb when the butane tanks caught fire. The explosion ripped through the store and shattered windows all up and down the block. The force of the blast knocked the Ghostbusters and the saleswoman flat on their faces and sent them tumbling across the blacktop. But at least they were alive.

Despite his aches and pains, Ray didn't think he'd broken any bones. Slowly, and with some effort, he looked up to see that the crowd outside had multiplied. Police backup had arrived, along with three fire engines and their crews, a team of emergency medical technicians, and the usual assortment of news reporters and rubberneckers that mass destruction always brought along.

Through it all, Goodraven stood, impassive, in precisely the same place where he'd been the entire time. He seemed oblivious to the chaos raging all around him, and turned only slightly to watch the Ghostbusters go sprawling into the street.

Somehow, Egon had managed to keep a tight grip on his nutrona wand through the blast and through the fall. If he let his fingers slip for even an instant, the ghost would get free and the whole thing would start all over again.

"Ray..." he said, "Do you suppose...you could get me...a trap?"

*     *     *

A short distance away, the police captain was jabbing a finger into Goodraven's chest and hollering at him. Poole had decades of practice in intimidating people, even when the top of his head only reached the middle of their chest. But Goodraven was a whole different story.

"Are you nuts?!" he shouted. "You coulda killed somebody! What was that?!"

"That," Goodraven said in a calm, even tone, "Was the Lord's work. His will be done."

The captain pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "You're coming downtown, freak! We've got you on arson, reckless endangerment - "

"I think not."

"Oh. you don't, do you?!"

"Nay. I merely fulfilled the task assigned me by the Mayor of your city."

Poole glanced over at the news cameras behind the police barricades. He imagined leading the Mayor's new golden boy away in handcuffs. Next, he imagined his pension evaporating before his eyes.

Goodraven suddenly raised a finger, as though he'd just remembered something. "Ah," he said. "Nay, but I misspoke. Your pardon."

Goodraven strode over to where Ray and Egon were lying on the ground, but didn't give them so much as a glance. Instead, his unflinching glare was directed at the ghost hovering in the grip of the ion stream. He stared long and hard into the spectre's empty eye sockets. It was the first time that Ray had ever seen a ghost look scared.

And, as it turned out, for good reason. Goodraven's hand shot out to grab the intangible wraith by the throat. He started to mutter under his breath in a language other than English. His eyes became even more intense. The ghost let out an inhuman shriek of terror... "

...and burst into bright orange flame. For a moment, it howled in pain and fear. Then it was gone.

Goodraven walked briskly back to the captain.
"Now
have I fulfilled the task assigned me by the Mayor of your city."

Without another word, he picked up the flamethrower, replaced it in his sack, and left. The reporters thronged around him as he reached and passed the barricades, but he simply walked purposefully away until they gave up and stopped following.

"What do you mean we can't find him?!" the Mayor roared.

The aide drew back reflexively, although he apparently managed to fight the urge to flee the building. "We - we tried to patch through police channels as soon as word came through, but apparently he already left the scene."

"Well, he's got to go home sometime! Call him!"

"W-we can't."

"'We can't?' Why not?!"

"M-Mister Goodraven never filled out an applicaffon. We d-don't have his phone number."

"What?!"

In a small voice, the aide said, "He...was supposed to come in to fill out his paperwork today."

"He was supposed to fill it out today? That's just dandy!" shouted Lapinski. "How are we supposed to fire this idiot if we can't get hold of him?!"

The aide shrugged helplessly.

"Send him e-mail! Put out search parties! Shine a signal in the sky, if you have to!"

"We could spread word through the media..."

"And let everyone know that we can't keep track of our own crazy exorcist? Out of the question!"

Lapinski turned to Wong, the police commissioner, and the commissioner for the Office of Emergency Management. Up until now, they had all been doing their best to stay invisible on the other side of the room. Even the police commissioner flinched.

"We need heavy duty damage control. I want Goodraven found -
now!
I want a statement for the press that distances us completely -
without
sounding like we made a mistake! We've gotta take care of this before the idiot pulls something like this again!" He glared at them. "Make me happy, gentlemen. Because if we don't pull this one off, we could
all
be out of a job."

It didn't take too long for the emergency medical technicians to get Egon and Ray back up to speed. A little oxygen helped combat the effects of the smoke inhalation. A little first aid took care of the minor cuts and burns they picked up along the way.

More important, the fire department managed to clear everyone out of the twelve-story building before the fire had spread beyond the store. The only people who'd been in immediate danger were the former hostages, and thanks to the police and the Ghostbusters, all of them were safe now. The fire department still had its hands full extinguishing the fire, but the worst was over.

"You did some good work back there, fellas," Poole said, shaking Ray's and Egon's hands.

"You, too, Captain," said Ray.

"Listen," the captain said in a confidential tone, "For what it's worth...your boy has my vote."

Ray was better than Egon at hiding his reaction when they both winced. "Thanks, Captain," he said, forcing a smile.

As Poole walked away to talk to his officers, Egon and Ray headed for the Ectomobile. They started to load their gear in the back of the car.

"The situation is getting worse," Egon said.

"I know," said Ray.

"We can't continue much longer without help."

"I know."

"And we won't get any from that walking anachronism Goodraven."

"I know."

"That maniac doesn't even know what century he's supposed to be in. His clothes and his speech patterns don't even come from the same century!"

"Not necessarily. Actually, his speech patterns sound like he learned them from a King lames Bible. People still use those today."

"Fine, granted. But nevertheless."

"We need help," Ray agreed, "and it's not coming from Goodraven."

"Precisely."

Ray slammed the Ectomobile's rear door closed. They circled around their respective sides of the car and climbed inside.

"I'll call Peter and Winston when we get back to the office," said Ray. "Maybe they've worked out some kind of arrangement by now."

"And if not?"

"Let's cross that bridge when - "

Both of them jumped a bit when the car phone rang.

Ray reached for it first. "Hello?"

"Doctor Stantz?" Janine's familiar, nasal tones came through the receiver.

"Janine?" Ray said, concerned. "You're not under attack again, are you?"

"No, we're fine. Well, Louis has the sniffles from all these dusty books, but it's not like there are any ghosts or anything. I've been trying to reach the two of you for half an hour."

"We've been a little busy."

"Well, I found something."

"On Xanthador?"

"Uh-huh."

"Hang on a minute." Ray hit the speakerphone button so that Egon could hear what she had to say. "Okay, go ahead."

"It turns out we were looking in the wrong place. We were figuring it'd be back in ancient Rome or Mesopotamia or someplace like that. I found something in this diary from right here in the U.S. in...when is this from?...1627."

"Xanthador's American?" said Ray.

"Not necessarily," Egon noted. "More likely an import - part of the belief system of some early irnmigrant."

"What does the entry say?" Ray asked.

"Well, I can't read all of it. Between the smeared ink, the handwriting, and the funny spelling, it's kind of hard to make out."

"What can you read?" asked Egon.

"It's something about somebody showing up from some colony that got wiped out. Apparently, he was babbling about fear and a demon named Xanthador who came from ancient...Ba...Bab...Bab-something."

"Babylonia," said Egon.

"Or Babel?" said Ray.

"The way things are going, it could be Babylon, Long Island," Egon said with a sigh.

"Anyway," said Janine, "it looks like they wrote the whole thing off to Satan, and they were going to send someone to check it out."

"What happened?" asked Ray.

"I don't know. It doesn't say," said Janine.

"Try looking a week or so later," suggested Egon.

"I did. I couldn't find anything. But it looks like there are some pages missing."

"Hmm. Does it say who they sent?" asked Egon.

"I think so, but the ink's smeared and the page is tom."

"So much for getting a lead that way," said Egon.

"All right. Thanks, Janine. Good work," said Ray. "Why don't you two focus on sources that deal with ancient Babylonia for now. Maybe we'll find more there."

"Roger," said Janine.

"We'll be back soon. See you later," said Ray.

"'Bye."

Egon hit the button to break the connection. "Not much to go on."

"No, but it's more than we had before," said Ray.

"The diary mentioned 'fear.' Do you suppose it could be some sort of fear demon?"

"Could be. Unless it just meant they were scared out of their gourds when the whole town was slaughtered. But a fear demon would make sense."

"How so?"

"Well, whatever's going on now is sure spreading a lot of fear."

Egon picked up the thread. "And even in normal times, urban legends cause fear."

"They make people nervous, anyway. So maybe Xanthador's doing all of this to spread fear."

"Or," said Egon, "Xanthador's
feeding
off the fear."

Ray considered that for a bit. "Of course, this is all just theory," he said.

"Absolutely. We'd need more information to prove or disprove it."

"And even if it's right..."

"Yes?"

"...we still have no idea how to stop it."

"True," said Egon. "But given that the United States still exists, and hasn't yet been renamed the United States of Xanthador, I think we can assume that someone or something stopped it in 1627."

"So it can be stopped."

"Presumably."

"Well, that's encouraging, I guess. Now, we just have to figure out how." Ray reached down and started the ignition. Let's hit the books."

CHAPTER 14

By the next morning, the image was everywhere. Every newspaper was plastered with the photo. Every newscast led with the footage. It was hard to walk anywhere in New York City without seeing a dramatic shot of Ray and Egon charging out of a blazing inferno, half-carrying a female victim between them, and towing a bound, hideous spectre behind them.

"Look at this," Ted Golden said, holding up the newspaper. "You couldn't ask for a better image to place in the public's mind on the day of the debate. Not to mention top media coverage across the board."

Venkman looked at the photo yet again. "They look good. Don't they look good?"

"They look good," Dana agreed.

"Mm-hmm, they sure look good," said Winston.

"You don't sound all that excited," said Golden. "Don't you get it? We couldn't buy this kind of publicity if we staged it ourselves. All right, so it would be better if the two of you were in the photo, too. But voters will make the connection anyway. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that by tomorrow, a lot of people will think you were in it."

"That's great," said Venkman. gazing absently around the walls of the dressing room.

"Well, I'd think you could work up a little more enthusiasm. This is
your
campaign we're talking about, after all... "

Milken stepped smoothly into the space between them and laid a soothing hand on Golden's shoulder. "Now, Ted, of course we're all excited. We've scored a significant PR victory and eliminated Lapinski's exorcist in one fell swoop."

"That's my point. I - "

"But let's be fair," MiIken continued. "Peter's got a major debate in just over two hours. It's only natural for him to be a little preoccupied right now."

Golden paused for a moment, digesting the point. He quietly laid the newspaper down on a small table. "Right, right. Sorry, Peter. I didn't mean to imply... "

Venkman raised a hand. "Hey," he said. "Don't worry about it.
No hay problema."

Milken steered Golden toward the door. "Come, let's give these folks a little quiet time. We'll go find John and check on the audio hook-up."

As they exited, Milken turned back to say, "Remember, Peter: hair and make-up in forty-five minutes. And be sure to empty your pockets. The lines of your suit need to hang straight."

Venkman formed his fingers into a gun and pointed at Milken in reply. "Forty-five minutes. Pockets. Gotcha."

As the door eased shut, Winston picked up the newspaper and stared at the front-page photo. "We should've been there," he said.

"Looks like they handled it okay without us," Venkman said, trying to convince himself as much as Winston.

"Yeah, but look." Winston pointed at the photo. "Chasing ghosts in a burning building? We're not talking about a standard get-the-poltergeist-out-of-the-attic situation here. They could've been killed."

"I know. But we've been over all of this already. You know what Gary said. We've got responsibilities here, too."

"I guess..."

"Another week or two, and we'll work out a schedule to split our time better."

Winston nodded, then turned to Dana. "You're an impartial third party. What do you think?"

Dana had been quiet throughout the conversation, listening thoughtfully. "I don't think there is a simple answer," she said. "It sounds like you need to decide on some priorities."

"That's where the words 'easier said than done' come in," said Winston. "There's a lot of good we can do with the Ghostbusters. But there's a lot of good we can do from the mayor's office, too."

All of Winston's talk about "doing good" was starting to make Venkman even more uncomfortable than he already was. "Hey," he said, changing the topic. "Do either of you know if the guys are coming down to watch today?" The cable news station had limited seating available in the studio where they were holding the debate, but Venkman had managed to snag a few tickets for Dana and his teammates. He could use some friendly faces in the audience.

Winston shrugged. "Haven't spoken to them."

"They weren't around when I dropped off the tickets with Janine" said Dana. "I'm sure they'll be here if they can."

Venkman nodded. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could. "If they can."

Dana eyed him cautiously. "How are you feeling about the debate?"

"Who, me? No sweat. I'm Doctor Smooth, remember?"

"Nervous, huh?" said Winston.

"You could say that."

"Scared out of your wits?"

"Mm. You could say that, too."

Dana slipped her arms around Venkman and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You'll do fine," she said.

"Funny," said Winston, "I told him the same thing yesterday."

"Did you kiss him while you said it?"

"No, but now that you mention it... "

Venkman grinned and raised a fist. "Try it, and you'll be the world's first politician to be assassinated before getting elected."

Dana chuckled, then kissed Venkman tenderly on the lips. "How's that?"

Venkman licked his lips and gave her a squeeze.

"Mmm...a little better," he replied. "Of course, if you want me to
really
feel better... "

"Down, boy," she said. "You don't need to feel that much better." 

"Sheesh. Get a room," Winston said with a smile.

Dana eased out of Venkman's arms and held out a hand, palm up. "Now, hand it over."

"What?" asked Venkman.

"The wallet, cell phone, everything."

"That's a little steep for one kiss, don't you think?"

Dana gave his shoulder a friendly shove. "You need to clean out your pockets, remember? I'll hold it all for you."

"Oh, okay. But I'm warning you: I counted the spare change."

"Big spender."

Venkman chuckled and started to pull a variety of objects out of his pockets. One by one, he handed them to Dana, who stashed them safely in her shoulder bag.

Once his pants pockets were cleared out, Venkman reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, and pulled out the brochures that she had given him for the Museum of Natural History and the planetarium. He started to hand them to her, but she raised a hand to stop him.

"Why don't you hang onto those?" Dana said. "It's a good reminder."

"Subtle. Real subtle," said Venkman. But he returned them to his pocket, just the same.

Off to the side, Winston idly noticed the newspaper that he was still holding in his hand. He raised the paper up to eye level.

"It
is
a nice picture," he admitted.

The Mayor hurled the newspaper across his dressing room. As the pages fanned out and separated, the front page photo of Ray and Egon fluttered to the floor.

"This is a disaster!" he shouted.

"It's a setback," Wong admitted. "There should be ways to overcome it, though."

"Oh, really? Out of all the papers in the city, the
Post
is my biggest supporter. Remind me, what's on their front page? Pictures of me kissing babies? Oh, no, that's right - it's a photo of Venkman's friends, saving the day!"

"I know things look bad right now..."

"Bad? The
Hindenberg
looked bad. This is terrible!"

"You're still ahead in the polls."

"For now."

"And you have a chance to keep it that way by trouncing Venkman in the debate today - that shouldn't be hard. But you can only do it if you stay cool and keep your temper under control. If you let everything get to you, it'll show."

Lapinski stopped and took a deep breath, exhaling heavily. "All right. You've got a point."

"I'm not saying anything you don't already know yourself. Now, shall we finish reviewing the additions to your talking points?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"Goodraven."

"I don't bring him up during the debate. We hold off on making a statement until I can do it without a stage full of candidates standing there."

"And if someone else brings him up?"

"Goodraven was using a respected technique, and had it tightly controlled. When the Ghostbusters barged in, they disrupted the procedure and things went out of control."

"So you're still using him?"

"No. Yesterday's experience has made me realize that, despite Goodraven's extensive safeguards, interference by less experienced parties can still cause an indirect threat. Since I'm not willing to take even a small chance with the safety of the citizens of New York, we have come to an amicable and respectful parting of ways with Mister Goodraven. We are currently considering several alternate options, and plan to announce something soon."

"Excellent. Venkman?"

"Emphasize his inexperience and unreliability. Talk about the demands and stress of the job. And when the opportunity arises, I slip in the fact that he was committed to a mental hospital."

"Even though it was a previous administration that had him committed - for a day. Before Klotch reversed his decision. But you don't have to mention that."

"No, but he will, if he has a lick of sense. When he does, I move on to his arrest record."

Wang nodded slowly. "It'll work. You'll take the debate in a walk."

"I'll bury him."

Ray hadn't had the chance to see the photo yet. He'd been a little occupied.

Actually, he'd planned to wake up at six A.M. and get an early start on digging through the next batch of Babylonian documents, in search of further information on Xanthador. But after everything he'd gone through the day before, he wound up oversleeping until ten past eight. When he did wake up and saw the clock, he tried to lump out of bed, only to discover the aches that ran through nearly every part of his body. That was enough to convince him to move a little more slowly. So, by the time he pulled himself out of bed, showered, and got dressed, it was already after nine o'clock.

Ever since Ray had moved back into the quarters above the Ghostbusters offices, one of his favorite parts of the day was his morning commute down the pole that remained from the days when the building had been a fire house. Today, however, the impact as he landed at the bottom of the pole made him realize (just a little too late) that sliding down was probably a mistake this morning. As he slowly straightened up, he whimpered a greeting to Janine and Egon. They had already arrived and were hard at work, plowing through stacks of research material.

Ray settled in with some yellowing fragments of parchment, a cup of black coffee, and a bagel. As he chewed the bagel, he discovered that even his teeth ached. "How are you feeling?" he asked Egon.

"Fine," Egon said, with some mild surprise in his voice. "Why do you ask?"

Ray wasn't sure whether Egon was putting him on, or whether he should just be disgusted. He decided to let it pass. "So, where are we up to?" he asked.

"Nothing so far. I have Janine going through an English translation of tractate
Avodah Zarah
from the
Babylonian Talmud,"
Egon replied. "In the meantime, I'm about a third of the way through the court records from the Nebudchadnezzar dynasty, but it's slow going. I have to admit that my Aramaic is a little rusty."

"I can't imagine why." Ray looked around. "No Louis today?"

Janine held up several small, rectangular pieces of cardboard. "Dana dropped these off yesterday. They're tickets for Doctor Venkman's debate," she explained. "Louis decided to go. He said he's never been to a live municipal debate before. There's a ticket for you, too, if you're interested."

Ray thought it over briefly. Truthfully, he felt a bit torn. On the one hand, Peter was his best friend, and he wanted to be supportive. But at the same time, Ray knew that he needed to be here, looking for an answer before Xanthador hit the city with something even worse.

"Thanks," he said, "but I'd better stick around here."

The next hour or so passed quietly, with the three of them skimming through various texts. Their only accompaniment was the police scanner and the usual background noise of Slimer gobbling down everything In sight.

"Bingo," said Ray.

Egon looked up. "You found something?"

"Paydirt," said Ray. "It's right here, in the journals of Bar Ulla."

"Bar Ulla," Egon said, throwing up his hands. "Why didn't I think of the journals of Bar Ulla?"

Ray ran his finger across the yellowed page of parchment. "Some of it isn't really legible anymore... "

"Spending two thousand years in a clay jar in a cave will do that."

"And 'Xanthador' isn't the easiest name in the world to spell in Aramaic."

"Or in English," said Janine.

"But I'll bet that 'Zantador' is the same being," said Ray. "It refers to him as 'Zantador, lord of fear.'"

"That supports our hypothesis," said Egon. "He's a fear demon."

"Or he plays one on TV."

"Does it say how to stop him?"

"No, but there is a prophecy. Blah, blah, blah, 'reign of terror'... blah, blah, blah, 'devour the fears of man'... blah, blah, blah, 'rain down fire and brimstone from the heavens'... "

"Sounds like pretty standard stuff," said Egon.

"Mostly. But there's also a date attached."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I guess Bar Ulla liked his prophecies specific," said Ray. "Xanthador is supposed to attain his ascendance when Saturn aligns with Venus and Mars."

"It sounds like you found the Aramaic lyrics to
Hair,"
said Janine.

"Nope, it's right here. Look, there's even a diagram." Ray held it up to show them. There was an array of small circles and dots, with three of them lined up in a row and connected by a straight line.

"So if we can find the next time the planets are due to align in that configuration," said Egon, "We'll know when to expect Xanthador's major offensive."

"What do you want to bet it's next Tuesday?"

"Uh-uh," said Janine. "You won't see an alignment like that for at least another... hundred and fifty years. Maybe more."

Egon and Ray stared at her.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," she said. "I know stuff, too."

"Yes, but..."

"You've gotta know about orbits and stuff if you're serious about astrology. Like when I worked out your star charts, rememberer?"