Ghostbusters The Return (2 page)

With Winston clear, Venkman swung his nutrona wand around to sweep the skeleton into the light; a moment later, Ray followed suit. When all three of the ghosts were held fast, Egon stamped on the pedal again. In an eyeblink, the light was sucked down into the trap along with the ghosts. The lid of the trap snapped shut. With a small electronic beep, an indicator light on it changed from green to red.

It was over. Only the wisps of smoke that seeped out of the seams in the trap gave any hint of the restless spirits that were imprisoned inside.

An unusual hush fell over the arena for a moment. The crowd watched Egon, who was still standing beside the spot where the ghosts had vanished. He shifted nervously, not quite sure about what to expect.

Then, without warning, the crowd burst into wild cheers, woofs, and applause. They surged forward in a mass of enthusiastic high fives.

"Awesome show, dude!"

"That rocked!"

"Amazing CGI! It looked so real!"

"Now,
that's
a monster rock show!"

At first, Egon started to respond to the attention with a smile. But a moment later, the color drained from his face. Part of it was a reaction to the swelling mass of people who were rolling toward him, only inches away. Mostly, though, it came from the sudden realization that the trap was Iying directly in their path. Egon didn't really know what would happen if a trap was trampled while ghosts were still inside it...but he did know that it wouldn't be good.

He thrust one hand forward, as if to hold back the tide, while he fumbled to scoop up the smoking trap. "Hold it! Wait! Don't step on the pedal!"

Just as a heavy leather boot was about to come down on the trap, the crowd froze as an amplified voice cut through the commotion:
"Thank you, New York!"

Everyone turned to see Venkman standing at center stage, a microphone in his hand. In true rock star fashion, Venkman thrust a fist in the air. "You've been a terrific bunch of sheep tonight," he told the crowd. "Thanks so much for sticking around and giving us that extra bit of challenge as we tried to save the Garden. You know, we always enjoy catching ghosts, but it's so much more fun when we have to avoid killing any bystanders."

All through his patter, Venkman tried to catch his teammates' eyes. He raised his eyebrows, nodded to them, and jerked his head in the direction of the exits. But they just looked confused. They stared at him, obviously trying to figure out what he was up to, and made no move to leave.

Venkman rolled his eyes in exasperation, but continued without missing a beat. "Okayyy...I'd like to take a minute here to introduce the members of the band. Over there, playing a mean proton pack, the sultan of the supernatural, the jam master of ectoplasm:
Ray Stantz!"

The crowd cheered. From the side of the arena, where he was now standing on his own two feet again, Ray nodded his thanks.

"And on my right," Venkman continued, "on ectotrap, the man who put the 'mad' back in scientist:
Egon Spengler!"

Again, the crowd cheered. Egon smiled, holding the still-smoking trap as far away from them as humanly possible.

"Let's not forget the man whose rock-steady backbeat keeps us all on track " Venkman said. "You know him, you love him, you can't live without him:
Winston Zeddemore!"

Another cheer, and Winston waved his powered-down nutrona wand in the air in reply.

"Oh, and of course, I'm Dr. Peter Venkman." He bowed deeply as the crowd burst into the largest ovation of all. Venkman raised a hand for quiet, doing his level best to look modest. "Last but not least, let's not forget the man who brought us all here tonight. He's a guy who tends to shun the spotlight, but I'm sure he'd like to shake every one of your hands." He pointed toward the back of the arena. "The Mayor of the City of New York: the honorable
Arnie Lapinski!"

As one, the cheering crowd swept forward to envelop the startled Mayor in a maelstrom of handshakes, back slaps, and conversations about rent control. Finally picking up on the opportunity, Egon, Ray, and Winston ducked out the nearest exits.

"It's been real!" Venkman called, jumping down from the stage to beat his own hasty retreat. "Drive safely! Good night!"

 CHAPTER 2

A group of somber-looking men sat around a long, mahogany table in a wood-paneled conference room. In a corner of the room, a television screen showed the ghoul bursting through the speaker tower. "This was the scene just hours ago, when Madison Square Garden was transformed from a place of joy into a supernatural battlefield," a reporter said in voice-over. "For years, New Yorkers have flocked to the Garden to cheer their favorite home teams on to victory, but last night, it played host to a competition of a different kind."

The image cut to a shot of an ion stream zapping the corpse. "On the one side were the forces of darkness. Standing against them were New York's hometown heroes, the Ghostbusters."

The ghosts were replaced by Venkman, bowing to the crowd. "Oh, and of course," he said, "I'm Dr. Peter Venkman."

The reporter continued: "His Honor, Mayor Lapinski, had this to say."

The television showed the Mayor standing outside the arena, surrounded by reporters with microphones. He looked only slightly the worse for wear after his encounter with the ghosts - not to mention the crowd. "Once again," he said, "Our city owes a great debt to the Ghostbusters. I thank them, and I am sure that the people of this city do the sarne." He turned to look directly into the camera, jaw set and gaze focused into a piercing stare. "In addition, to all you gremlins and goblins who may be watching... to all you things that go bump in the night... I have a message for you:

"We have taken your worst. We have stared into the face of evil. And still, New York stands strong. We're tougher than you are. We're meaner than you are. So keep your sorry ectoplasmic butts out of our city - or we'll send you running straight back to Hades!"

Even the reporters in the crowd were starting to cheer when a well-dressed man in his mid-fifties pushed the button on a remote control. The television screen turned pale blue as the videocassette recorder clicked off, leaving silence in its wake.

"We're doomed," he said. He ran a hand through his thick, silver hair and exhaled deeply, then looked around the room at his four equally well-dressed companions, who sat in various places around the meeting table. "Look at that," he said, gesturing toward the television. "How do we beat him?"

"Well, maybe it's not that bad, Gary," said a younger man in glasses. He pulled a folder out of a stack that lay beside him, and started to flip through the papers inside. "I mean, his numbers in the polls plummeted after he closed those senior centers... "

Across the table, a beefy, middle-aged man in rolled-up shirtsleeves waved his hand dismissively. "Polls don't mean nothin'!" he said. "Look at this." He stuck his cigar back in his mouth and held up copies of the previous week's
New York Post
and
Daily News.
Both displayed similar photos of the Ghostbusters posing in a circle around the Mayor. If anything, Hizzoner looked even more confident than the Ghostbusters did.

"Stu's right, Ted," Gary agreed. "It's why we lost the last two elections."

Stu took the cigar from his mouth. "It don't matter how many senior centers Lapinski closes, or how many times he cuts museum budgets 'cause he don't like one of the pictures," he said. "Who cares how bad his record is on the economy or social issues? All it takes is one lousy spook attack, and
poof
- he's the golden boy again. As long as he's standing next to the Ghostbusters when they save the city from this week's latest hoodoo, we ain't got a chance."

The younger man wasn't ready to give up that easily. "But if we had the right candidate..." said Ted. "What about Halloran? He projects a tough image."

Gary shook his head. "He's a former police chief, Ted. He fights crooks, not ghosts."

"Mills?"

"Not enough of a common man."

"Wellcowitz."

"Oh, come on. Even
I
wouldn't vote for Welkowitz."

Ted sat back in his chair, looking deflated. A pensive silence fell over the room.

The fourth man in the room was older than the others, an African-American man in a tan, three-piece suit. He had been quiet throughout the discussion. Instead, he stared at the pale blue television screen, deep in thought.

"You know," he said, "Ted's right. With the right candidate, we might just stand a chance."

"In an ideal world, maybe," Gary allowed. "But frankly, John, I don't see anyone who can fill the bill."

"That's because you're not thinking creatively," the older man replied. "The Mayor's popularity isn't intrinsic. It doesn't come from anything he's done himself. It comes from his association with the Ghostbusters, right?"

"Right..." said Gary, not quite sure where his colleague was going with this.

John picked up the remote control. He rewound the tape slightly and hit the STOP button. "So if that's the case, then maybe there's someone who can beat him."

John pushed PLAY. Once again, Venkrnan appeared in Madison Square Garden, bowing deeply to the crowd.

John stopped the tape. With a smile, he picked up the
Daily News
and pointed to the photo - not at the Mayor, but at the man standing beside him. "Gentlemen," he said, "I give you our new candidate for the office of the Mayor of New York City: Peter Venkman!"

Flashing red lights lit up the darkened street as an old, converted 1959 Cadillac ambulance rounded a corner in lower Manhattan. Even a glance at the assorted aerials, detectors, and warning devices that blanketed its roof made it clear that this was no ordinary emergency vehicle. Splashed across each of the two front doors was a drawing of a plump cartoon ghost, surrounded by a red circle with a slash through the middle. The license plate read "ECTO-1." And, as though there could be any doubt as to the occupants, a digital sign atop the Ectomobile alternated between two messages that were spelled out in bright red LED lights. At one moment, the sign read, GHOSTBUSTERS. At the next, it read, WHO YA GONNA CALL?

The Ectomobile pulled into a short driveway that led Into a former firehouse that served as the Ghostbusters' headquarters. Winston sat behind the wheel and let the Ectomobile idle in the driveway, while the others climbed out of the car.

Venkman leaned down into the driver's window. "Thank you, my good man. What do we owe you for the fare?"

Winston turned toward him with a look that was simultaneously bored and indulgent. "That wasn't funny the last six times either, Peter."

"Hmph." Venkman sniffed in mock indignation.

Ray and Egon had already reached the building, and were opening its huge doors to let the Ectomobile inside.

"It's funny, finding a class-three manifestation on that scale without any warning," Ray said. "It's been so quiet lately."

"Mm," Egon agreed. "You'd expect some smaller-scale events to occur first."

Ray shrugged. "Maybe the other events were so small, they never got reported."

"Possibly..." Egon replied, obviously not convinced. "The creature said they were minions of someone, didn't it? What was the name? 'Xanadu?' "

" 'Xanthador,' I think. Or something like that."

"Does it mean anything to you?"

"Nope. Never heard it before. You?"

Egon shook his head. "No. It could be the name of some obscure deity, or perhaps the name of whomever summoned them. I'll check
Tobin's Spirit Guide
and see if I can find any reference."

The two of them stepped aside to let Winston ease the Ectomobile into the building's parking bay. Venkman swept past them as he strolled through the parking bay and into the main part of their headquarters. As he walked by, he threw his head back and called, "Loooooocy! I'm hoooome!"

The rear of the first floor was devoted to office space. Directly in front of the paneled office area and a bank of file cabinets was a heavy oak receptionist's desk. The petite woman behind the desk wore a loud print dress, dangling earrings, glasses with heavy black frames, and vivid red hair in a shade that had never been found in nature. The sign on her desk announced her name as JANINE MELNITZ.

Beside the desk, a second woman sat in a visitor's chair - a taller, slender woman with frizzy, dark hair. The only other living occupant of the building was a two-year-old boy who was curled up on a blanket on the floor, sound asleep beside a teddy bear.

Venkman took in the scene, then opened his arms and moved toward the taller woman with a welcoming smile. "Dana! Sweetie-poo! What are you doing here? Isn't midnight kind of after Butch's bedtime?"

Dana rose from her chair without returning the smile or opening her arms for a hug. "His name is
Oscar."

Well, this couldn't be good. Dana was using that tone of voice and insisting on her son's proper name again. It could only mean that Venkman was in trouble.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Where was...?" Venkman's brow furrowed. Why was she asking the question? "Well, the boys and I were just up at Madison Square Garden, taking in a show." He shrugged and smiled disarmingly. "Things got a little wild. You know how it is when you're saving hundreds of people from certain doom - "

Dana shook her head. "Before that. This afternoon."

"This afternoon?" Venkrnan echoed, clearly at a loss.

"Yes. When you were supposed to babysit Oscar while I went to my rehearsal."

"Oh! That! Well, uh...I'm - I'm sorry about that, but there was, uh, an emergency. Big emergency. Giant...ghost monster. Huge. Tried to eat the, uh...Chrysler Building. Big problem. Lots of danger."

Dana gave him a cold look. "Was that before or after you went to the movies?"

Venkman went pale for a moment. Then, in a sudden flash of realization, he glared at Janine. She smiled sweetly back at him.

Just then, the other Ghostbusters walked up to join them. "Hey, Dana," said Ray

"Hi," said Egon and Winston, almost in unison.

"Hi, guys," Dana said, before turning her attention back to Venkman. "Peter, we've had this discussion before. Do you realize how important these rehearsals are? There are thousands of cellists in New York, just dying for the chance to play with the Philharmonic. If I'm not there to fill my chair in the orchestra on time, then my bosses will give it away to someone who will! Luckily, Janine said it was okay for me to leave Oscar here with her while I made a mad dash to the Met. But we can't keep going on like this, Peter!"

"Uh..." Winston said, holding up the still-smoking trap that held the ghosts from the arena. "I think I better go downstairs and stash these boys in the containment unit."

"I'll come help you," Ray said, grateful for the excuse to leave.

"Me, too," Egon added quickly. I've been meaning to, um, look at...a gauge."

Dana and Venkman watched them make their hasty exit. Then they turned to look at Janine.

"Oh - right!" Janine said, in her nasal, New York twang. "I should be getting home. G'night." With that, she picked up her shoulder bag and left.

Once everyone was gone, Venkman said, "Don't you think you're blowing all this out of proportion? Okay, so I forgot one time... "

"That's just it, Peter. It's not one time. You promised to take Oscar to the Museum of Natural History weeks ago."

"So? I figured the little guy would like the dinosaur skeletons."

"Sure. But it's five weeks later now, and you still haven't taken him! And don't get me started on trying to get you to meet my parents!"

"What are you trying to say?"

"I care for you, Peter, but you are, by far, the most immature, irresponsible person I have ever met!"

Venkman offered a small, tentative smile. "Don't forget cute. And charming. You've always told me I'm charming."

But Dana wasn't in the mood to get distracted. "It's time to start being responsible, Peter." She wrapped Oscar in the blanket that lay beneath him, and scooped him up into her arms. "I've got a son and a career that mean a lot to me. When you're ready to respect that - when you're ready to respect
me
- then give me a call."

With that, Dana strode across the parking bay and out the front door.

Venkman just stood there, looking stunned. "Okay," he said absently, "I'll call you... "

Beyond the veil that cleaved the space betwixt the waking world and the darkling plain, there lay a land of mist and shadow. There was little that inhabited this simultaneously dank and arid land. Indeed, whatever unfortunate creatures did live there tended not to do so for long.

Within the bleak and shifting landscape of this netherworld, a sullen figure brooded darkly. Its seven gleaming, yellow eyes narrowed as it ran a bony claw along multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth. Even the marrow that it sucked from a handful of souls tasted gray and lifeless - far from the heady brew that it ordinarily preferred.

Xanthador, the Lord of Fear, opened his long jaws. The voice that issued from their depths was reminiscent of six-inch iron nails dragged across a mile-long blackboard. "Geezil," he said in a slow, ominous tone.

Nearby, a round little demon stopped chewing in mid-bite and instantly dropped the soup bone he was holding. He jumped to eager attentiveness at the sound of Xanthador's voice, choking down the meat that had stuck in his throat.

"D-did you call, o King of Terror? H-how may I be honored to be of service?"

"I am not happy."

Geezil swallowed hard. He knew all too well that when Xanthador wasn't happy, anyone within reach was in serious danger of losing a few limbs.

"A-as you say, o mighty Xanthador, Lord of Fear, Prince of Panic, Sovereign of Dread," said Geezil. "Whatever your whim, I shall hasten to fulfill it, o Monarch of Fright. For you are the shadow that creeps in the night, and I am but your humble servant, o Master of Horror. Your might is awesome to behold, and - "

"Yes, yes," Xanthador said with an impatient wave. "You may forego the litany for now."

"As you wish, o Overlord of Apprehension and Ruler of—"

Geezil's words were cut off by Xanthador's hand, which shot out with blinding speed to grip him by the throat. Geezil dangled several inches above the ground, gurgling as he struggled to breathe.