WHAT ROUGH BEAST

by Sheila Paulson

Originally printed in Our Favorite Things 9

Sam Beckett arrived in his new leap halfway down a flight of stairs and he flailed about to catch his balance, grabbing the railing and nearly falling when his foot slipped. It was lucky he was nearly down because he skidded a couple of steps to a landing a few stairs up from the main floor.

When he recovered his balance, he found himself facing a woman at a desk, and her appearance set off alarms in his mind. Though it had rarely happened before, he realized he was facing a woman he actually knew although he couldn't remember where he had met her. Quantum leaping had put large holes in his memory.

Red haired with a pair of angular glasses shielding blue eyes, she was slender, clad in a yellow knit top that left he arms bare. Her desk was backed by a row of filing cabinets. Sam could see over the top of them to an inner office behind, that was presently empty. His? The woman was typing busily at a computer keyboard, and Sam's near crash had not distracted her from her work. Was she his secretary?

In the absence of mirrors, Sam could only glance down at himself to inspect his clothing. From black shoes and suspendered trousers to the pair of redrimmed glasses he wore, everything appeared masculine, even the cut of his pink shirt. Thank goodness. Bad enough he had to contend with someone vaguely familiar without doing it in a woman's body.

Turning to his right, he saw a garage area where a modified white ambulance or hearse was parked, adorned with what looked like a weapons array on the roof. What on earth... The building's highceilinged structure might once have been a firehouse; there were several fire poles in sight. That was familiar, too.

So far, the woman had not responded to his presence. Sam studied her covertly. He didn't think he had known her well, and it had evidently been some time before the current year because she looked older than he remembered by a good five or ten years.

As if aware of his scrutiny she raised her eyes from the computer screen and gave him a suspicious, narroweyed stare. "Did you grow to the floor?" The accent was nearly gone but the faint edge of Brooklyn that lingered struck Sam like a board across the gut, triggering a flood of memories.

It was Red! Sam stared at her with growing dismay. Oh, god! This is just going to kill Al!

Of course 'Red' was only what Al called her. Sam recalled how Al had doted on the young woman back in the early '80s. She was the niece of Al's third wife, Ruthie, part of her close and happy family. Back when Sam was first leaping, he had leaped into a rabbi, which had reminded Al of his marriage to Ruthie. At the time, Sam couldn't recall the redheaded woman Al had married. She was just a name, a part of one of Al's exaggerated, possibly apocryphal, stories about his many marriages but gradually memories had returned and the impact of Ruthie had hit him hard. "I never realized how much family meant to me until after Ruthie was gone," Al had said: a major admission that Sam was still too blocked to understand. Ruthie's large, exuberant, wisecracking brood had found in Al a kindred spirit and had opened their collective arms and drawn him in. By then, Al had no real family left. His father and his sister Trudy were long dead, Beth, his beloved first wife, was remarried to her Dirk, and Al's second marriage had blazed as brightly and faded as abruptly as a streaking meteor. He had only Sam when he had met Ruthie and married her, and Sam had been glad, especially when her family made a place for the stranger, the outsider. Al had thrived upon it, soaking up their wholehearted love like parched soil gulps the rain.

RedSam wished he could remember her real namehad been Ruthie's favorite niece, and to Al, she was like the daughter he had never had. As feisty as ever Al could be, she had stood up to him, teased him gleefully, and fallen for him heartily, though not in any romantic way. In return, Al had been so proud of her. He introduced her to Sam, and the younger man could see Al hoping like mad that they would hit it off.

It wasn't to be. Almost before they knew it, Ruthie had diedthe cancer was quick and it was over almost before Al could realize that he had lost a second person close to him to that dread disease. It recalled the memories of his father dying when Al was a boy, the desperate prayers that had not been answered, the futility of hope, the foolishness of involvement. Al had withdrawn from everyone, even Sam, throwing himself into his work with desperate abandon. When Ruthie's family would have mourned with him and comforted him, Al backpedaled in panic. He didn't bleed in public. It was to Sam that he finally came, not overtly seeking comfort because that wasn't his way, but needing every ounce of tactful support that Sam could load upon his bowed shoulders. He refused to talk about it, pulling away every time Sam tried, but coming back like a wild dog circling an offer of food. Sam stuck to him like glue.

When Al had emerged from his selfimposed exile, Ruthie's family had long since given up, understandably feeling rejected. They had kept trying a long time, but it had done no good, and only Red had persisted, hurt and resentful, but determined to understand. A vivid memory burst upon Sam, that of Red showing up at the door of Al's hotel roomthey were in Washington then, dealing with a Senate subcommittee about Project Starbright, and Al, as was becoming his custom, had been drinking rather too much.

Red stood in the doorway, arms folded. She wore a short skirt and a shirt much like the one she had on now, and her earrings glittered in the light as she tapped one foot in irritation.

"Look at you," she burst out. "Is this the best you can do? Is this the way you'd want Aunt Ruthie to remember you? Or is this just a case of running away?"

Al could hardly deny what was clearly the truth. He braced himself, one hand raking the hair back from his forehead in a gesture Sam knew meant he was stressed. "That part of my life is over," he said flatly. "This isn't a good time. We're in the middle of something important." He gestured at the pile of papers on the table.

Sam tried to intervene. "Come on, Al, you should talk to her."

Al shook his head. "We don't have time. You've been nagging me all week to get this report in order."

Red stared at him in hurt and growing irritation, then she made a frustrated noise and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Sam turned to Al, freezing in horror at the sight of his friend, slumped in a chair, elbows on the table, head buried in his hands.

"Get out of here, Sam," he snarled.

"Al"

"Just go!"

Sam heaved a sigh and complied, and Al had never let him bring up the subject again. His mention of Ruthie on that early leap had been the first time he spoken of her, and then, Sam hadn't remembered. He did now.

What was worse, something horrible had prevented reconciliation, something Sam couldn't remember. The Al that Sam knew now wouldn't have let the estrangement from Red remain unresolved. He had come a long way since those days. But the problem of Red had never been mended, and Sam couldn't recall why.

Now he was about to be remindedand worse, Al would soon arrive all unsuspecting. Here was Red, staring at Sam as if she thought he was possessed. In a sense, he was, possessed by the ghosts of unhappy memories. How could he help Al through this leap when he couldn't remember the most important part? Red would not be able to see or hear the hologram to make peace. Even if Al wanted to come to terms with her now that he had been gifted with a second chance, there was no way to do it.

"Egon!" Red snapped. "Don't go to sleep up there. Is anything wrong?" Her voice softened abruptly, fondness warming her eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghostnot that it would be too surprising around here."

The mention of the word 'ghosts' in connection with the name 'Egon' hit Sam hard, and he realized who he was and what he must be. Egon Spengler was a physicist, formerly of Columbia University, a man Sam had met once or twice at physics conferences, but Egon had another profession. Sam had leaped into one of the Ghostbusters, New York's famous paranormal investigators and eliminators.

"Oh boy!" Sam moaned in shocked disbelief. Ghosts! This leap could be a bad onein more ways than one.

Janine! That was Red's real name, Janine Melnitz. He had heard her mentioned in connection with the Ghostbusters, but until this minute he had not realized that the Ghostbusters' secretary was Al's Red. Her father was Ruthie's brother. When Al arrived...

Janine left her desk and hurried to his side, taking his arm. "Are you sick, Egon? Shall I call the guys?"

"No, I'm all right, Janine," he responded hastily. He wasn't ready to face the 'guys', Egon's friends and coworkers, especially since he couldn't remember them clearly. Venkman. One of them was named Peter Venkman, and there was an engineer, too, wasn't there? Ray something? Stantz? The name of the third man eluded him entirely. Even if he could remember it, Sam would be faced with another problem. He didn't know which one was which.

"You don't look it," she said doubtfully. "Come over here." She steered him to her desk and sat him down on her chair, laying her palm against his forehead to test for fever. "Well, you're not too hot. What's wrong, Egon?"

"Uh, nothing. I was just thinking..."

"About spores, molds and fungus," she said sourly.

"No. About you." The words came out before he could stop them and he realized that it was a mistake when his response brought a glow to her eyes.

"Oh, Egon, I think that's so romantic." Given the slightest encouragement, she would probably plop herself down in his lap and cuddle happily. Sam wondered if he were here to encourage a promising romance or to discourage her. Maybe he really was here for Al's sake.

"I can break my date tonight," she offered.

He couldn't let her do that, not without further information. "Well, I... er..."

"On the other hand, why should I?" she asked, drawing her hand away haughtily. "I'm entitled to a night on the town. Aren't I, Slimer?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder to discover whom she had called by such a strange nameand saw a green, potatoshaped specter hovering in midair staring at him with interested yellow eyes. Opening its mouth, it made burbling noises, then he squinted at Sam and zoomed in closer.

Sam let out a yelp and slid backwards, losing his balance. The chair crashed over with him as he fell, depositing him on the floor. 'Slimer' followed him down, wrapped skinny arms around his neck and demanded anxiously, "Egon huuurrrt?" It was immediately obvious how the ghost had acquired his name. Sam found himself adorned with nasty, gooey slime. He groaned, "Oh, yuck!" and tried to shove the creature away. "Not now, Slimer," he added, hoping that he sounded convincing.

Slimer drew away, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He leaned in again, studying Sam as if he had never seen Egon before. "Egon different!" he informed Janine. Could he see Sam as he really was? Why not? He was a ghost after all. Maybe they were part of the group that included very young children and animals, mental patients, and psychics, who could see the truth.

"I'm not different, Slimer," Sam defended himself. "Anybody would be shaken up if they were knocked to the floor."

"Come on, Slimer, give him space," encouraged Janine, taking Sam's hand and helping him to his feet. He rose wincing and rubbing his hip, then he righted the chair and straightened the glasses on his nose. Egon needed them adjusted. They had a tendency to slide.

"Nice frames, Sam," commented a familiar voice. "I'm not so sure about the hair, though."

The time traveler jumped, spotting Al standing behind Janine. He looked Sam up and down. "You been to the wars?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. He could hardly warn Al about Janine now. Before he could think of a way to clue in the Project observer, Al spotted Slimer, and his eyes grew very wide.

"Sam!" he blurted out, his eyes fixed on the ghost with horrified revulsion, "that's a ghost!"

Slimer halted in his 'tracks', turning in Al's direction and squinting as if he knew someone was there, but he didn't seem able to see him.

"I think he knows I'm here," Al continued uneasily, backing away.

"Don't worry about it," Sam encouraged, hoping Janine wouldn't wonder too much about the unlikely remark. "At least he didn't slime you."

"This time," Janine retorted.

At her voice, Al froze, reminding Sam of the other crisis. Totally forgetting Slimer, Al circled the woman and stopped, staring into her face, his mouth hanging open. Every trace of color vanished from his face. "It's Red!" he breathed. "God, Sam, why didn't you tell me?"

"What should I have done?" asked Sam reasonably. From Al's expression, whatever it was Sam had forgotten was worse than he had expected.

"I don't know," Janine replied. "You've been acting weird ever since you came downstairs."

"You'd better be careful, or she'll figure out you're not who you're supposed to be," Al put in quickly. "She was always quick. You're Egon Spengler, Sam, Ph.D in physics and currently one of the Ghostbusters." He grimaced. "Of all the jobs you might have had, you had to pick this one." Even the attempt at humor didn't work. A deep unhappiness lurked in his entire posture. Pulling out his handlink he started pushing buttons, his eyes drifting to Janine and back again as he did so. "It's October 10, 1992." He frowned as if the date had some significance he couldn't quite remember.

"Why am I here?" Sam risked the question. Anything that could make Al look so bad needed answers right away. It had to be the reason for his leap, a chance to resolve the problem and help Al through this crisis.

"I've been wondering that myself," Janine muttered. "First you half fall down the stairs then you hang around acting weird. This isn't like you, Egon. You usually know exactly what you're doing."

"Not Egon," the ghost volunteered, ducking down behind Janine as he spoke, eyes round and worried. "Different."

"He's got you figured out, Sam," Al said darkly. "Watch out for him. I always knew ghosts were dangerous." His eyes slipped to Janine again. "I didn't know Red was here. I talked to Egon in the waiting room for a few minutes but we never got around to that. He might be swiss cheesed but there's nothing wrong with his brain. He's already theorizing he's in the future and trying to reason how and why. He guesses it's a time travel experiment and he's fascinated. I don't think we ever had anyone in the waiting room who was capable of understanding the project before. Everybody's been given the word to watch what they say about him, and Beeks and I have restricted him. Only the two of us and Doc Wade are allowed in there, and we know what to say. You do what you have to do here, Sam and leap out again quick before he figures it all out and comes home with too much knowledge."

Sam looked an urgent question at him. He could hardly ask why he was there a second time or refer to Janine in such a way that would arouse her suspicions. Al was still stunned by her presence, though he hadn't said much. That babble about Egon was a delaying tactic, giving himself time to regroup.

"Ziggy doesn't know why you're here yet, Sam," Al told him. Sam would have been irritated at the answer if Al hadn't been so shaken. He couldn't be mad when this leap was proving so devastating for his friend. Then Al looked up, misery in his eyes. "But I know, Sam. You're here to save her life."

"Yo, Egon," called a voice from the top of the stairs and a brown haired man in a brown uniform jumpsuit came clattering down to join them. He was in his thirties and his expression suggested that he had a high opinion of himself. His grin was open and friendly, though, and since he was obviously one of the Ghostbusters and Egon's friend, he should be addressed by name. Sam always found it awkward to deal with people before he found out who they were.

He was saved the necessity of guessing the man's identity when Slimer went flying to meet him. "Peter, Egon's different," the little ghost wailed, hovering in front of Peter Venkman anxiously.

"I have no idea what he means, Peter," Sam said quickly, trying to appear surprised at the ghost's choice of words. "He's been doing that every since I tripped on the steps."

Peter looked him up and down for possible injuries, and, reassured, he shook his head. "The spud never makes that much sense," he agreed, adding over Slimer's protest, "Did you call out for the pizza?"

"Pizza?" Sam echoed before he could prevent himself. Janine jumped right in.

"He really is acting weird, Dr. V. For once Slimer's right."

Peter's eyes lit with unholy glee. "What's the matter, Egon, jealous?" he asked in the teasing voice friends use when giving their buddies a hard time. "Ready to use your thrower on Doug Songer?" His mouth stretched in a happy grin as he braced his hip against the edge of Janine's desk, ignoring the fierce glare she threw in his direction.

Sam looked helplessly at Al who worked the handlink quickly. "A thrower is what they call their proton rifles, Sam," the hologram offered quickly. "That's how they blast ghosts so they can trap them." His knuckles were white on the link.

"Of course not," Sam replied quickly. "He's not a ghost."

"But you'd like to, wouldn't you, buddy?" Peter winked at Janine. "I think you've got him coming and going," he told her. "A few more days of this and he'll be bringing you roses."

Doug Songer must be Janine's date for that evening. Maybe Egon cared for Janine but was slow in acting on it. That would certainly explain the teasing, especially since Sam had sensed Janine's interest in himEgonearlier.

Sam glanced at Al again, just in time to see his face stiffen in shock, what little color he had left washing away. "Oh, no!"

"What is it?" Sam demanded involuntarily.

"What is what?" echoed Peter, staring at Sam as if he had grown a second head. "It's called the green eyed monster, Spengs, if you're talking about your little problem with Janine. You don't want to take her out, but you don't want anybody else to take her out either." He shook his finger reproachfully at Sam. "You had your chance. You need to take lessons from Uncle Peter. Remember who's the expert with women around here?"

"This is bad, Sam," Al said quickly, his face drained of color. "Ziggy says that tonight Red goes out on a date and that's the last time anyone ever sees her. Ever." Worry gleamed in his dark eyes. "Tonight's the night she dies. Her body is never found. You've gotta do something, Sam. You can't let Red be killed. That must be why you're here. You've gotta help her."

"What about Doug Songer?" Sam asked Al. If Janine went out with him before she disappeared, he'd be a pretty good suspect.

"What about him?" Janine asked. "He happens to be a very nice man who pays attention to me, unlike a certain physicist I could mention. It's none of your business who I go out with, Egon." Sam heard a hopeful note in her voice that implied that it could be. If Egon asked her not to go, she just might break her date, and that would keep her home and safe. Or would it? He quirked an eyebrow at Al, hoping he would know what to ask Ziggy. "What if I asked you not to go?" he ventured. Al picked up on it and began to key in questions for Ziggy.

Two other men came down the stairs before Janine could reply, one shorter and slightly stocky with auburn hair, and the other a tall, muscular black man. "Ray Stantz," Al said quickly, gesturing to the shorter man, "and Winston Zeddemore. The last two Ghostbusters." His main attention lingered on the handlink, seeking further information about Janine. "Sam, you must be here to save Red's life. Ziggy says it doesn't matter if she goes out with Songer or not. She still dies." He gave the side of the handlink a vicious slap as if that could change the answers the hybrid computer was providing.

"What's taking so long with the pizza?" Ray asked, glancing from Peter to Sam to Janine as if he sensed a tension in the air.

"Ray!" Slimer splatted against him and hugged him anxiously around the neck. "Egon different! Not Egon!"

Ray was so fascinated he didn't push the spud away. "What do you mean, Slimer?" he asked encouragingly, smiling at the green ghost. "He looks like Egon to me."

"Not Egon," the ghost insisted with frustration. "Different. Ghost here, too!" He waved his hand in Al's general direction.

"I don't see any ghosts, Spud," Winston replied goodnaturedly, prepared to humor Slimer but not particularly concerned.

Nervous at being detected by Slimer, Al retreated a couple of steps, rolling his eyes at Sam. "I don't like this, Sam," he moaned.

"No, invisible," Slimer explained, triumphant at producing the big word. "Take P.K.E. reading," he urged Ray, folding his arms across his ectoplasmic chest in stubborn determination. He kept glancing unhappily toward Al.

"You may as well do it, Ray," Peter replied in a longsuffering voice. "The spud will go on and on about it until you do and while we wait, we aren't getting our pizza."

"Uh oh. I think that's a bad idea, Sammy," Al said nervously. He keyed open a 'doorway' to the Project, prepared to dart through it at a moment's notice, but he hung on, his concern for Janine overriding caution and his fear of ghosts.

"I'm Egon," Sam insisted. "Who else could I be?" Usually the people around him on a leap couldn't take readings to confirm or deny his identity. Though they might think he was acting strangely, most of them never doubted he was who he appeared to be. It hadn't occurred to him until now that the Ghostbusters' equipment might find him out. "Come on, guys, you know me." To prove himself, he started to recite a complex physics formula. "Could anybody but a physicist know that?"

"Well, he sounds like Egon," Peter confirmed, edging closer and peering into Sam's face. His green eyes held a hint of suspicion that might be habitual. "What are you saying, Spud, that he's possessed by the ghost of a physicist? That's really pushing it."

"He might be possessed by a ghost who could access his memories," Ray replied soberly. He took a handheld device from a nearby locker and freed little arms from the top of it. "Come on, Egon, wouldn't you rather be safe than sorry? We'll just take some readings. If you're not the real Egon, then I know he would want these tests run."

Backed into a corner by Ray's logic, Sam had no choice. He made a giveaway shrugging gesture and nodded for Ray to proceed. After all, their equipment was geared for detecting ghosts. Though Al might not be solid in 1992, he was no ghost. The aura that surrounded Sam and made him appear to be Egon Spengler was of a different order. Sometimes Sam thought his actual body leapedand Al had insisted on it when Sam leaped into the pregnant teenager, but Sam wasn't so sure. What did matter was that, with luck, the Ghostbusters' equipment was calibrated for nothing but ghostly manifestations.

"Don't let 'em do it, Sam," warned Al. "Ziggy says their P.K.E. meter might be able to read a difference in the aura projected around you. They could find you out."

"Put it away, Ray," urged Sam hastily, recanting his earlier decision. "Would you believe Slimer over me?"

"I wouldn't," Winston replied, suspicion filtering into his expression, too. "But I'd expect you to want to get to the bottom of this."

Ray flipped a switch and the device's arms rose, lights blinking. He pointed it directly at Sam, who could only stand there enduring it, and his eyes widened in excited disbelief. "Wow!"

"What is it, Ray?" Peter sidled over and propped one elbow against his friend's shoulder, peering down at the readings. "Is Egon possessed?" He rolled his eyes in Sam's direction, ready to share the joke.

"Yes," replied Ray immediately. "I can't detect Egon's essence at all. Remember all those biorhythm tests Egon ran on us to enable him to detect us with the meters if need be? Well, I'm not detecting Egon. There's a definite biorhythm but it doesn't match Egon. This might look like Egon, and even be his body, but it's really somebody else."

"Now you've done it, Sam," Al complained. "We're in trouble big time."

Peter's jawline tightened. Unexpectedly he gripped Sam by his shirt front. "What have you done with Egon?" he demanded, his voice hard and suspicious with concern for his absent friend.

"Don't tell him, Sam," Al cautioned quickly. "They've figured out too much already."

When he spoke, the P.K.E. meter started beeping harder, and Ray swung it in Al's direction. "Slimer's right," he burst out. "There is something else here, but it's not a ghost. It doesn't match any form of ectoplasmic energy I've ever seen. It's an energy field projected from elsewhere, and I can't get a clear reading on it. It's as if it's set on a very narrow band to fit one specific receiver, and the only reason we can detect it at all is because it creates a resonating feedback in the meter."

"You're starting to sound like Egon, Ray," Peter chided him. "How about giving it in words of one syllable?"

Caught up in his discovery Ray grinned. "I'll try. Maybe it's like a TV signal that you can't pick up without a set. With the right equipment you might detect that a signal is passing, but you couldn't receive it without the TV screen."

"Not a bad analogy," Al approved. "This is one smart kid, Sam."

"Can it hurt us?" Janine asked practically, eyeing Sam with skeptical alarm. "Whoever you are, buster, you better give us Egon back, or you'll be sorry."

"I don't see how," Ray replied. "It would have less power here than a real ghost. It couldn't impact on us physically at all, not even as much as Slimer does."

"That's a relief," muttered Peter irrepressibly. "At least we won't be slimed."

"Then what about Egon? If this isn't Egon any longer, what happened to him?" Janine's eyes were full of worry. Doug Songer couldn't be real competition, not if she felt so strongly about the physicist.

"His essence could be trapped inside him, blocked by the specter that took him over," Ray replied.

"Then what do we do?" Winston asked. "I don't know about you guys, but I'd feel a lot better with my proton pack and thrower."

"Don't let them use the proton packs, Sam," Al said quickly. "That could be very bad."

"What do you expect me to do about it?" Sam demanded reasonably, shooting a frustrated glance at Al whose face was full of concern. He was worried about what might happen, and that was on top of his upset over Janine's fate.

"You could try giving us Egon back." Peter's face was taut with anger. "Come on, Ray, we can handle it. Remember that time I was possessed and Egon did a number on the throwers so that they could separate the nasty from me. You used two throwers, didn't you?"

"Hey, yeah," Winston remembered, snapping his fingers. "We set one at your biorhythm readings and the other at the ghost's readings and pulled you apart."

"Uh oh, Sam, that's not gonna work," Al warned, waving his arms at Sam as if in warning. "I don't think they have enough of the right kind of power to pull Egon back here from the project, and if they halfway manage, this body will be uninhabitedand could die!" He glanced at the handlink as if for confirmation and added, "You might not get away, Sam, and Egon would have nothing to come home to."

"You might kill Egon's body if you try," Sam warned them. They were far less likely to worry about his own crisis at this point but concern from their friend might stop them.

Taking Sam's words the wrong way Peter backed him up against the desk stabbing a fierce finger against his chest. "Listen, buddy, you threaten Egon again and I'll take great personal pleasure in shoving you in the containment unitpersonally!"

"Leave him alone!" Al shouted, grabbing futilely at Peter's arm to pull him away. Peter was completely unaware of his efforts.

"It's all right, Al," Sam said quickly. "He thinks I meant to threaten Egon, and I didn't."

"Sounded like it from where I'm standing," muttered Winston as he slid his arms into the shoulder straps of his proton pack and settled it on his back. "Who's Al? That other thingie Ray could detect? This sounds bad, guys. He's got backup. I don't like it."

Peter spun away to get his own pack, buckling it on with quick, sharp motions. He was the type of man who didn't permit anyone to hurt his friends if he could do anything to stop it, and it looked to Sam as if he had a hasty temper.

"Give us those readings, Ray," he snapped. "Let's do it."

"Wait, Ray," Janine intervened, jumping between Sam and Peter, who put up an impatient hand to warn his two colleagues to hold up a minute. "Are you sure this won't hurt him?" she concluded anxiously.

"It might kill him," Sam said very gently to keep her from thinking he meant Egon harm. "I'm not here to hurt Egon." It seemed futile to keep denying that he wasn't Spengler since their equipment had documented it. Better to prevent this attempt to depossess the physicist and made everything worse.

His words only fueled Peter's anger. "You picked the wrong place for your tricks," he snarled, then his voice softened. "Egon, if you can hear me, we're going to bring you back now. Just hang on buddy."

"Are you sure about this?" Janine persisted again. "Ray?"

"Good question, Red," Al approved. "You stick up for him." He worked frantically over the handlink to determine the effects of the use of throwers on Sam.

"It should work, Janine. Do you think I'd try it if I thought we'd endanger Egon?" Ray asked earnestly. When she gave ground he read off the settings for the proton rifles. Peter and Winston adjusted their weapons. As they leveled the throwers at him Sam backed away from the desk toward the vehicle parked between him and the doorway. What good would it do him to bolt and run if he were here to save Janine? He had a feeling they were used to blasting a moving target anyway. But he couldn't save her if the Ghostbusters trapped and contained him, either.

"Ready?" Ray asked. When the other two nodded, faces full of determination, the younger man took a final reading and cried, "Go!"

"No!" shouted Sam and Al in unison as bright crackling beams of energy shot out at Sam, surrounding and enclosing him. He screamed. There was pain, though it was not as severe as he had expected, and it felt far away, somehow disassociated from him. Worse was the sensation that he was being pulled in two, that the essence of Sam Beckett was being sucked from his body and trapped in the proton streams.

Al went crazy, zipping around the room, trying to intervene, grabbing at the throwers, his fingers passing through the weapons, calling out reassurances to Sam. There was nothing he could do. He even flung himself into the streams of proton energy, and Sam realized that this took more courage than his usual attempts to protect Sam, for if he could be detected by their equipment, there was a chance he could be injured by it. Sam was relieved when the crackling energy beams passed through him harmlessly.

"It's working," cried Ray, the P.K.E. meter gripped in one hand as he fired aimed at Sam, his face lighting with relief. "Keep it up, guys. It's separating him from Egon! Just a few more minutes."

With a final yanking sensation Sam found himself staring down at Egon's body as it tottered against the vehicle's front bumper. Behind the redframed glasses, his face had slackened as if the physical form were only an empty shell.

Sam had only seconds to observe it before Winston cried, "Trap out!" and the ghost trap slid forward. Twin doors rose and a brilliant light enveloped Sam. At once he felt a far stronger suction than that of the proton streams. He screamed, "NO!" soundlessly as he was pulled down into the miniature containment. Currents of light rose past him as if he were participating in a laser light show and endless bands of color raced upward to meet him. He sank forever into the trap, as if it were vastly bigger inside than it was outside.

Memories assaulted him in a blaze like lightning: Tom in VietNam, the photo of Al that Maggie had taken before she died, his father and mother, Jimmy, Gloria, Tom Stratton, hundreds of faces, people he had seen, people he had helped, people he had loved. There was his father talking to him on the phone when he had leaped into Tim Fox. Here was Beth with Al pleading with Sam to help them get together again. Then even older memories rushed past him, flickering like very old movies: his early work on the project, his previous work, his schooling, his life in Elk Ridge, his boyhood, youth, infancy. Birth. Then, as if he had become unborn, a dark tunnel surrounded him, and everything else faded. His last conscious awareness was a faint light at the end of the tunnel and the distant frantic sound of Al screaming his name. Before he could answer his friend or reach the light, the trap closed and there was nothing at all.

*****

Peter Venkman could admit to himself that he had a ready temper that he often used as a surface facade to conceal the emotions he didn't want to share with the world. As he hit the power switch to shut down his thrower and stowed the weapon on his pack in one smooth movement, he knew his anger masked a growing worry for Egon, a certainty that the physicist wouldn't calmly respond to the sound of one of Peter's flippant remarks. The three of them raced toward the blond, while Janine pushed closer, her face white. As they reached him, he toppled over and collapsed without a word. Peter grabbed his arm and he and Winston lowered him to the floor.

"Come on, big guy," Peter encouraged, chafing Egon's cheek. Behind the red glasses, Egon's eyes were open but they were so completely blank that he looked dead. Peter shoved that idea away as if ignoring it would mean it wasn't true and went on talking. "We got him. You can wake up any time now and quit trying to scare Dr. Venkman. You're not possessed any longer. Right, Ray?" he asked meaningfully.

"The entity's gone," Ray agreed in a hollow voice as he consulted the P.K.E. meter. Kneeling beside Peter, he felt the side of Egon's neck for a pulse. "The alien biorhythm isn't registering now. The trap's full." The pain in his voice made Peter stare at him, and he tensed at the guilt and abject horror on Ray's face.

"What is it, Ray?" he asked, though he realized he already knew. He couldn't hear Egon breathing. "What did we do to Egon?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"The other biorhythm is gone," Ray repeated in a small voice, "but I can't read Egon's either. I can't find his pulse." Shuddering, he met Peter's eyes. "Oh, Peter, I've killed Egon."

Janine gasped and knelt beside the still body, stroking his cheek. "He's not breathing!" she cried. "Somebody, do something!"

"Poor Egon," wailed Slimer, hovering uneasily overhead, wringing his hands.

"CPR," Winston commanded hastily. "Back up, Janine and give me room." He placed his palms against Egon's chest and started external cardiac massage. "Somebody start on mouth to mouth. Janine, call 911now!"

His tone was so commanding that the secretary jumped up and raced for the telephone without a backward look. Peter bent to comply with Winston's instructions, pinching Egon's nostrils shut and covering his mouth with his own. They had all learned CPR and kept it current, but Peter had never expected to perform it on one of his friends. He worked with a fierce urgency, sick with the knowledge that they had made a mistake and hurt Egon without realizing or intending it. Maybe they should have listened to the ghost after all, no matter how much it went against the grain to believe the invader that had possessed his friend.

He heard Janine yelling into the telephone and the P.K.E. meter beeping softly as Ray took another reading. The occultist said in a soft voice, "I think we'll have to let him go."

"Let him go!" screeched Peter, jerking his head up so he could confront Ray. "Are you crazy? Once Egon is breathing again"

"We might start him breathing again," Ray said solemnly, traces of guilt still lingering in his face, "but there's nothing in there to keep him going. The demon or entity didn't possess Egon, Peter. He replaced Egon."

Peter bent to resume the breathing while Winston demanded, "Then where's Egon?"

"I don't know. Wherever the entity came from."

"Then we can go after him, the way I did when Egon's body was possessed by that demon and his soul was sucked into the Netherworld. I'll just go..." Peter's voice ran down as he realized that, on that occasion, he knew where Egon's soul had been taken. This time, he didn't even know that. The Netherworld was the size of the known universe, after all. Where would they start looking, assuming Egon was even there?

He bent and breathed for Egon again.

"We have to, Peter," Ray insisted. "It's the only way to retrieve Egon."

"Are you crazy! That thing took him over. I'm not gonna let him out!" Peter screeched in disbelief.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt a subliminal voice repeating over and over, "Let him out. Let him out." But he couldn't do that. It would be crazy? One breath. Another. Another. They'd never get Egon backnext time, the entity would be ready for them and they wouldn't be able to draw him off.

"I'm letting him go," Ray shouted. Ray didn't yell. It wasn't his way. But he sounded desperate. "I can't kill Egon, Peter," he pleaded frantically. "I can't."

"No," shouted Peter. "You can't let him possess Egon again." Breathe. Breathe.

"Dr. Venkman." It was Janine, her voice shaky but full of fierce determination. "Ray's right. You have to do it. It's the only way we can save Egon." He felt her kneel beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. "Please, Peter," she said.

"I'm doing it," Ray insisted. He sounded like it didn't matter what anybody said. Peter bobbed up again, saw Winston nod in approval as he continued the chest massage, saw Ray slam his fist against the trap's trigger release. The doors burst open and bright blue light emerged.

Go, Sam.

Peter gazed around, blankly. Where had that come from? The other entity? Slimer must have heard it, too, for the little ghost glanced around uneasily before scooting down to hide behind Winston.

Before Peter could resolve it he saw the glowing, blue essence that had been sucked from Egon emerge from the trap and swoop toward the downed physicist, spreading out over him like a neartransparent blanket, then vanishing without a trace. Egon coughed, his eyes fluttered, and Peter sat on his heels, blinking when his eyes stung with relieved tears.

"Egon!" cried Slimer, embracing him, then he edged away in dismay. "Still not Egon."

"See, I told you," Peter began. "You just let the nasty back."

"I had to, Peter," Ray insisted at his elbow. "I had to. I couldn't let Egon die."

At Ray's plea for understanding Peter's anger vanished. Heaving a vast sigh he draped an arm around his friend's shoulders. "It's all right, Ray," he said quietly. "I lost my head there for a minute. Sorry." Ray smiled hesitantly at the absolution. Peter continued. "I remember how bad it felt when I was possessedand I knew Egon would hate that. I didn't think it would work."

"It's our only chance," Winston intervened. He reached across the nearstunned body between them and clasped each man on the arm. "Come on, guys, let's ask questions before we start blasting again. So he's got Egonbut he hasn't hurt any of us yet. Let's find out what he wants."

"Egon?" Janine asked hesitantly. When the supine man turned his eyes blankly in her direction, she shook her head. "Whoever you are. Listen, buster, you better have a worldclass explanation for why you took over Egonand if you don't free him, you're going right back in the trap, see if you aren't."

Go, Red! There was that near subliminal voice again. Peter glanced over his shoulder. "I think we've got company."

*****

"SAM!" Al cried as he watched the ghost trap doors close over his friend's essence and the other Ghostbusters race to the side of their fallen comrade only to discover that he was not breathing.

"Damn it, Sam," Al moaned, then he started punching buttons like crazy. "Gushie," he hollered as he peered down at the still form, "I'm scanning everybody here. If any of them might be receptive to me at maximum boost, read it and crank the power up. I know we can't expect a good match to Sam like we had with Blake that time when he could actually see me, but I'll take whatever I can get."

"You'll blast Sam's receptors off if you do that," Gushie's voice came to him over the loudspeaker.

"Sam's out of it right now," Al reminded the other man. Though he was at a monitoring station outside the Imaging Chamber, Gushie could read Al through the handlink. "I have to get him back," Al insisted. "Have Beeks check out Egon in the Waiting Room and notify me if he's out of it."

"Right. Scanning now."

Al focused the handlink on each of the Ghostbusters and on Red, relaying their identities as he did so. He half expected the woman he knew to be receptive, or the ghost, but when he checked, Gushie wasn't optimistic.

"Venkman is the only one remotely in the same ballpark, Al," the computer programmer relayed. "I can't read the ghost." Al heard the shudder in his voice. "I don't think it's a close enough match for Venkman to hear you, and I know he can't see you, but we'll pump up the volume like crazy and you can give it your best shot. There's a slim chance he'll get a little of it if you yell at him. The readings are going berserk. Whatever they did to Sam will kill him if it isn't reversed," he concluded reluctantly as if he knew how the words would be received.

"How long?" Al demanded in a gritty voice, his eyes never leaving the inert body that had housed his best friend. Winston and Peter were giving him CPR now.

"Fifteen minutes," Gushie relayed. "And Verbena says Egon unchanged. No effect."

That figured. Al pushed buttons, interfacing with Ziggy while Gushie did his modifications, and discovered that the odds on Janine's survival were worse than before without Sam there to save her.

"Gushie," he bellowed. "Crank it up and hurry!"

"Go, Al."

That was all he needed. Al came up behind Peter Venkman and started yelling at him. "You have to let Sam go. Let him out of the ghost trap or he'll die and Egon's body will die, and you'll never get him back. You've got to let him out!" Peter showed no trace of hearing him. "Let him out, damn you!" Al screamed.

It was Ray who suggested it, and Al did a double take, wondering if the youngest Ghostbuster might be more receptive than Ziggy had projected. But when he tried bellowing his instructions in Ray's ear, there was no reaction at all.

"Al? Al!" Gushie's voice cut through. "Verbena suggests that Venkman will probably be so distraught about Egon that it will be hard for him to hear you, even if there's a little carry over. You have to keep trying!"

Keep trying? Al would scream himself into fullblown laryngitis at this rate but the possibility of getting through to Venkman was worth it. "Let him out!" he roared, aiming the handlink at the brown haired man so that Ziggy could measure his receptivity.

"He's hearing you at a subliminal level." It was Beeks' voice now. "Keep trying, Al. You'll get through." He didn't know what it was about Verbena but when she spoke in that voice, the world's greatest skeptic would believe her.

"Listen to me, Peter!" Al tried again, walking around in front of the psychologist, right through Egon's body, waving his arms in Peter's face. "Listen to me. Let him out! Let him out!"

Red joined in, urging Sam's release. "Good for you, Red! You tell him!" cheered Al. He might never know if he were breaking through or not, but Ray Stantz took matters into his own hands. Grabbing the trigger pedal, he punched it with his fist and the trap sprang open. Al stared at it hopefully, waiting.

Something nebulous and undefined shot out of the trap that was the same blue as the leap effect and dove for the blond body. "Go, Sam!" Al encouraged. Venkman heard that. He jerked and glanced uneasily over his shoulder.

"Now you hear me." Al heaved a sigh. "Come on, Sam, you can do it." Bending closer, he peered at the quiet face and saw the eyes blink. Sam had returned. "Come on, Sam, wake up," he urged. "Give me a sign here."

Janine intervened again. She had spunk. She always had. Now she was giving Sam a piece of her mind, encouraging him to wake up and return Egon.

"Go, Red," Al crowed. It was good to see her, but it hurt, too. She reminded him of a part of his life that he'd left unfinished, that he'd handled badly. He'd pushed Ruthie into the darkest reaches of his mind and blocked her out. He always pretended to forget which of his exwives he meant when telling stories to Sam, but it was rarely that he slipped up completely where Ruthie was concerned, just as he almost never mentioned Beth. Yes, he'd always believed Beth was his one true loveand he had begun to insist upon that more strongly when Ruthie died, so that it wouldn't hurt so much to lose a second woman he had loved.

Red had tried to reach him, but by the time he was ready to make his peace with her, it was too late. She had died and her death was still unavenged in Al's time. Sam had to be here to save her.

"Go, Red!" he repeated.

Peter heard that, too, and he looked up nervously. "I think we've got company."

"What is it with you, Venkman," Al complained. "When I need you to listen, you don't hear a word I say, and now you pick up all of it."

"Yo, guys," Peter said, eyes narrowing as he scanned the garage area. "I don't know what's going on but that other thingie you picked up is talking to me."

"It can't," Ray objected, grabbing his P.K.E. meter again and activating it. "You're not a natural receptor for it." He studied the readings. "Wow! this is great!"

"What's great?" Peter asked suspiciously. "Egon's biorhythms?"

"No, it's that projection. It's really boosted the power. You could see it if you were a natural receptor, but you must be close enough to pick up a subliminal reaction. What's it saying?"

"Complaining that I wasn't listening before," Peter replied. "It was siding with you when you wanted to let the nasty out of the trap." He dropped his eyes a minute, then he looked at Ray again. "You were right. We can't find Egon without him. Sorry I was such a jerk."

Ray's face softened immediately. "You were worried about him, too," he said. "We still don't know what this is about. Why don't you ask him?" He gestured in Al's direction.

"We're here to save Janine's life," Al explained in a loud voice. "Egon will come back afterwards."

Peter strained to hear, then he frowned. "Something about saving Janine's life," he said. "I'm not really getting it. It's almost like my imagination talking."

"No, you are getting it!" Al shouted. "You're getting it."

"Al?" Sam's faltering voice was the sweetest sound the hologram had ever heard. It drew him and the others to the sprawled figure like a magnet. Sam sat up, then he squeezed his eyes shut. "Al! You're so bright it hurts to look at you. What..."

"It's okay, Sam," Al replied. "Ziggy said Peter might hear me at full volume."

Sam clapped his hands to his ears. "Al! You're deafening me! Turn it down!"

"Is Al the character who's been nagging me?" Peter asked as Al pushed buttons and ordered Gushie to reduce the power to normal.

"Are you all right, Egon?" Janine asked, then shook her head. "Whoever you are? What are you doing with Egon's body?"

"I think his name's Sam," Peter put in. So he'd picked up that much. "Yo, Sam?" He waved a hand in front of Sam's face to attract his attention. "I think it's time for you to explain what's going on," he ordered in the type of voice it isn't a good idea to ignore.

Sam glanced questioningly at Al, still squinting, then, as Gushie made his adjustment, he blinked and relaxed. "Al? I think I have to tell them. Nobody else could prove I wasn't who they thought I was."

"I don't like it, Sam. Ziggy's always insisted you couldn't leap if anyone knew who you were."

"Well, Ziggy was wrong. Tamlyn knew who I was, and I still leaped."

"Ziggy? Leaped?" Ray pondered that. "Hey, is it like the transporter on Star Trek? You leap in and displace Egon? Is he on a spaceship up there?" He gestured toward the ceiling.

"Spaceship!" scoffed Peter, but he leaned closer curiously, waiting for the answer.

"Go ahead, tell them a little," Al conceded reluctantly. He didn't like it. It broke with leap tradition and he was afraid it would cause more problems than it would solve. "But be careful, Sam. It could go wrong."

Sam heaved a sigh and climbed to his feet. Ray helped him automatically, as if it were really Egon, and Red took his arm then drew free as if she could tell by touch that it wasn't the man she loved.

"Why can't I hear Al now?" Peter asked.

"He said they turned the power down," Ray replied, pointing at Sam. "Okay, Sam. Tell us what you've done with Egon?"

"Egon is fine," Sam replied. "When I've done what I came here for, he'll come back. It always works that way."

"It better," muttered Winston. "Man, I don't like this. Okay, Sam. You've got a lot of explaining to do."

Before he could do so, the outer door to the fire station burst open and two paramedics charged in. "Oh, man," Winston complained. "I forgot we called 911. Over here, guys."

"Which of you is hurt?" the older of the two asked, a slightly sourfaced man of middle years who looked like he never missed a thing. The sight of Slimer lurking about disconcerted him as much as it did Al.

"Check him out," Peter urged, gesturing at Sam. "We had a little equipment malfunction here but we're fine now. Or we think we are. See what you think?"

So Sam was tested and prodded and measured by the paramedics, his blood pressure checked and his heart listened to, and when it was done, they gave him a clean bill of health. Al wasn't sure that was the best diagnosis they'd ever made, but as long as Samor Egonwas healthy, that was enough for now.

When the paramedics departed, Sam sat down on the edge of Janine's desk and looked at each of the Ghostbusters and Janine who had gathered around him, glanced at Al for permission and then started. He explained in the most general terms that he was part of an experimenthe didn't mention time traveland that it had backfired. "I'm here to fix things," he concluded. "I leap in when there's a problem, we find out what it is, and I try to fix it. When what went wrong is put right, I leap on to the next person."

"How do you figure out what's wrong?" Peter asked suspiciously. "Your Ziggy can't know what's going to happen"

"Unless it's in the future," interrupted Ray excitedly, his face aglow with enthusiasm. "Wow! This is incredible! You're a time traveler, aren't you?" His eyes widened. "I've got it!" he burst out. "Sam! You must be Sam Beckett."

Al clapped a hand to his forehead, and exchanged a look of surprise and dismay with Sam. "How can he know that?" Al demanded suspiciously. "Ziggy, I need information on Ray Stantz. Did Sam ever meet him?"

The answer was there immediately. "Sam! You know Egon slightly. Once when you were in New York, you dropped in here to visit him. It was in 1991. Less than a year ago for them." He gestured at Ray and the others. "You and Ray talked a little about time travel and you went into the string theory in general terms." He shook his head. "You shouldn't have done that, Sam. This is a sharp kid. He's figured it out."

"Beckett?" Peter echoed Ray. "You mean that physicist friend of Egon's?"

"Sam Beckett?" Janine blurted out in a stunned voice, staring at Sam in dismay. "Al's friend? The one who was there... Youyou said Al" She peered around the room in alarm, her eyes narrowing as suspiciously as Peter's had earlier. "Is that jerk here!"

Al flinched. He should have expected that reaction, but it hurt worse than he had thought it would. Sam turned to him quickly, sympathy on his face.

"Janine," he said in gentle tones, "It isn't like you think."

"I know just how it was, buster. You were there when he wouldn't even talk to me. He threw us over and decided he didn't want any part of us. Well, I don't want any part of him. Get him out of here!"

"I can't do that, Janine," Sam told her while the Ghostbusters watched the confrontation in astonishment. "I need him here. The reason I'm here is because tonight you're going to be killed. I'm supposed to stop that."

"Stop itor do it?" Peter asked, leaning closer with an air of menace. "Nobody invited you, bunky, and it sounds like Janine doesn't like your friend very much. How do we know this isn't a scam?"

"You don't," Sam replied. He put on his most earnest expression and leaned toward the secretary, grasping her upper arms and staring directly into her eyes. "You know Al, Janine. Can't you guess how much it hurt him to lose Ruthie? Did you ever hear about his first wife?" He shot an apologetic glance at Al before he pressed on. He must have known that he couldn't save Janine unless he could win her trust.

Al shivered. He hated this, but rather bare his soul than let Red die. "Go ahead, Sam," he said, backing away and bending over the handlink so that Sam couldn't see his face. "Tell her whatever you need to."

"God, Al, I'm sorry," Sam breathed, then he turned back to the redhead. "Janine, you must have known about Beth?"

She stiffened under his hands, then, finally, she raised her eyes, breaking free of him and turning around, jabbing her glasses up her nose with a harsh finger. "Yeah, I know about Beth," she admitted reluctantly. "When Al was a POW, she had him declared dead and married some ambulance chaser. I don't think he ever got over it."

"He might haveif Ruthie hadn't died," Sam said in quiet tones. "He loved her, Janinebut everybody else he loved left him, one way or another. He couldn't take the risk. It took him a long time to open up to me again, and I'm his best friend. Every time he saw you, you reminded him of your aunt. You look a little like her and your hair is the same color. When you came looking for him he just wasn't ready. Even now, you remind him of her."

Janine's shoulders were still rigid, but they softened as Sam spoke. She glanced at him over her shoulder, then she spun around again. "Okay, but he still treated me badly, and I don't take that kind of crap from anybody."

"Tell her I'm sorry, Sam," Al managed to say. "It took me a long time to get past how I was feeling to see how she must have felt."

When Sam repeated Al's words Janine softened still further. Though she couldn't see him she glanced toward Al, pursing her lips as she considered his words. Knowing Janine, it wouldn't be an easy decision. She'd always been good at holding grudges.

"What's going on, Janine?" Peter asked her. "You mean you know this Al character who was shouting in my head? Don't hold back. Fill us in." Their job enabled them to believe in the hologram more easily than the average person could.

"Yes. He's Al Calavicci. He was married to my aunt Ruthie right before I started working for you guys. When she died, he just dumped us and took off." She folded her arms across her chest. "I guess maybe I can see why, but he treated us pretty bad."

"Calavicci?" echoed Winston with sudden recognition. "Didn't he used to be an astronaut?"

"Hey, yeah!" agreed Ray, his face brightening at the thought. "I never met him, but after Sam Beckett was here, Egon said Admiral Calavicci was working on a project with him." He turned eagerly to Sam. "Is it really a time travel project? We've got to figure out how to retrieve Egon."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "Time travel or not, I don't like the idea of a stranger coming in and replacing Egon. You guys are body snatchers." He glared at Sam unforgivingly.

"We don't mean to be," Sam replied. "We've theorized that God or Time or a power we don't understand is shifting me around to help fix things that went wrong the first time around. In our timeline, something fatal happened to Janine tonight. I'm here to prevent it. Egon wouldn't have known about it."

Janine's mouth fell open in astonishment.

"Yeah, Sam," Al put in. "Before they started going high tech on you, you could have done a good job of it by letting Janine think you wanted her to stay home tonight. Careful what you tell them, though. These characters are smart enough to put two and two together and work out a doozy of a story for the National Enquirer."

"You mean I was supposed to romance Janine so she wouldn't go on her date?" Sam asked in surprise. It would make sense if the date was the cause of the problem.

"Hey, wait a minute," snapped Janine, growing angry again. She had always had a hasty temper. Al wondered how she and Venkman managed to work together every day without killing each other. "You might think you can zip in here from the future or wherever you come from and manipulate me, but I'm not buying it. Egon couldn't tell me who to date, and you can't, either."

"Wait a minute, Janine," Winston intervened practically, patting her shoulder. "If this character you're going out with is a serial killer or something, I think it might be a good idea if you stayed home. I don't want to manipulate you, either, but I'd rather do that than let you be killed."

"Way to go, Winston," approved Al, though Janine didn't seem entirely placated. Pushing buttons, Al frowned. "Uh oh, Sam, we have a major problem here. I just ran another reading, and now it says that Peter and Ray die, too. I think it's gonna take more than Red breaking a date to fix this one."

Sam frowned. "Al says that the percentages are getting worse," he explained. "I don't know why but now he says that Peter and Ray die, too. Al, find out what happened the first time around and see if Ziggy can tell what's different."

"I don't think you're much help," griped Peter. He appeared skeptical of the whole thing, but, like all of them, he had an edge of belief. "The only difference is that you're gonna make Janine stay home. Does this make Songer mad enough to come in here with an Uzi or what?"

"You know, he could be right, Sam," Al theorized. "Maybe this character's psychotic. He might not take rejection real well. I'll have Ziggy get the scoop on him for you."

While Al did his research, Sam turned to the Ghostbusters. "If Janine's date is the source of the problem, breaking it may enrage him. We need to find out exactly what might happen and then change it. Al's checking right now. Janine, tell me about this Doug Songer, please."

She frowned as she considered it. "I wouldn't have thought he was a crazed killer, but maybe they have to appear normal. He's a commodities broker. I met him through my friend Maureenshe's dating a coworker of his. He seems like a nice guy. I've only been out with him once before but we had a great time. He's a conservationist. He works with a Save the Wolves project in his spare time, doing fund raising."

"Wolves?" Peter asked suspiciously. "I hope this character doesn't sprout extra long hair and fangs when the moon is full."

Al shuddered. "I don't like this guy's imagination, Sam. Werewolves! Who is he trying to kid?"

"He's already used to ghosts, Al," Sam argued. "Werewolves might not take that much more imagination."

"But there are werewolves," Ray responded immediately, guessing from Sam's words what Al had said. "We've seen them."

Al shivered. "Maybe he's right, Sam. Tonight is the full moon after all."

"Al says the moon is full tonight," Sam relayed. "Unless we're way off base here, it's something to think about."

"I'll call Doug and put him off," Janine volunteered. "If he's okay, it shouldn't do any damageand if he's not, we'd know."

She picked up the phone and dialed, and Al heard her giving an excuse to Songer. He checked the handlink and shook his head.

"Uh oh, Sam. It doesn't make one bit of difference. Either Songer has nothing to do with it at all or her rejection sets him off. Either way, we're in big trouble."

*****

Egon Spengler frowned as he pondered his surroundings. When he had abruptly found himself in an unfamiliar white room, his immediate reaction had been curiosity. At first he couldn't recall his name or how he might have come here, and a careful study of everything he could recall indicated that there were large gaps in his memory. He explored the room carefully, searching for clues. The all white environment suggested a hospital or lab so he picked up lamps and checked the backs of chairs for manufacturing labels. What he found indicated mostly American manufacture. Unlikely in either a spaceship or the antechamber to heaven, so he sat down and applied himself to remembering, running free associations in his head. After awhile, he remembered his name and enough information to go on. He was a scientist, which meant he should be able to reason out his location even from the sparse clues provided here.

Several ideas instantly presented themselves. Though he was in a locked room with no mirrors, he could tell that he wasn't the way he remembered himself. He had awakened lying in a hospital bed with monitoring equipment around him, but he doubted he had roused from a coma in which he'd received plastic surgery. Yet his face felt different, his hair was styled unfamiliarly, and even more telling, he was not wearing glasses but nothing was blurry.

That was when company arrived, first of all a short older man whose clothes were wilder than Peter's. Peter? Who is that? He concentrated on the thought but it slid away. Fine. He would return to it later. Instead he studied the new arrival, who introduced himself as Albert and asked Egon what he remembered.

"More than when I awoke," Egon confessed. "I know my name now, Egon Spengler, and I am beginning to remember other things. Time should recall the rest. Where am I?" The cliche made him smile faintly. "Why can I see you without my glasses? What is this place?"

"Those questions will have to wait a bit, Mr. Spengler."

"Dr. Spengler," he corrected. "I'm a physicist." He wondered if revealing that information had been a mistake. If he were, for some reason, a prisoner, he should give no additional information. The loudly dressed man did not look like a ghost, but ghosts could still have planned this.

Ghosts?!

He fell silent, considering, then memory started to solidify. Ghostbusters! He was a Ghostbuster. Peter was one of his colleagues. Ray, Winston, Janine... He could remember them now, could see their faces with his mind's eye though details eluded him. "Are my friends here, too?" he demanded, more concerned for their safety than he was for his own.

"No, just you. This is a temporary arrangement. You'll be returning home when it's over. What can you tell me about yourself?" the man prompted.

"I don't see why I should offer you information unless you're willing to reciprocate. I've been brought here against my wishes. I suspect I am no longer in my own body."

Albert stared at him strangely. "That doesn't bug you?" he prompted.

"No. It's a fascinating experience. I'd like to know how it was managed. I doubt it was anything as complex as a brain transplant. I theorize that either I have been hypnotized to believe myself different or my memories have been grafted to this body. Perhaps the hypnosis factor is easier to believe, but your equipment" he pointed to the life support machinery"is slightly beyond what I would recognize as state of the art. Yet it is labeled in English. Everything here was manufactured on this planet, mostly in this country. I theorize a science lab. You're human, not a ghost."

Albert jumped, his face paling. "A ghost!" he echoed with revulsion, glancing over his shoulder as if he feared hordes of spooks and specters were creeping up on him. "Why would I be a ghost? You're not dead and neither am I."

"I know that. I thought perhaps the ghosts had arranged this as a form of revenge."

The door opened to admit two people, a tall, attractive black woman and a slightly pudgy brownhaired man. "He's one of the Ghostbusters, Al," the woman said. "Good morning, Dr. Spengler. My name is Verbena Beeks, and this is Dr. Wade. Don't be alarmed. No harm will come to you here."

"Why am I here?" Egon demanded. "I've been brought here against my wishes."

"Check with Ziggy," Wade told Albert in a southern accent. "Now that we have the identity he might have something."

Albert took a brightly colored device from his pocket the size of a pocket calculator only more complex and pushed a few buttons. He shook his head. "Nope, not yet. I'd better check on Sam. Maybe he's got something. See what you can find out. And it might be a good idea to restrict access. He's a physicist. It's possible he could figure out more than we'd like." He put away his toy and departed.

The woman, Beeks, was a psychiatrist. Egon could tell by her questions. Wade was a medical doctor. He ran a few tests on Egon. Both of them asked him questions that did nothing to reassure him, questions about possible danger at home.

"My work is inherently dangerous," Egon responded. "But I don't remember any particular crisis." He struggled after a memory. "I wasgoing to call out for pizza."

Wade grinned. "Doesn't sound too threatening. "All right, Dr. Spengler. We'll leave it for now. Just remember, the important thing is that you're here so we can help you."

"I don't recall asking for help," he retorted. "We're used to handling problems. Your intervention might do more harm than good."

They exchanged a worried look. Probably wondering if he was right.

When Albert returned, he had a grim air about him. "What do you know about a Doug Songer?" he demanded without preface.

"Doug Songer?" It took a moment for the name to click. "Janine's new boyfriend," he said dryly. "I haven't met the individual."

"Haven't had the pleasure, eh?" Al grinned. "You wouldn't happen to be jealous, would you?"

"Of course not," Egon retorted stiffly. "Why should I be jealous? Janine is free to date whomever she wishes."

"Not if he's going to endanger her," Albert insisted. "I know Janine, Dr. Spengler. I used to be her uncle."

That made Egon stare at him, trying to figure out the unlikely remark. He prodded his reluctant memory from several directions and it started to return. "I know. Her aunt Ruthie's husband. The astronaut. The one who took off and they never heard from again when her aunt died. I remember that. It was shortly after we defeated Gozer. Janine was very upset." He glared at Albert with growing irritation, but then something else clicked. It all began to come together.

"Wait a minute. I know who you are. You're Sam Beckett's partner. Sam came to see me and we talked about his string theory. This is a time travel project, isn't it, Albert?" Fascinated, he glanced around the room. "So Sam made it work. How far in the future are you? Ten years? I wouldn't guess more, probably less. Is Sam in my place now?"

Al heaved a much put upon sigh. "I was afraid of this," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and raking a hand through his short, dark hair. "You know too much. When you go home, if you don't forget it all again, you'll" He broke off, slapping his forehead in exasperation. "Who am I kidding. Your buddies already know about it. You'll just have to keep quiet about it and never act on your knowledge, or it could all go wrong and Janine could die."

"Janine!" Egon froze, staring at him in horror. "Sam's trying to save Janine?"

Al nodded, his head bobbing solemnly up and down. "That's why he's there. And your pals Ray and Peter, too. So we need your help."

Egon believed him. Something about the man encouraged belief, and while he could have been a clever con man like Peter's father, Egon didn't expect it of a former astronaut and friend of the completely honorable Sam Beckett. Albert was telling him the truth, though not all of it. Now was the time to remedy that. Perhaps he and Albert together could find a way to save Peter, Ray, and Janine.

*****

With a sigh Sam looked around the ground floor of Ghostbuster Central. Janine had telephoned Doug Songer and broken her date, explaining that she had to work late, and had reported that the young man said he was sorry and would call her the following day. Al said that Ziggy claimed no improvement. Janine's mutilated body was now found behind the desk in Peter's groundfloor office, and Ray Stantz was found with her, his throat ripped out.

Peter's face had darkened when he heard that, but Ray only asked, "What's supposed to happen to Peter and Winston?"

"Winston is injured, requiring multiple stitches and blood transfusions, but Peter is found dead out here," Al explained, and Sam relayed the words sadly.

Winston's face went taut. He wore the kind of look at Al did when he realized Sam was in danger and he couldn't help him.

"Hey," interrupted Peter, a light dawning on his face. "If Winston survived this the first time around, he must have had some idea what happened. Al, wherever you are, can't you have your Ziggy check police records and see what he said happened?" After his experience of being able to semihear Al, he had no trouble accepting the hologram's presence.

"Hey, good question, Sam," Al approved. He checked it out on the handlink, then he raised stunned eyes and stared at Sam. "You're not gonna like this, Sam," he proclaimed. "It sounds like our weird theories were right. Winston claimed it was a werewolf. Nobody believed him, but there weren't many other possible solutions and the police have it listed as unsolved."

"You said it was a werewolf," Sam told Winston, who grimaced.

"Man, I hate it when we're right."

"What about Egon?" asked Peter narrowly. "Sam, I mean. How do we know that this whole thing isn't some elaborate scheme and that he won't go berserk and start slashing right and left?"

Al worked the link and all color left his face. "Sam! Now it's saying that you get killed, too," he gasped in alarm.

"I'm to die with you," Sam explained. "Apparently a werewolf comes here. Before Janine vanished while on her date. Now that she's cancelled it, everything happens here. It must involves Songer. Maybe he feels rejected and comes in and attacks everyone."

"Maybe we'll put on our proton packs and blast anybody who comes in," Peter said darkly. "Especially anybody who bays at the moon."

"Ask Al if he's found out anything more about Songer?" Peter suggested. It did seem to focus on him.

"No. He's a commodities broker and fairly well thought of. He" His eyes narrowed as he stared at the handlink. "Two months from now, he vanishes without a trace, too." Looking up, he added significantly, "On the night of the full moon. Sam! Maybe he really is a werewolf!"

Sam relayed that quickly. He hadn't really believed the earlier speculation, but now he was beginning to wonder, especially since the Winston of his own timeline had verified it. The problem was, how did one confront a werewolf? On the other hand, Songer might simply be insane and believe he was a werewolf, or possibly he was one of those people who went berserk when the moon was full. The term 'lunatic' had come from that. "Al? Was there anything about theour autopsies to indicate a wolf?"

"I like the way he says 'our' autopsies," Winston remarked with a grim smile. "It's okay for him. He'll jump out of here before it happens."

"No I won't," Sam said quickly. "I've never leaped before without putting something right. If I've failed, I'll be right here. I'lldie with you."

"You're not gonna die, Sam," Al insisted staunchly. "We'll take all the right precautions. How do you stop a werewolf? A silver bullet?"

"There are all kinds of theories," Ray volunteered when Sam repeated Al's question. "Some say that the person actually makes a physical transformation and other theories imply that the werewolf is a spirit double. A werewolf might be created by a curse. I suppose a werewolf's child might also have werewolf tendencies. If lycanthropy is genetic, there could be whole populations who have transformed. Maybe they could sense and find each other. Remember the werewolves of Lupusville, guys? That was a whole community of them. They weren't necessarily evil. They just wanted to live their lives in peace away from the rest of us."

Sam had seen a lot of strange things since he began traveling in time but this leap required a greater suspension of disbelief than any so far. First there had been Slimer, and now the calm way with which these men and Janine accepted the possibility of a werewolf. They probably wouldn't blink at vampires or the Loch Ness Monster or Bigfoot. Sam said so.

Peter grinned. "We've met vampires before. Count Vostok was a nice guy. I'm not so sure about the vampires that had taken over Lupusville, though. Some of them were okay and some weren't." Noticing Sam's openmouthed stare, he said, "We've found out that a lot of legends that have persisted for centuries all over the world have some basis in fact. Most folks choose to disbelieve them because they contradict the need people have to believe they control their physical environment. A lot of weird things are real. We've fought demons and goblins and imps. Even the Bogeyman. Like our ad says, we're ready to believeeven in time travelers stealing people's bodies." He grinned.

"He's got you there, Sam," Al said with amusement. "I'm gonna go back to the Project and see what Ziggy can research about Songer's background. We've got a little time. Nothing's supposed to happen here for an hour or two."

"Don't stay too long, Al," Sam urged. Knowing what might happen in a few hours made him want Al with him, but if Al could discover more, it might be better for him to return to the Project.

"If he's going to see Egon," Ray put in wistfully, "ask if Egon can suggest anything about stopping werewolves."

Al said, "Right," and stepped through the doorway into his own time. He hesitated there, looking from Sam to Janine and back again. This leap was tearing him up, first the presence of Janine, then the possibility of losing Sam. When the door closed, Sam felt more isolated than ever, and more helpless. How could he help Al resolve his problems with Janine if he couldn't save her lifeif he couldn't even save his own?

"He's gone. He'll talk with Egon, but the leaping process scrambles people's memories. Egon might not remember enough to help. Maybe we could call the police?"

"What do we tell them?" Peter asked reasonably. "That somebody from the future says we're all going to be murdered? They'd like that. They wonder about us anyway."

"We could say we got a threatening phone call," suggested Winston. "That might get some help."

"Not much," argued Peter. "You know this town. Without something definite to go on, we won't get help until it's too late. I think we should adjust our throwers to take out werewolves."

"That's what Egon usually figures out," Winston said gloomily, looking at Sam without enthusiasm.

"I'm a physicist," Sam offered, feeling guilty. So far, his leap had only made things worse. What could he do that Egon couldn't have done better? All he'd done was warn Janine ahead of time that she was going to die. He hadn't even had a chance to finish mediating a truce between Janine and Al. Now Al was working desperately to find a solution, not just for Sam and the Ghostbusters but for the young woman to whom he owed a debt. Surely one of the reasons Sam was here was to help Al resolve itbut how could he do that if he was killed by a werewolf first?

"Let's see," he mused. "I always wondered what was supposed to be so special about a silver bullet. I know silver's a conductor of heat and electricity, but so are a lot of other things."

"I think the silver bullet part might be just legend or even Hollywood hype," Ray put in, leaning forward with interest. "Or else it works because it's part of the supernatural element, the mystic part. Maybe there are different physical laws that apply to werewolvesor to the supernatural as a whole."

"Great, Ray," Peter complained. "Nobody's figured it out for thousands of years but we have to solve it in the next ten minutes."

Ray grinned wryly. "Isn't it always like that, Peter? That's what I like best. I'm not sure we could get a silver bullet in time to do any good, but maybe we could modify the throwers."

"To shoot silver?" Winston asked, cocking a skeptical eyebrow at Ray. "Come on, homeboy, if we could do that, we'd be rich."

"To mimic whatever properties of silver cause destruction?" Sam theorized. "I don't know if it would work. Your throwers emit proton streams? I half remember Egon feeding me the theory behind them once but not much detail. If that's true, you can do various modifications, but I don't see how you could replicate a silver bullet. Your throwers are designed to work on ectoplasm, anyway, not on living tissue."

"You got that right," Winston agreed. "We've never done that great against physical entities in the past."

"But you can modify them because you did when you pulled me out of this body and into the ghost trap. So something should be possible."

"He's right," said Ray eagerly. "I bet we can work something outif we have enough time. Maybe we should go up to the lab. We can run our suggestions through the computer."

They adjourned to the lab, Sam and Ray tossing theories about. Janine paused long enough to put on a proton pack, and Peter offered one reluctantly to Sam. When one's throat is about to be ripped out, one needs all the backup possible.

An hour later, they were no further ahead. Ray had delved into old books of the occult, studying various theories about werewolves. The more they thought about Al's description of their dead bodies, the more they were sure it was not a normal nasty human who would cause the deaths. Maybe they had taken a leap of faith to consider werewolves, but it fit the facts, especially since Winston's report had confirmed it. If Songer had originally killed Janine on a date, he might have taken her to a remote area first, maybe even out of the city. Now he would come here. But when would the transformation take place? When the moon rose? After dark?

"I wonder what makes the full moon so important to the legend," Sam mused, looking up from the book he'd been studying in a vain attempt to find a solution.

"Hey, that's a good point," Winston agreed. "Ray? Any bright ideas?"

"I've got one," Peter intervened, snapping his fingers as if the light had just dawned. "Maybe it's like the tides, something about magnetic fields and gravity and all that stuff."

"You're right, Peter," Ray approved. "The moon does influence a lot of things."

"Of course I'm right." Peter grinned. "You think you're the only one around here with a Ph.D? I've got two of them, remember?"

Ray pointed at Sam. "He's got six or seven, I think. Enough letters after his name to fill a dictionary."

"Show off," Peter muttered in Sam's general direction.

"Couldn't we do something about it?" Sam asked with growing excitement. "Maybe modify the streams to produce a specific energy field, which could negate the effects of the full moon? It might trap the werewolf, but maybe it would halt the transformation and force him to revert to his human form?"

"Hey, yeah, that might work," Ray cried. He dove for the computer and began to type formulae into it with increasing excitement.

"Hello? Anybody around? Janine?"

At the call, the five of them and Slimer whirled around, and the man at the lab doorway found himself confronted with two P.K.E. meters and three poweredup proton rifles. He backed up a step or two, stretched out his hands in a conciliatory gesture and said, "Whoa, guys. I'm not a prowler and I'm not a ghost." He didn't look like either. A tall, brown haired man, he bore a strong resemblance to the young Harrison Ford of Star Wars. He was wearing corduroy jeans and a turtleneck, and he looked harmless, except perhaps to Janine's libido.

"Doug!" the secretary cried nervously. "What are you doing here?"

"You sounded so strange on the phone that I was worried about you," the man explained. "I know you said you had to work late, and you obviously are, butwhat the hell is going on?" He gestured resentfully at the throwers Peter, Winston, and Janine pointed at him.

"Ray?" Peter asked urgently, refusing to lower his weapon. "What've you got?" Slimer hovered nervously behind the psychologist.

"This is weird," Ray replied, fiddling with the knobs on his P.K.E. meter. "He's reading completely human. No supernatural energy of any kind. He's normal."

"Normal?" Songer echoed, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Are you guys crazy? Of course I'm human. Did you think I was a little green man or something?"

"More like a werewolf," Peter challenged him. "So tell us, when's the last time you bayed at the moon?"

Songer gaped at Peter as if he'd lost his mind. "Bayed at the moon! You're crazy." He shot a doubtful glance at Janine. "This one must be Venkman, right?"

Peter eyed the secretary suspiciously as she lowered her thrower. "What have you been saying about me, Janine?"

"Never mind that," Ray cut in, turning to Sam. "This guy isn't a werewolf. There'd be a lingering trace reading even in his human format least I think there would be."

Sam had tried to make sense of the P.K.E. readings himself. It was better than blasting the guy automatically, since they hadn't converted the beams yet. He wasn't sure he was reading it right, but Ray was correct. There wasn't any abnormal reading at all. The needle didn't even quiver.

Peter eyed Sam with growing suspicion. "So what gives? You been feeding us a line from beginning to end?"

"I don't think he has," Winston replied. "We can't assume that anyway." He approached Janine's boyfriend, stowing his proton rifle. "I'm Winston Zeddemore. We had a little advance warning that we were about to be attacked by a werewolf. Your timing is off, that's all. We would have reacted like this to anybody who showed up now."

"So you decided it had to be me?" The man's eyebrows shot up. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"Well, Janine said you were into saving the wolves," Ray explained as if he felt foolish saying it.

"I am. You've no idea how distorted the general public's perception of wolves is. They're beautiful and they..." He trailed off. "Anyway, saving wolves is a lot different from being a werewolf. Give me a break! Just because you guys see a lot of ghosts doesn't mean you can go over the edge into other weird phenomena, too."

"We know that," Sam said, shutting down his P.K.E meter. "But the evidence we had was pretty conclusive. When you're expecting werewolves, a contact with wolves is suspicious. How did you get involved with that?"

"Through an old girlfriend. She was really caught up in it and when I read the material she had it made sense to me. But I assure you I've never bayed at the moon and I don't have to shave my palms." He went up to the redheaded woman and gripped her shoulders. "Janine, do you believe I could be a werewolf?"

"Well, I don't know you very well yet," she said, tilting her chin to consider him. "I wouldn't have thought it, but the guys know their job."

Sam heard the familiar swish of Al's door to the future opening and the hologram stepped through. His eyes fell upon Songer and widened in alarm.

"Sam! That's Doug Songer! Do something!"

"You don't seem to be a werewolf," Sam told the commodities broker in an effort to reassure Al without causing the stranger to think all the Ghostbusters were terminally demented. "But you can understand that we're reluctant to take chances with Janine's life, can't you?"

"You must be Egon," Songer said, peering at Sam as if adding up two and two. "Believe me, I don't want anything to happen to Janine. She's a special lady. But I'm tired of all this suspicion when I've done nothing wrong." He smiled charmingly at Janine and she hesitated, torn between her doubts and his plausibility.

"Don't trust him, Sam," cautioned Al. "He could start spouting extra hair at any minute."

Sam edged over to Al. "What would happen if we kept him here?" he mumbled in an undertone. "Have Ziggy check it out."

Songer eyed him doubtfully, but not as doubtfully as Al did. "Keep him here? Are you nuts, Sam? That'll only make it easier for him to shred you all." He keyed his question into the handlink and waited for the reply.

"Keep me here?" Songer echoed. "Who's he talking to?"

"Uh, himself," Peter volunteered hastily. "Egon does that when he's thinking." It sounded lame, but he grinned so persuasively that Songer accepted it. Peter must have con man blood somewhere in the family tree.

Al was perplexed with his results. "I don't like it, Sam. This is weird. Now Ziggy says that Songer was found here unconscious tomorrow morning but that he wasn't clawed or anything, and he claims he doesn't remember what happened. The police suspected him but couldn't prove anything, and Winston couldn't say he'd done it. And he still dies in two months."

Sam shrugged, and said, "Mr. Songer, you can go or stay as you wish, but there's a danger here. In the meantime, guys, I think we should finish modifying the streams."

"We could make wolfbane soup," Ray suggested. "The chickenbane soup worked when Egonuh, you were turned into a werechicken."

"Werechicken?" Songer echoed, edging toward the door. "No offense, Janine, but I'm out of here."

The three Ghostbusters turned to Sam.

"Doesn't make a difference," Sam replied when Al fed him the information. "Let's get back to our modifications. We're low on time."

Songer shrugged, glanced at Janine as if he had decided she wasn't worth the aggravation, then turned and walked out. She made a huffy sound of irritation, turned her nose in the air, and ignored his departure.

"The nozzle." Al glared after him. "He wasn't worth it, Red. Forget about him. Ziggy says that if we can change what happens tonight you'll have a happyeverafter with"

"So who needs him," she snorted. "If he's not the werewolf, let him go."

"It's okay, Janine," Ray consoled her, patting her shoulder. "When this is all over, I'll call him and explain."

"Don't bother. If he can't take the risk"

They were uncomfortable with Songer's departure though Ray insisted that Songer couldn't be the werewolf. "We could tell by the readings that Egon was turned into a werechicken," he explained to Sam. "There was a residual effect that came through clearly. If Songer was a werewolf, it should have registered on the P.K.E. meter."

"You hope," Peter said, finally relaxing and putting his thrower away.

"Never mind that. Let's get to work." Winston gestured at his weapon. "How should we modify this thing?"

Sam and Ray conferred while Al called up additional data from Ziggy. When he wasn't doing that, he was watching Janine, his eyes shadowed. The problem between them could be resolved, Sam was sure, if only there was time. Al wanted it badly. If Janine knew that, she might unbend.

Ray speculated on the advantages of wolfbane soup, but the problem would be to make the werewolf drink it. Better to rig the throwers. They figured out what they hoped were the necessary settings and began to tune the equipment.

They had just made the final adjustment when Janine snapped her fingers. "Guys. Doug just walked in here. Did anybody remember to lock the door?"

For a chagrined minute they stared at each other, then, as one, they turned and charged for the stairs, Slimer trailing them reluctantly, more afraid of staying alone than of facing the possible threat downstairs.

The smaller front door that opened out of one of the garage doors was standing wide open. Either Songer hadn't bothered to close it in his haste to escape the 'loony bin' or someone else had entered since his departure.

"I've got a bad feeling about this, Sam," Al said, shifting closer to the time traveler as if Sam could protect him from the 'spooky stuff'.

"I'll close it," Peter offered and started for the door, gripping his thrower firmly in both hands.

"Wait, Peter," called Ray, pulling out his P.K.E. meter and taking a reading. "It's"

Before he could complete his warning, something low, grey, and fast burst from behind Ecto1 with a savage growl, pounced on Peter, and knocked him flat on his back. The wolflike being was bigger than a standard wolf but not quite as big as Sam had expected. Its snout was long and pointed and its mouth was open, revealing twin rows of fangs. Saliva dripped on Peter's chest as he threw up his arms to protect his face and throat, thrower still tightly gripped in his right hand. At the sight, Slimer shrieked and went straight up through the ceiling.

The werewolf lunged for him but its teeth closed around the barrel of the thrower instead and it snarled viciously as it fought to wrest it from Peter's grip.

"Never bayed at the moon!" Peter scoffed as he struggled for freedom. "Get him off me, guys! I knew it was Songer! I knew it all along!"

"Blast it," bellowed Winston, powering up.

"No! You'll hit Peter!" objected Ray. Tossing aside the P.K.E. meter, he took careful aim as he approached cautiously.

"Guys, hurry!" Peter screeched, fighting for his life. The teeth closed on his sleeve, and he let out a startled yell, but only the cloth was caught. "Gaa!" Peter gasped as he tried to yank his arm free. "Somebody do something!"

"Doug! Please don't," Janine cried, starting toward them.

"Stop her, Sam," Al urged, gesturing Sam toward the determined woman.

At the sound of his name, the werewolf went very quiet. Lifting its head it looked around. When it saw Janine, it went very still, then it gathered itself to spring, legs bunching. Peter cried out, pain flaring through his voice as the creature's claws gouged his left arm.

"Peter!" Ray raised his thrower again.

The beast went for Janine. She backed up, screaming, but Winston and Ray fired before it could reach her, their modified streams striking the werewolf in mid spring. Sam caught himself and joined in, and Peter struggled to a sitting position and fired, too, ignoring his injury.

The werewolf's rush sputtered to a halt as it hung there, halftrapped. Landing on splayed legs midway between Janine and Peter, it raised its head to howl, an eerie ululation of sound that sent a shiver up Sam's spine. Al ducked behind him, leaning forward to peer around him. "I don't like this, Sam," he called. "You've stopped it, but what happens next?"

What happened next stunned them all. The wolf's howl broke off abruptly, and a raspy, wolflike voice groaned, "Nno! Stop. Wwhat are you do" That faltered too. The grey fur shimmered as if with sunlight, the wolf's body convulsed, and suddenly the crackling yellow glow of the streams was bathing a human person, sprawled flat on its face, completely naked and very female. She had a cloud of ash blonde hair and a shapely figure. Whoever the werewolf was, it was not Doug Songer.

Al let out a surprised and approving whistle as he took in the sight. "You know, Sam, maybe I could come to like werewolves after all," he observed.

"Al!" chastised Sam, jerking his thumb from the trigger. Everyone stopped firing, mouths hanging open in astonishment.

"It's a girl!" Ray gasped as he stowed his thrower on his pack. "Janine, get something to cover her."

The secretary found a blanket in one of the lockers and passed it to Ray, who draped it over the unconscious woman. As it touched her, she stirred and opened her eyes.

"Easy," Ray soothed. "It's all right."

"All right?" echoed Peter in disbelief, his voice still shaky from his near miss. "She all but rips my throat out and nearly severs my arm and you think it's all right!" At his complaint, Slimer floated down from the ceiling and flung himself at Venkman, wrapping arms around his neck. Peter groaned and struggled to push him away. "Not now, Spud. Bad enough I get attacked without getting slimed, too."

Reminded of Peter's injury, Ray turned in alarm to stare at him. The psychologist had shoved up his left sleeve and was dabbing ineffectually at three shallow cuts that sliced across his forearm, while Slimer hovering anxiously over him. As if sensing his friends' worry, Peter continued, "Not that it's even gonna leave a scar, but it's the principle of the thing." Winston grinned and went after the first aid kit.

Certain that Peter was not seriously damaged, Ray turned back to the woman, who had gathered the blanket around herself with a shaking hand and was staring at her surroundings, eyes wide with shock and dismay. When Peter spoke, her eyes turned to him, and she noted the slight injury. "Oh, no," she whimpered. "I hurt you. I'm sorry."

She sounded so sad that the softhearted Ray bent instinctively to comfort her.

"Careful, Ray," Winston urged as he opened the first aid kit. "She could revert."

"She won't revert," Sam said quickly. "The force of the energy she was hit with will be enough to bypass this full moon." He joined Ray, going down on his knees beside her and sitting back on his heels. Peter's scratches weren't serious enough to need a doctor. "We're the Ghostbusters," he explained. "We know you're a werewolf. Will you tell us why you're here?"

She hid her face in her hands, which caused the blanket to slip. Grabbing it again with one hand, she raised her eyes to Sam. "What does it matter now?" she demanded.

"It does matter. You could have killed people tonight. Have you ever done that before?"

"No!" She flung the word at him defiantly as if such a thing was abhorrent. "I didn'tat first before I could control it, I" She turned her face away. "I've been fighting it. I wouldn'tI couldn't Could I?"

"You could," Ray said gently. "But maybe we can stop you. Can you tell us about it?"

"I came here to see Janine," the woman admitted. "I wanted to find out what she was like. I followed him here. I know I shouldn't, butdamn it, we were fine until she came along." She raised hot eyes and glared at Janine, but the anger was based on resentment, not killing rage. "I knew the time was close, but when it comes, I've never really done harm. I always check the papers thoroughly afterwards to make sure. Imaybe at first I did some harm, but, well, ever since then, I've made sure I was shut up in my apartment where I couldn't hurt anybody. I didn't know what else to do about it. Then, tonight, I thought maybe the Ghostbusters would know. I started to wonder if Doug had guessed and wanted to find a way to help me. I know that's probably wishful thinking, butyou did something. You changed me back. Is itis it permanent?"

"Well, no," Ray admitted ruefully. He seemed sorry for her. "Just for tonight, I'm afraid. Why don't you tell us who you are."

"I bet I know who she is, Sam," Al put in. "She must be the girl Songer was dating who brought him into the Save the Wolves campaign. She just had a personal reason to save them."

"I dated Doug before you did," the girl told Janine, confirming Al's guess. "My name's Kim Avery. We broke up two weeks ago, but I hoped it wasn't permanent. He said I was too secretive, and maybe I was, but I had this," she gestured at herself, "to hide."

"You're Kim," Janine gasped, sitting abruptly on the edge of the desk, a shocked expression on her face. "Damn it. I knew we shouldn't have done it."

"You want to clue us in, Janine?" Peter balanced the firstaid kit on his knees while Winston removed disinfectant and bandages to clean his arm. "I think I smell a plot here," said Peter. "It's not nice to risk your friends' lives for a little nookie." He winced as the disinfectant stung.

Janine lowered her head, conceding his point. "Well, yeah, but it was supposed to be harmless. When I met Doug he'd just broke up with Kim, but he wanted her back, and II didn't want Egon to think I was sitting around just waiting for him to notice me. We meant to go out a couple of times and see if we could help each other out. Doug said Kim would come back if she thought he had another girlfriend, and he was a nice guy. It wouldn't have been any hardship to go out with him a few times."

"And you'd make Egon jealous." Al grinned. "She doesn't know it but he's really worried about her, Sam. Better not tell her."

"No, he can tell her himself," Sam murmured in an aside. "Kim, did you come here to harm Janine?"

"No, not on purpose. I'd never..." She registered the dressing Winston was taping to Peter's arm. "Well, I don't think I did."

"How did you turn into a werewolf in the first place?" asked Winston, sealing up the first aid kit again and putting it away.

"It was two years ago, right before I met Doug," she said. "I was active in the Save the Wolves group alreadylook, can one of you grab my purse? It must be over there behind your car. I have a change of clothes in it in case I transform." She gestured.

Sam did it, even though Al followed him complaining. "Aw, Sam, you take all the fun out of things."

"When I change, mostly I lose what I'm wearing," she explained. "So I learned to carry stuff with me and try to remember where I was. As long as nobody swipes my purse or I return to my place before dawn, I'm okay. Mostly I just stay in the apartment." She grabbed the bulky tote bag and vanished under the blanket, pulling it over her head. It moved about while she wiggled into her clothes. "A friend of mine on Long Island has a pair of wolves," she continued, her voice muffled. "One evening I went out to see them and there was a third wolf there. It bit me, barely broke the skin. The wolf took off, and we couldn't find it again. It wasn't until the next full moon that I realized I'd been bitten by a werewolf."

"Wow,!" gasped Ray. "I wonder whatever happened to it?"

"I told Jeffmy friend. I said it was dangerous and to watch for it. Next full moon it tried to attack him and he had to shoot it. It ran away, but when he told me about it, I went to see, and I found a body in the woodsa human body. He was never identified, and it finally was considered an accidental death. I never got to talk to him, so I don't know much about my condition except what I've learned the hard way. After the first few times when I came home and found blood on my face and hands" she shuddered violently"I've made a point to stay home when the moon is full." She poked her head out of the blanket, then cast it aside, wearing a baggy sweater over tights, and flats. Jumping up, she went to Peter, who was still sitting on the floor. "I'm sorry I hurt you. When I'm a werewolf, I sort of know what's going on and I've learned a little control, but not much. I was jealous of Janine so I went into the transformation angry. I'm sorry."

Peter jumped up so easily it was clear he had not been seriously hurt. Automatically Ray caught his arm to steady him. They shared a grin then Peter smiled at her. "So why'd you really come here?" he asked in a gentler voice than Sam had expected.

Her eyes widened. "For you to change me back," she said in a little girl voice. "I can't go on like this. I might really hurt someone next time."

"Then it sounds like it's time to try Ray's wolfbane soup recipe," Peter offered. "If it's anything like that awful chickenbane soup Egon had to drink, I don't envy you one bit."

They retired upstairs where Ray hunted through cupboards and drawers for the ingredients for his recipe. Sam and Al hovered close watching the concoction grow, a sickly green color that made pea soup green appear beautiful by comparison. It was thick and lumpy and the aroma that rose from it was not very tantalizing.

"You'll have to drink some of this too, Peter," Ray said, holding out a bowl to the startled psychologist, who backed away from it as if it would explode.

"Me? Are you kidding? I didn't get bit." Venkman winced at the less than savory odors rising from the bowl. "Take it away."

"We can't do that, Pete," Winston replied. He put a hand on Peter's shoulder, and Sam suspected it was more to restrain him than to offer any particular comfort. "You got scratched. Might have been enough."

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "Maybe the possibility that you'd transform into a werewolf from that is slim, but we can't take the chance of endangering you."

Peter looked at them and grimaced expressively. "Maybe you're right. I can't start growing hair on my palms. My dates wouldn't like it." Reluctantly he accepted the bowl that Ray held out to him. Holding it with one hand, he used the other to pinch his nostrils shut, then he gulped the disgusting brew. When he had finished he thrust the bowl at Ray and cried, "Gack! Next time, put something in there to flavor it--like maybe scotch. That's even worse than your usual cooking."

"You always eat it, Peter," Ray reminded him.

Peter turned to Sam and said in a perfectly audible undertone, "Only when I can't sneak it to the spud without Ray noticing."

Ray suddenly became aware that Kim hadn't taken her potion and he abandoned Peter to his loud-voiced complaints and turned to the young woman instead.

"We keep stocked on this sort of thing ever since Egon turned into a werechicken," Winston explained to Sam. "We didn't have all the ingredients, so Egon only partially changed. There was a sight to make you sick."

"Is he for real, Sam?" Al asked. "Werechickens, werewolves? It'll be wereaardvarks next. I don't like it here."

"It sounds like we saved Janine, Al," Sam said with a broad grin, drawing away from the others. "So why am I still here?"

The two of them stared at the three Ghostbusters who were happily comparing notes on the recipe while Janine sat down with Kim and talked to her about Doug. Everything seemed under control

Until footsteps clattered up the stairs and Doug Songer appeared in the dining room. "Janine, I was a louse..." he began, then his eyes widened and he cried, "KIM!"

"Oh, no," she wailed. "Doug. What are you doing here?"

"Janine and her bosses were feeding me some weird werewolf stories," he said just as Ray offered Kim a bowl of the noxious looking potion. Not even Slimer, that eater of anything not nailed down, was tempted to join her.

Doug stared at it, sniffed the air, and nearly gagged. "What the hell is that?"

"Wolfbane soup," she replied, lifting her chin in an air of brave defiance. "You say I've kept secrets from you, Doug. It's true, I have. I'm a werewolf."

"Oh, God, now they've got you doing it." He stared at her in rampant disbelief, and she withdrew into herself, looking small and pathetic.

Al shot the new arrival a dirty look. "I don't think this nozzle is good enough for her, Sam," he complained. "He's missing an imagination."

"Drink the soup, Kim," Ray urged her gently. "That should take care of it. You won't transform again."

She smiled at him gratefully and sipped the concoction, paused to make a horrendous face, then steeled herself to gulp the rest of it. For a few minutes she shuddered as if it would all come up again, clapped both hands over her mouth, and closed her eyes. After ten seconds of this, she blinked, lifted her head, and said wonderingly, "I feel different."

"That's because it's over," Peter told her softly. "You can put it behind you now. If Ray says it works, then it will. He knows his stuff."

She smiled tentatively, then she put her hands over her face and wept.

"Say something to him, Sam," Al urged.

Before the time traveler could intervene, Peter advanced on Songer, draped a compelling arm around his shoulders, and steered him toward the weeping woman. "You treat her right or I'm gonna come after you with a thrower and a trap," he purred in a threatening voice. "Look, you can relax. She's not a werewolf now. We fixed that. Just trust her. She means well. You thought she was keeping secrets from you? She was afraid to tell you, and now I can understand why. If you love her, give her the benefit of the doubt. She seems like a nice girl, even if she occasionally claws Ghostbusters and has the bad taste to love you."

Songer stood frozen in disbelief, then he pulled away from Peter and went to her. "Kim?"

She flew into his arms and he held her close.

"Okay, so that's over," Peter said, brushing his hands together in the manner of one who has finished a heavy task to his complete satisfaction. He spun around and stared at Sam expectantly. "So when do we get Egon back?"

"Good question. Al?"

The hologram shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

Then Sam realized it. "Janine. We never finished working things out for you and Janine. Come here, Janine." Grabbing her by the arm, he steered her into the kitchen to give Doug and Kim their privacy. The three Ghostbusters, Slimer, and Al followed, Al's face taut and uneasy.

"Aw, Sam," he muttered. "We did enough."

"We didn't do enough and you know it." He caught Janine by the arms. "Al is in your future, Janine, but the Al of 1992 was ready to come to terms with you. I know it took a long time, but none of it was easy for him. If you know about Beth"

"He must have been real broken up about her and Aunt Ruthie. I know he got married twice more after Aunt Ruthie died," she retorted. "Neither one of them lasted. I kept track. I always thought he'd come back one day. I'm not stupid, Sam. I knew how hard it was for him when my aunt died. But it would have been easier if we could have handled it together."

"Not for Al," Sam said positively. "Not for Al, Janine. He's come a long way since you've known him. When he first saw you on this leap I realized how hard it was for him that you had died before he could make peace with you. Now that we've changed thatwe have changed it, haven't we, Al?"

"Yeah, Sam," Al replied, grinning. "Janine's doing fine in our time, and so are all the Ghostbusters."

"Al says you're all doing great in the future," Sam told them, smiling at the three men and Janine. "All I have to do is convince Janine that it's worth another try. What about it, Janine? Will you contact Al? Give him a call tomorrow. I'm sure you can find him. I think you'll see that he's ready to talk to you. Just remember," Sam concluded, "that you can't mention talking to me. We're from the future, and Al won't have any idea what you're talking about. Besides, it wouldn't be right to warn him about the Project in advance. You might change history."

Janine folded her arms across her chest, tapping one toe consideringly. Al's shoulders rounded in as he waited for the verdict, and he dragged a nervous hand across his forehead.

Then Janine started to smile. "If Doug can make up with a former werewolf I guess I can call Uncle Al," she decided. Turning in the direction Sam pointed, she stretched out her hand. Al reached for it automatically, then pulled back before he could fail. "I wish I could hear you like Peter did. I'm calling you tomorrow, Uncle Al, so you'd better be ready for it. I'm gonna give you a real piece of my mind. Much as I love you, you need it." Al's face glowed with delight. Sam felt a real sense of accomplishment

"And she doesn't have that many pieces to spare," Peter chipped in impishly.

"Aaahhh!" she snapped, flinging him a nasty glare. "When Egon comes home, I'm gonna have him transplant your brain into Slimer."

"No fair, Janine," Peter complained when Sam felt the prelude to leaping and turned quickly to the others.

"Guys? Goodbye. Egon should be back at any". The blue light surrounded him before he could finish speaking.

Egon Spengler blinked. Suddenly the white room was gone and in its place was the familiar kitchen at Ghostbuster Central with all his friends standing before him, alive and well. There was a bandage on Peter's arm but the psychologist didn't seem hindered by it, and the rest of them were unmarked. Egon blinked again. Why did he feel like there had been a strange hiatus? What had happened?

"Guys?" he greeted them. "What happened to your arm, Peter? I can't leave for a short time without something happening to you, can I?"

"Just a scratch, big guy." Peter jumped at him, grabbed him by the upper arms and peered narrowly into his eyes. "You are Egon, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm Egon. Who else would ISam! The memory was hazy but those association exercises must have worked, or perhaps it was simply that he had grasped the purpose of his displacement while most of the people Sam Beckett leaped into didn't. He couldn't recall everything, but he did know that the purpose of the experiment was to save Janine's life. He turned to her. "Janine. You're alive!"

"Egon, you're back," cried the secretary and flung herself into his arms with such force that he nearly toppled. She pulled his head down for a kiss that he felt no urge to avoid. When she lifted her lips, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a comforting hug.

"You see, Ray," Peter told his younger friend in an instructive voice, "absence makes the heart grow fonder. Works every time."

Egon pulled away from Janine and turned to the other three. "Will one of you please explain what happened here while I was gone? How did you injure your arm, Peter, and who is that talking in the dining room? You do know that I was replaced by Sam Beckett, don't you? You also realize we can't do anything with this information. Al was most insistent."

"He would be," Janine said happily, hanging on his arm. "He used to be my uncleand he's going to be again."

Egon stared at her. None of them had gained coherence in his absence. It was just as well that he had returned when he had.

*****

Sam materialized to a very unpleasant odor, and he looked around and down to discover what it could be. Lying on a table in front of him was a very new baby, its diapers unfastened. The source of the smell was immediately evident. The diaper was a cloth one, nothing so handy as Pampers.

"What's wrong, Helen?" inquired a voice beside him. "You suddenly look like you've never changed a baby before."

Helen? His name was Helen? Oh, no!

"Of course I have," he said unconvincingly to the woman next to him. A glance past her revealed several small children, one just barely walking, another around two and several older ones, none of them over eight. The oldest of them was hanging on Sam's arm.

"Mommy!" she wailed. "I want dinner."

"Oh boy," Sam moaned helplessly. This was worse than werewolves.