ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN JUST THE FOUR OF US 3

Ray Stantz yawned. It was a massive yawn, the whole works, arms outstretched, head flung back, complete with a vast and weary sigh. When he was finished, he sagged in his chair and tried in vain to pretend an interest in trap modifications.

"That's the third one of those already this morning," Winston Zeddemore retorted, sticking his finger into the book he'd been leafing through, unable to concentrate on the story. "I'm keeping track. Gives me something to do."

Peter Venkman played the cheering section. "Whoa, Ray, you just set the world record. I could see your tonsils on that one. Did you swallow any flies?" Waggling his eyebrows at Ray, he grimaced at the thought. Ray was the least likely guy in the known universe to succumb to boredom. It couldn't be fatigue. He'd gone to bed long before Peter came home from his date. Of course rising at the crack of dawn might have done it. Peter was not famed for rising early.

Ray made a face at him, pushing himself up away from the lab table and the ghost trap he'd been playing with. "Not a one, Peter. And I had my tonsils out when I was eight, so if you saw them, they grew back."

"A miracle of modern medicine," put in Egon Spengler dryly without lifting his head from the columns of figures he'd been studying in a rather tidy notebook. He didn't appear very eager, either. The blond tail trailed limply down his neck, and his shoulders were hunched. His glasses hadn't even bothered to slide down his nose.

Peter glanced around the lab and at his three excruciatingly bored friends. It had been a whole week since the Ghostbusters had gone on a call to bust a ghost, a whole week with nothing to do but get on each other's nerves. It said a lot for his friends, thought Peter, that they hadn't quite managed to do that. "I see it now," he said in the tones of a man with a lightbulb over his head. "We've become addicted to danger. When it's quiet, we mope. Not a good sign. Give us a demon at twenty paces and every one of us thrives. We're danger junkies, that's us."

Egon lifted his eyes and studied Peter to determine how to take his statement. The physicist had a way of reading Peter that Venkman sometimes played on and always depended on but, right now, Egon was studying him to determine exactly how facetious he was. "Not true, Peter. I personally would prefer not to be slam dunked into the Netherworld. However, a good bust would not come amiss. Are we in financial trouble?"

"Not for the next two point seven days," Peter said with a grin. They had more of a cushion than that. It had been a busy summer and Egon's new equipment hadn't been quite as costly as usual. Of course that was because he hadn't blown up anything in months. "Long as you don't disintegrate the lab in the next ten minutes, that is." He propped his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand and regarded Egon's notes. "I hope that isn't plans for something expensive--or explosive."

"Of course not, Peter. You know very well that I swore a solemn oath to keep the destruction to a minimum last April, after you threatened to put me in a box and mail me to Pluto, should it happen again." Egon could keep a straight face better than anyone in the known universe.

"You can't do that, Pete," Winston protested with extravagant dismay. "Think of the postage costs. We'd have to hire the shuttle to get him there. It'd bankrupt us for sure."

Peter snapped his fingers. "Forgot about that. Oh well, never mind. There's always C.O.D."

Ray heaved another explosive sigh. "I just want a bust," he said. "I hate it when business is slow."

"Yeah, you'd just love a Class 11 megaspecter to pop in," Peter challenged. "Someday, Ray, I'm going to have to run a full psych eval on you to figure out what's behind this death wish."

"It's not a death wish," said Ray, his grin full of sincerity. "I just love busting ghosts. And the bigger and nastier the better."

"Would you take a smaller one that sounds kind of sad instead?" asked Janine Melnitz from the doorway. The Ghostbusters' secretary joined them, a grave expression on her face and a notepad in her hand. Peter eyed her in surprise. She hadn't primped up for Egon when she came upstairs. No fresh perfume and her hair was still disarrayed from the way she twisted the eraser end of her pencil through it while she gossiped on the phone to her girlfriends.

"What's up, Melnitz?" Peter asked. "I know your paycheck didn't bounce again. I made sure of that. It was better than death by slime after you sicced Slimer on me last time." Okay, so he'd screwed up--once. Never mind that it was eleven months ago. Janine was a world-class grudge holder.

She shook her head. "It's really sad, guys. I thought I'd come up and brief you before you went down and acted like your usual selves. I don't think this guy could take it."

"We have a client?" Peter craned his neck to stare past her. "And anyway, what's wrong with our usual selves. I think we're pretty great, especially me."

Egon poked him in the ribcage. Peter grinned irrepressibly then turned his attention to Janine.

"What's sad about it, Janine?" asked Winston, setting aside the book.

"His name's James Redman, and his little boy has disappeared. At first they thought he had run away from home. He'd been mad because his dad didn't buy him a new bicycle. Then Redman suspected kidnapping, but no ransom note. Then he wondered if his late wife's parents had stolen the kid. But the police checked them out and believe they're innocent. Jamie's been gone a month and the police haven't found a clue. He's like those missing kids on milk cartons."

"That's very sad, Janine, but how is it a job for the Ghostbusters?" Egon asked practically. He closed the notebook he'd been scribbling in and stood up.

"How old is Jamie?" asked Ray. He loved kids, probably because he sometimes didn't seem much older than a kid himself.

"Eight." Janine's face was grim. "It's a job for the Ghostbusters because he says Jamie's ghost appeared to him last night."

Peter's heart sank down into his stomach. He'd been half-afraid of that all along. That was the worst possible answer for a missing child. "He can't want us to bust him?" he blurted. "What the heck kind of dad--"

Janine whacked him on the arm. "Of course he doesn't, Dr. V. He wants you to talk to Jamie's ghost. He can't quite communicate with him. He's so sad; his heart's broken. But maybe if Jamie can tell what happened to him they can arrest the one who did it and then the jerk can't grab any more kids. Will you come down and talk to him?"

Peter exchanged glances with his teammates. It sounded like this one would mostly fall to him as the team's psychologist. There wouldn't be a happy resolution, either, not if Jamie were really dead. On the other hand, sometimes people's spirits appeared when they were still alive. It didn't happen often, but it was a possibility. The Ghostbusters usually encountered the other kind, but when they'd studied parapsychology at the university they had learned that people could appear through an out of body experience to people who knew them but who were far away. Sometimes it was a warning, sometimes a farewell from a dying loved one. Peter knew a woman whose grandmother had walked into her kitchen and talked to her for half an hour and gone out again. When she emerged from the kitchen and asked her husband where her grandmother was, he had been astonished because he hadn't seen the grandmother at all. She had later learned her grandmother had died about the same time she appeared in the kitchen. It was possible that Jamie had found a way to communicate in his extreme need; it didn't mean he was dead, although that was the most likely explanation. That sucked. Peter hoped they could find out who had snatched him. Scum like that didn't deserve to be out walking the streets free.

"Gosh, yes, we'll go," Ray proclaimed. "Poor little boy, he must have been so scared. Maybe we can help him."

"We don't always bust ghosts," Egon agreed. "We'll see what he has to say. Perhaps we can help the child to disperse peacefully." The four of them eyed each other doubtfully. It didn't sound like a bust in which they'd find any joy.

"He's only eight," James Redman said five minutes later. Sitting huddled in the one soft chair in Peter's office, he had both hands curled around the big ceramic mug of coffee Janine had brought him, probably to keep his hands warm. He was younger than any of the Ghostbusters, probably around thirty, and a palpable air of tension and misery hung about him like a tattered old coat. When he lifted his eyes to speak, they were full of shadows, and he gnawed his bottom lip so often Peter wouldn't have been surprised to find it bruised. In his hands he carried a stuffed rabbit that had once been pastel blue but now was greyed with years of a child's loving but grubby hands, one ear dangling at a crooked angle. As he spoke, Redman passed it back and forth from one hand to another without realizing he did so. He seemed scarcely aware of his surroundings. A lot of clients were nervous when they came to the firehouse, expecting ghosts to make strafing runs, but Redman's need was too intense to glance over his shoulder uneasily.

"Jan and I married in our senior year in college," he said, continuing his explanation. "We didn't want to wait. Jamie was born the summer after we graduated. Jan was never in very good health after that--it was a difficult birth--but she did what she could. I got my degree in business administration and went into my dad's firm so we had money to hire a nanny for Jamie from the very beginning."

Peter could tell there was money from the very look of the guy. Designer haircut, pricy suit, Gucci shoes, a vague, indefinable air of wealth that showed up at the best parties when Peter managed to wangle an invitation to them. Okay, so money didn't buy happiness. But he'd never seen it buy this much wretchedness before.

"Jan's parents never liked me," he said. He gave a wry, deprecating shrug. "I never understood that, but then they didn't want her to marry so young. Or they didn't want her to marry money. They were middle-class folks and they told Jan I wasn't her kind. They said there'd be trouble, but I think they meant I wouldn't stick the marriage. God, even when she was so ill, I wouldn't have left her. She was Jan." He gulped air like a starving man, his sincerity so obvious that none of the Ghostbusters would have questioned it. Shaking his head impatiently, he plunged on. "They were polite, they got along with me, and they adore Jamie. When Jan died, they felt I was too busy at work to be a good father to him. We went round and round about it."

He raked his hands through his coppery hair and heaved a sigh that was even more massive than Ray's earlier. "Okay, so I had to hire care for him, but it was the best care money could buy, and I don't travel for the firm so I was almost always home at night unless there was a business dinner I just couldn't avoid, and I gave him weekends. We went to the park, to ball games. Jamie and I were buddies." He heard the past tense in his voice and cringed away from it. "Right before he disappeared, we had a fight over a bicycle he wanted. I thought he was too young to be out riding on the streets of Manhattan, and I am a rich man. There was always the fear that he could be kidnapped and held for ransom."

"You didn't think that when he disappeared?" Winston asked, arching an eyebrow. Peter agreed with him. That seemed the logical reason for the boy's disappearance.

"Of course I did. It was really my first thought, but no ransom demands came through. If they wanted my money, they would have contacted me instantly. I didn't really want to believe Jan's folks would take him, but if no one was claiming money, it was the next thought. The police have been involved from the very beginning. I have a private investigator; he's on retainer with Redman and Swift, and he's been checking on people who might want to hurt me, who have grudges." He raised guileless blue eyes to study them in turn. "I don't really have enemies, any more than your average businessman does. No one who would do something like this, believe me. Clarke, the investigator, hasn't come up with anyone either. He's checked people I've had to let go, or that the company has fired. So far, nothing there. My father is frantic. He just adores Jamie. I haven't told him yet about... Jamie's ghost."

"When did he first appear?" Ray ventured, his eyes huge with sympathy. He glanced Peter's way with an expression full of trust that Peter would know the right things to say.

"Last night. I was home, keeping by the phone. I've tried to do that since Jamie vanished. Charlotte was there, too. She's his nanny. I gave her a paid leave when he disappeared but she has a suite at the apartment; it's her home. She has been checking up on me, making sure I eat, that kind of thing." His eyes warmed at the mention of Charlotte. Peter hoped she hadn't had anything to do with the child's disappearance; of anyone, she would probably have known his schedule best. If Redman hadn't wanted to consider that option, the police would have done so.

"We both saw him," the distraught man continued. "He...materialized by the fireplace. He was...just as he'd been in life except that he was wearing unfamiliar clothes. He looked at me like he...didn't even know me. He was holding Pokey." He moved the rabbit by way of explanation. It wobbled in his hands as they tightened on it convulsively. "I remember Charlotte gasped and put one hand up to her mouth, and she said, 'Jamie,' in a voice that shook. He didn't even look at her. I'm not sure he could hear her. He just hovered there by the fireplace--god, I could see the fire burning right through him. His hair was different, too, a little longer. But he stared right at me, and it was as if the special friendship Jamie felt for me was gone. He was curious, almost hungry for the sight of me but he acted like he didn't know me. It scared me." Dropping the rabbit on his knees, he wrapped both arms around his chest.

"What did he do?" Egon asked in a calm, rational voice. He raised a worried eyebrow at Peter as he spoke.

"He pointed," Redman replied. The question steadied him. "He pointed down at the floor. I don't know whether he wanted me to come downstairs or what. I asked him that. I said, 'do you want me to come with you?' but he didn't answer. He tried to talk and his lips moved but I couldn't hear what he said and neither could Charlotte. She said she thought he said his own name, and I think she may be right. And then, oh god, he came right up to me and he put out his hand. He held it out to me and I was so freaked out I could barely stop myself from backing up. He must have known because he dropped his hand. He was so sad it broke my heart. I reached out and touched him and I could feel...something, but he was cold, so cold, and he wasn't solid. My hand went right into his shoulder." He covered his face with his hands and choked out a harsh sob. "He's dead, he's dead, and I can't even find him."

Janine, who had hovered unspeaking in the background made a sound of distress, but it was Peter who went up behind the man and took hold of both his shoulders, squeezing them comfortingly. "We'll figure it out," he promised. He couldn't say, 'it's okay,' because it wasn't. He didn't know why Jamie had appeared different; maybe he'd been given different clothing in his captivity. But he knew the ghost had been trying to communicate with his father. Sometimes spirits couldn't speak.

Peter was cynical enough to know that Redman could be putting on a major act for them, that maybe he was his own son's killer, but he didn't think so. This felt too real. Peter didn't know the guy; he could be the best actor since Olivier, but if that were so, would he have even bothered to come here?

"What happened then?" That note of kindness in Winston's voice was carefully modulated. This was a man on the edge.

"Then he hugged Pokey fiercely as if he meant to take it with him, and disappeared. Pokey fell on the floor and I picked him up, and he was cold and there were traces of...of ectoplasm where he'd held it." He shuddered. "I...brought it with me so you could tell I wasn't imagining it all. You can tell, can't you?" The eyes he raised to the Ghostbusters were full of hope.

Egon already had a meter going. Peter had seen him pick it up off the desk the second Redman had mentioned the ghost had touched the toy. As he passed the detection device over the stuffed rabbit, the antennae stirred faintly, lights blinking faintly at their tips. Not enough to indicate a ghost was present--Jamie wasn't linked to the toy--but enough to tell it had been handled by a ghost.

"Class 3," Egon said under his breath. Something kicked Peter in the chest. He had hoped against hope that they'd be able to find Jamie alive. An out-of-body experience wouldn't have triggered the meter. "Yes, Mr. Redman, this has been handled by a...spirit." He must have thought that word would be easier on the boy's father than 'ghost', but it didn't really help. Redman's face crumpled and he leaned against Peter in his desperation. There was no comfort, but Peter tightened his grip on the man's shoulders and arched an eyebrow at Egon over the man's bent head as he hugged the toy tightly against his chest.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry," breathed Ray, reaching out to pat his arm.

Egon turned off the sound on the meter and took a few more readings, recording his findings, while Redman struggled to collect himself. When he had his breathing under control, he said without lifting his head, "I'm sorry," and moved restlessly to detach Peter's hands. Peter let go immediately.

"Mr. Redman, spirits appear when they have an unfinished purpose," Egon explained. The distraught man seemed to respond best to his calm tones. He wouldn't have been able to tell that Egon felt very bad about what he'd recorded. "Sometimes it is difficult for them to communicate. Would you like us to come to the site? We could be there at the same time this evening."

Redman hesitated, then he nodded. "Please. I...I'd hoped you could tell me I was wrong, that I imagined it, but then Charlotte would have imagined it, too. She has a wonderful imagination but not for that. She isn't cruel; she wouldn't have fostered my delusion. But if I'm not imagining it, and she isn't either, then you have to help Jamie. I'll do anything I can for him, and you're my last hope. I heard how you helped Horace Stewart to pass on to--to wherever people go. You didn't 'bust' him. I...want you to do that for my Jamie. If he can't come home, then I don't want him to have to linger as a ghost."

Peter still remembered the trip to the Stewart mansion with fondness. Redman probably moved in the same circles. Uncle Horace had lingered so he could tell his favorite niece that he loved her one last time. Once he'd been able to do that, he'd moved on. The guys all felt good about that. Even Egon couldn't withhold a sentimental smile when he remembered that particular job. If they could do that for Jamie, at least they could help his father be at peace. It was the happiest resolution possible.

"You bet we'll come," Ray vowed. There was a lot of distress in his eyes. "We'll do whatever we can."

"And if he knows who...who did this to him, then I want to find out," Redman said, his mouth tight. "I want him to suffer for what he did to my son." He opened his wallet and produced a snapshot of him and a little boy with hair the same color as Ray's only riotously curly like Raggedy Andy's. The picture was probably a year or two old, a candid shot of Redman tossing the boy up about to catch him. Jamie's face was full of joy and his father glowed with pride in his son. Peter's stomach twisted at the sight. Ray gazed at it in wide-eyed distress.

"If we can bring him to justice or help the police do it, you can bet we will," vowed Winston, as if taking a solemn oath. Like all of them, he hated the thought that someone would get away with killing a child. Egon nodded in confirmation.

"Then please come over tonight," Redman begged as he closed his wallet again. "Seven o'clock. It was close to seven-thirty when he appeared, but just in case, I want you there sooner." Clutching the rabbit in one hand, he produced a business card with the other and thrust it at Peter. "Home address is the bottom one. I'll tell the doorman you're coming."

"Gosh, that poor man," Ray breathed when he had departed, wrapping his grief around him like a cloak. "That's so sad. The poor little boy."

"Egon, is there any chance that what you picked up with the meter could be an out-of-body experience?" Peter asked. He wanted to clear that up first. "You know, like he's trying to communicate so his father will come and find him? He might be wearing different clothes if he's a prisoner and he wouldn't have had a haircut. If he was...you know, he wouldn't have looked different, would he?"

"Possibly," Egon replied, his eyes reflecting deep thought. "While it is conceivable that what Redman saw was a crisis apparition, Jamie trying to free himself from a dangerous situation, and while such an apparition can conceivably leave ectoplasm, such an occurance would be much more like astral projection than a conventional ghost and I would find it unlikely that an OOBE could manipulate the physical environment."

"You mean like holding Pokey," said Ray, picking up on it instantly. "It's not impossible," he hedged hopefully. Then his shoulders sagged. "It's just not as likely. Even a Class 2 can manipulate the physical environment. Gosh, guys, I wish I could believe Jamie's alive and trying to win his dad's attention. Lots of ghosts can't communicate audibly. But I bet we can find a way to communicate without speech. Maybe have him nod his head or make gestures. Whichever it is, we have to help."

"I agree with that," Winston said with a firm nod. "Poor little guy. Eight years old. That really sucks."

Peter nodded. He had always been a sucker for little kids, especially little kids with problems. He'd worked in the Big Brother program, explaining once to Egon that he knew how it was for kids with problems with their dads, so maybe he'd be good at it. He'd changed the subject instantly, but not before he'd seen the warmth of approval in his friend's eyes. Maybe he couldn't do anything for Jamie but help him to disperse peacefully, but whatever needed doing, he meant to do it. If they could find out the identity of the scumbag who had snatched him, Peter wanted to do it in the worst way. He'd like to take the guy down so hard he bounced--to Jupiter.

"You guys can find out what happened, can't you?" Janine gazed up at Egon with hopeful eyes. "He's the same age as my nephew."

"We'll do everything humanly possible," Egon declared, patting her on the shoulder. She beamed at him.

"I'm gonna go upstairs and read up on crisis apparitions," Ray cried and dashed for the stairs.

"What's a crisis apparition, exactly?" Winston demanded.

"It's a spirit that appears when someone is in a desperate situation and needs help," Egon replied. "The most common crisis apparitions are those who are about to die and feel a need to say goodbye to their families. In such cases, one theory is that a telepathic link is forged between the victim and the one who 'sees' him. Sometimes, it's a hallucination. Redman wants desperately to find his son. If Jamie feels the same desperation at the same time, a link may be forged."

"Whoa, hold up, big guy," Peter objected. "Charlotte saw him, too. And he was holding Pokey. I don't think a hallucination would do that. Okay, so Charlotte probably loves Jamie, too, but unless we're talking folie â deux here, I think we can rule out hallucinations unless she's ultra suggestible--or lying."

"It could even be a rigged projection," Winston put in. "Like you see in a fake seance. This guy's rich. Somebody might have it in for him and want to manipulate..." His voice trailed off. "No, you got readings off of Pokey."

"Something to check, anyway," Egon replied. "I have a feeling that what we have is exactly what it appears, the spirit of the dead child." His mouth traced a tight line. "Ray's rather upset about that."

Peter had picked up on that already. Ray was the most softhearted member of the team. He'd also been bemoaning the lack of calls. Now here was a call, but it was a very sad one. Ray might have gone upstairs to pull himself together. That picture of Jamie and his dad had touched them all.

"Yeah, Egon, I think we all are," Peter said, but he headed for the stairs. "Whatever we can do to help, we're doing it on this one."

"Apartment 12C," said the doorman when the Ghostbusters pulled up that evening in front of Redman's Upper East Side apartment. An overstatement in dark red and gold braid, the guy carried off the flamboyant uniform with an air of style. He took off his hat that must weigh a ton from all that gold, and ran a hand through coarse greying hair that had a tendency to stick out in all directions. Probably needed the hat to keep it from springing to attention when a rich tenant appeared. "Poor little Jamie. A good kid. Friendly. He'd always stop and talk with me when he came through. I kept cookies for him and a couple of the other kids. Heard he was haunting his dad. That right?"

"We're here on business," Egon said rather stiffly. "Confidential."

"Okay, gotcha." The guy slammed the hat on again, mashing down the hair explosion. "Hope you can help, anyway. I swear, I never saw anybody take him out of here--he usually comes home from school with a couple of school buddies. Sometimes Miss Brook is down here waiting for him, sometimes not. The school buddies live in the next block and they all walk home together along with the older brother of one of them. It's only three blocks away. Once in awhile Mr. Redman has her go and pick him up."

"Did the kids walk him home the day he vanished?" Winston asked.

"Said they did. They don't come in with him, though. I don't remember seeing him that day. When his dad asked, I could only say he never came in when I was here. But then I take phone calls from upstairs." He gestured across the room to a small alcove where a phone sat on a stand. "They call down and have me get them cabs to be waiting when they come downstairs. The door's locked, but people with keys come in and Jamie could have come in that way, only nobody remembers him doing it. I can hear the buzzer when I'm on the phone." He yanked off the hat again and slammed it against his thigh. "Drives me nuts to think I might have missed Jamie while I was on a call."

"There was nothing you could have done," Ray sympathized.

"You tell his dad I hope you can figure it out," the man said. "I'll buzz you up now."

"Poor guy," said Ray the minute the elevator doors closed. "I can tell he really likes Jamie."

"He seemed like a likeable kid in the picture," said Peter, sliding his hand over and capturing Ray's forearm, squeezing it understandingly before he let go.

"So somebody grabbed him in the half a minute between his friends taking off and him buzzing the door." Winston frowned. "Either it was a very well planned snatch--somebody knowing the pattern--or it was completely random--somebody taking the chance on the spur of the moment. We can't solve that part of it, and I'm sure the police went over all of that. Planned, they can probably figure something out because there'd be the motive against Redman. Random, somebody who wanted a kid, that's tough." He didn't add what all of them knew, that kids like Jamie vanished every day and many of them were never seen again, or never seen alive. Peter hated that. Jamie had a father who loved him, who went out of his way to be with him--and it wasn't enough. That wasn't fair.

Redman's apartment was just to the right of the elevator. There were only four apartments on the floor, and the hall had a posh appearance, thick carpet underfoot, snazzy decor in gold and burgundy, a couple of tables with elegant lamps set upon them, even a sofa opposite the elevator in case the wealthy chose to wait sitting down. Peter coveted the place. No, not really. He liked what he had already, his buddies and the firehouse, and being rich hadn't protected Jamie Redman.

The door opened immediately and Peter fell in love. Charlotte Brooke was tall, sophisticated, raven hair smoothed back in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her clothes were fashionable and, if not as ritzy as something Redman would have bought, well chosen for style. The drape of the heather-toned jacket over coordinated slacks displayed her figure without flaunting it. Wide-set eyes of a deep blue regarded them with interest and hope. The line of her jaw was smooth and Peter would have liked to run a caressing finger along it. Then she turned and said, "James, the Ghostbusters are here," and, in those five words, Peter could hear the way she felt about her boss. Okay, she was unattainable. Just as well. He had the bust to think about.

"Bring them in, Charlie," James Redman called. Peter stared. This elegant woman didn't seem like a 'Charlie'. Yet when she escorted them in, she had a smile for Redman. He returned it, slightly distantly, not as if he didn't care for her but as if his woes had weighted him down so much he didn't have the energy to feel anything but grief. If they had been thinking of getting together, it had been put on hold. Charlotte, also unhappy, had shouldered as much of his load as she could and gone on loving him. For Peter, it was as if she wore a neon sign.

The apartment was huge. Passing through a small entry hall they came into a spacious living area, paneled in dark wood that was relieved by huge mirrors, one above the mantle, and another on the wall beside it, adding to the impression of space. It had a boardroom mood--big, manly, dark furniture--but the austerity was broken by personal touches everywhere: photos, books ajumble on shelves in no stylish order, a few toys that must have been left where Jamie had put them, throw pillows in vivid colors. Opposite the fireplace was a family portrait in oils, Redman with his arm around his wife, a five-year old Jamie seated on her lap. Jan Redman was pale and too thin, but she had fire in her eyes in spite of her ongoing illness. Jamie clutched her hand in a gesture that was probably posed but appeared spontaneous, and Redman's face, tilted down to gaze at them, was alight with pride and love.

He followed Peter's eyes to the painting and said, "Now they're both gone," in a flat little voice that made Charlotte put up a hand to touch his arm, her face crumpling with distress. She pulled the hand away without completing the gesture.

Ray opened his mouth to protest, to claim there was hope, but he didn't finish either. It wouldn't be fair to this man to let him hope, not when Egon's meter had registered a Class 3 entity.

Redman caught himself instantly. "I'm sorry. You're here to help me and I'm grateful. Charlotte and I have been waiting in hopes of seeing him again, but he hasn't come. Charlie, these are the Ghostbusters." He introduced them by name.

"I'm glad you could come," Charlotte said. "Last night was...very difficult."

James shot a startled glance in her direction as if he had just this moment realized she had suffered along with him. Momentary apology shone in his eyes but he couldn't sustain it. "Charlotte's right," he said. "Are you reading anything?"

Egon raised his eyes from the meter screen. "Faint residuals, no more. What I would expect after twenty-four hours. Stronger here." He pointed to a spot in front of the fireplace where a throw rug had been spread out. Unlike the rest of the furnishings, the rug looked a little battered, as if it had a hard life.

"Jamie used to play there, in front of the fire," Charlotte said quickly when James couldn't speak. "He'd curl up on that rug and run his little trucks and cars around, or he'd use his Lego pieces. The housekeeper has vacuumed up a couple of them over the years. Or he'd lie on his stomach and read. He always liked to read. Books that were even old for his age. He was--is a smart little boy."

James flinched at her correction. "Top of his class," he insisted.

Charlotte touched his arm very lightly. "Very smart," she agreed. "He'd lie here and he'd sing to himself or he'd babble away to JR."

James made an abrupt gesture. "None of that nonsense," he said stiffly.

"Who's JR?" Ray ventured.

Charlotte eyed James then continued. "JR was his imaginary playmate. He told JR all his secrets, sit there and describe his school day. He never insisted JR have a place at the table or anything like that, but JR was his confidante. He didn't mind if I listened, but James didn't like it."

"Most kids grow out of imaginary friends," Peter said hastily to reassure the boy's father. "Heck, I even had one myself when I was about five. He was an invisible giraffe and he was twelve feet high. I called him Big Chuckie. Mom used to give me two cookies, one for me and one for Chuckie, and then she'd tell me to eat Chuckie's because cookies weren't good for giraffes. Once I started school, he just went away." He sneaked a glance at the guys to see how they would take that, but they didn't seem to be saving it up for later teasing. Now, years later, he wondered if the name of his giraffe had come from his dad to provide a companion who would be there when Peter wanted him to be. Probably. He wondered why Jamie had invented an invisible playmate? Had he done it after his mother's death? "Did he have JR before he...lost his mom?"

James grimaced. "Yes, ever since he was a baby, but he didn't give him a name until he was older. He used to get so impatient when he was about two and Jan and I couldn't see his playmate. Jan said it was normal, too. She never fussed about it. I just felt a little uncomfortable about it. When he wanted the bike and I said he was too young, he got mad and said JR would watch out for him. When he disappeared, I was afraid he'd run away over the bike."

Egon prowled around in front of the fireplace, taking readings. "These residuals are faint but they are strong."

"What does that mean?" Redman demanded. "That he's been coming and we just never saw him before? Could that be?"

"Ghosts aren't always visible," Ray said quickly. "Maybe last night was just the first time you could see him." He glanced at his watch. "If he's following a pattern, we should pick up something soon."

Peter moved over to the fireplace and peered at the readings over Egon's shoulder. "What do you think, big guy?"

"Nothing but residuals yet," Egon admitted, turning a knob to fine-tune the device. He arched an eyebrow and asked in an undertone, "Big Chuckie, Peter?"

"Hey, I was five. Give me a break. Didn't you ever have an imaginary buddy, Egon?"

"I had a microscope," Egon replied as if it should have been apparent. Then his face softened. "I went directly to real friends when I met you and Ray."

That was Egon for you. He wasn't mushy sentimental but he always knew when the right time came for a good thought. Peter had never once regretted that particular friendship and never would. "Good deal. Because I can imagine you talking to an imaginary atom or something. Or the ghost of Albert Einstein. You know, you were born about the time he died. Maybe you're a reincarnation."

"Actually, he died nearly six months before I was born, Peter. However, it was a very good thought."

Ray picked up Pokey from the end table and brought him over to join them. "Here's Pokey. Should we put him on the rug?"

"He was in Jamie's bedroom, the last time we saw him," Charlotte explained. "Then suddenly the gho--Jamie was standing there holding Pokey by his ear, the way he always did. It's loose. I always meant to sew..." Her voice trailed off and she put a hand to her mouth. Redman gave her a pat on the shoulder then withdrew his hand diffidently. She spared him a quick, pained smile.

Abruptly, Egon's meter screeched as something appeared in front of Ray, who jerked in surprise. The manifestation was at first a faint disturbance in the air, then a quiver, finally a shape, filling out to little-boy size. Two misty little hands reached out and snatched Pokey from the occultist, who let go in surprise and took a reassuring step backward. Peter saw the face of the boy in the snapshot and the painting, eyes huge and alarmed at the sight of the strangers. Then he stared past them to his father over the bunny's fuzzy head as he hugged it to his chest. His eyes filled with a desperate, unfulfilled love. Peter shivered. He had a sneaky feeling he'd worn that same expression on his own face the first time he realized his father wasn't going to make it home in time for Christmas.

"Move away a little, guys," Winston urged softly, tugging them away so that the ghost child could see his father. James froze, his pallor shocking against the coppery hair, his mouth sagging open. Eyes glistening with tears, he said heartbrokenly, "Jamie?"

The boy's face twisted with an equal sorrow and he turned his head from side to side as if to deny his own identity. Clutching the rabbit by one front paw, he put out his other hand to his father and his lips shaped the word, "Please." There was no sound, but Peter realized he could understand it anyway.

"Jamie, where are you?" Redman demanded, reaching out to take the ectoplasmic hand. He was very careful not to show distaste at the cold of the ectoplasmic touch, but a muscle worked in his jaw.

Face rigid and expressionless with the Spock expression he donned when very moved, Egon took automatic readings while Ray edged closer, staring at the child, face full of distress.

"Oh, gosh," he breathed softly. Then he raised his voice and spoke to the ghost. "We're here to help you. Your dad asked us to."

Turning from Ray to his father, Jamie detached himself from Redman and retreated a step. He didn't want to. Something was going on here, more than Peter had expected, but he didn't have a handle on it, not yet.

Again, the child shook his head. He mouthed the word, 'Jamie,' and pointed down toward the floor, the way Redman said he had done last night.

"Jamie, are you somewhere in this building?" Peter asked softly. You'd think the cops would have searched the place from top to bottom.

The little head shook furiously and his bottom lip protruded in stubborn annoyance and he pointed down again. He wasn't fully solid, but he wasn't as transparent as Redman had claimed, either. Maybe he grew stronger each time he appeared. They might be able to gain some information from him this time, if they were careful. Peter shot a warning glance at his friends. No sudden moves, guys. Let me take this one.

Staring at Redman with longing, the child's bottom lip quivered and an ectoplasmic tear ran down one cheek. Redman sucked in his breath, his eyes full of anguish. "Jamie, please try to talk to me. Tell me where you are. I'll come and find you. Daddy will come."

Again the furious headshake. Jamie pointed again, stabbing his finger down as if indicating the place where he had last been seen.

"Do you want to lead us to where you are?" ventured Ray. "To follow you? We can do that."

The boy gazed at Ray and this time he nodded. He whirled around and drifted across the living room to the entry hallway, glancing over his shoulder. The further he went from the rug by the fireplace, the fainter he became. Realizing it, he stopped, hovering almost invisibly by the door, then he drifted back. Mouthing the words, "I can't," he hung, frustrated, over the throw rug.

"Can't you manifest elsewhere?" Egon asked.

That won a questioning look from the ghost. "I mean, is this the only place where people can see you?" Egon corrected. His meter was busy but he'd turned down the sound so he wouldn't startle the ghostly child.

Another nod. Jamie pointed down at the floor again, stymied, and mouthed his own name.

Let me try," Peter said and edged up to the ghost. He touched the boy's shoulder, careful not to wince at the coldness of the touch. "I'm Peter, one of the Ghostbusters," he said. "You've heard of the Ghostbusters, haven't you?"

A pause, then a doubtful bobbing of the head confirmed it. He shrank away from Peter's touch, and the psychologist withdrew his hand. "Jamie, your dad loves you, and he wants to find you. He's really sad, missing you."

"No." this time the sound was faint, but everyone heard it. Redman gasped, and Charlotte shivered, her eyes huge as she stared at the boy. Even that breath of sound was heavy with denial.

"You don't think your dad loves you?" Peter persisted. "That's a tough thing to believe, but we know he does, Jamie. He's been very worried about you."

There was a nearly frantic silence, then the tiny voice gasped, "Loves Jamie." He sounded positive about it, but it hurt him. Peter didn't understand what was going down, but he knew something was very wrong.

Angling a questioning gaze at Egon, Peter nodded at the meter to see if there were any special readings. Egon shook his head fractionally. It almost sounded like the ghost was having an identity crisis, referring to himself that way. If this was a projection, then the real Jamie might be alive somewhere else, desperately trying to find his way home, but it could simply mean the ghost was confused or that he didn't see his spirit form as himself. Peter tried again.

"Jamie, I know you don't want your father to be sad. Can you tell him where you are?"

This time the hesitation was a longer one. "Don't...know," the spirit replied.

Ray edged in, squatting on his heels so he wouldn't be taller than the ghostly child. "Jamie, I'm Ray. I want to help you. Did someone take you away?"

"Take...Jamie," confirmed the thin little voice. His arms tightened around Pokey.

Ray's voice was soothing and gentle. Not a trace of a threat in it anywhere. Good, Ray, that's just right, Peter approved mentally. He could always count on Ray to be sympathetic when it was needed. Stantz had an unerring knack for knowing just when. "Who did it, Jamie? Was it someone you know?"

The head shook in disagreement. "Jamie...knows," he said confusingly.

Peter and Ray frowned at each other, then Peter got it. "You don't know his name?" he hazarded carefully. "You've seen him but you don't know his name?"

That won a dubious nod. Jamie wasn't a fixed repeater; he wasn't stuck in a pattern, condemned to repeat it over and over again, and he was more aware than a memory recorded on the fabric of time. But he wasn't a hundred per cent conscious, either. Some ghosts were confused, and Jamie was evidently one of them, but then he'd only been eight years old. It was no wonder. He had managed to find his way home and find his father, but he had to be terrified because he didn't understand everyone's shock. He might not realize he was dead. Geez, this is a tough one. Peter saw Egon watching him, his eyes full of sympathy for the child, for all of them. He was frowning, the meter still going in his hand.

"Where have you seen him?" Peter prompted. "We're trying to help you."

"Help...Jamie," the boy agreed. He pointed down again.

"Outside the building?" Peter hazarded. A delivery man? Someone who lived in the neighborhood? If Jamie had recognized him, then that would give the police something to go on. A familiar stranger would be so much a part of the scene that a small boy might take him for granted--until the snatch. Peter hated this. If they found him he'd take great relish in ramming the jerk's teeth down his throat so hard they came out the other end.

Jamie nodded. It was difficult for him to speak. Maybe it would be easier to ask him questions that could be answered with a yes or a no.

"A delivery man?" Peter suggested.

"No." Then, he cried in a furious burst, "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. Help Jamie. He's scared."

Redman jerked as if he had been struck, and reached out for the boy, who flinched. That made Redman freeze, appalled. "Jamie!" he blurted out. "It's daddy. I want to help you."

Peter eyed his teammates doubtfully, and Winston took Redman's arm. "Easy, easy, let Peter do it. Jamie's upset."

"He's my son," insisted Redman. "Let me go to him." Winston had a hand on his shoulder, and Peter saw his grip tighten.

Peter leaned closer and asked the question he'd hoped would never come up, although he'd feared from the beginning that one of them would have to ask it. "Jamie, it wasn't your father, was it?"

The child's eyes flashed and he spit out scornfully, "NO!" The desperate longing for his father was as vivid as a flare on his face.

"What the hell--" exploded Redman, jerking free of Winston. He would have lunged over and grabbed Peter by the collar if Winston hadn't gripped his arm and muttered:

"Easy, easy, we all had to know."

Egon intervened, too. "It was a question that had to be asked, sir," he explained. "None of us believed it, but we couldn't be positive until we explored that option." He moved across the room with the child's father, Winston on the man's other side. "Please, allow Peter to continue. He knows what he is doing."

"He...never hurt Jamie," the child managed. He sounded lost and alone, sad and wistful. "Loves...Jamie."

"So no one you know by name took you away?" Peter continued. He was sitting on his heels now, like Ray was. Watching the child hugging the battered rabbit made something hurt inside his chest. No kid deserved this. Sometimes life really sucked.

The boy shook his head. "Don't know name..."

Peter glanced over at Egon and Redman. The physicist was talking to him in an undertone while Winston stood guard to keep him from doing anything rash. Winston was a solid bulwark whenever the guys needed him to be.

The boy was watching Redman, too, his eyes rapt and full of longing. He wanted to be with his father. Peter could identify with that. His father hadn't been like Redman; he'd been gone more than he was home and he'd never been there at the important times. But at least Peter was alive to appreciate what he did have, a less-than-satisfactory father who did love him in spite of all his faults. He'd been there part of the time when Peter was little, and he had always loved Peter, even when he was busy letting him down in hopes of making a quick buck.

Peter crammed those thoughts into a dark corner of his mind and gave his attention to the child. "You miss him," he said gently, nodding over at the copper-haired man.

Jamie's head bobbed. "Jamie...cries for him," he said slowly as if he were afraid to make the admission.

Peter patted the child's shoulder. "Sometimes it's okay to cry," he soothed. "Even for grown-ups. We want to find you. We want to bring you home."

"Can't...come home," the child admitted mournfully. "Never come home. Find...Jamie."

Charlotte gasped and put her hands over her face at what sounded like a confirmation that the child was dead. This was not good. Ray flinched, color draining from his face. Peter was sure that, all along, Ray had hoped there would be a way to save Jamie. As for the boy's father, he stood like a statue, stark horror in his eyes.

Peter decided to try something. The child hadn't once referred to himself in the first person. Maybe it would help to try the same. "Where is Jamie?" he asked.

That won a glow of fervent approval on the small, desperate face. "Locked up," the boy admitted. "Bad room. Bad man."

Ray caught Peter's arm to interrupt. "Did he hurt Jamie?"

"Said he'd give bicycle," admitted the little ghost.

"Jamie went with him because he offered him a bicycle?" Peter asked. That was bad. Guys who bribed kids with treats never did it to make them happy, just to lure them away.

The head bobbed. "Really wanted one. It was a trick. Jamie doesn't have bicycle now." He looked past Peter and Ray to his father. "Jamie's sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," blurted his father. "I only wanted you to be safe. I did buy a bicycle for you, but only to use at Granddad's where there's no traffic." He glanced sideways at the Ghostbusters. "My dad has a place on Long Island, lots of ground and there are bike trails." He bit his lip. "Jamie, I was going to tell you when you came home...but you didn't come..." He made a helpless gesture, his shoulders sagging.

"Jamie is sorry."

"Jamie?" Ray ventured doubtfully. "You said you were locked up in a room. Do you know where that room is?"

They held their breath, waiting. Then he pointed down again. Maybe he didn't know. "Not in this building?" Peter asked.

The little head shook, ghostly curls bouncing. "Basement," he said.

"The basement in this building?" Redman demanded.

"No, other basement. Jamie's scared."

"Scared?" Peter echoed. "Is Jamie...locked up?"

"Locked up in room. No windows, only little ones, high up," confirmed the boy. "Jamie's hungry. Can't get out. Drank lots of Coke but no food today. Jamie's hungry."

Peter stiffened, catching Egon's eye. Could that mean the kid was alive after all? Could he even risk asking, or would it frighten the child too much. "Jamie?" He caught the child's attention. "What is Jamie doing right now?" he asked.

The ghost hesitated, his head cocked as if he were listening. "Crying," he admitted. "Trying to be brave." He held his head up and there were no tears on his face. If this were an astral projection instead of an actual ghost, would the body retain enough awareness to cry? Would the projection be solid enough to hold the stuffed bunny? Peter sought out Egon's gaze across the room, and Egon nodded down at the meter and mouthed, "Class 3," to indicate the readings were typical for a ghost.

Jamie thrust the rabbit at Peter, who took it in surprise. "Bring to Jamie," he insisted. "Told Jamie I would bring it but I can't."

"Told Jamie?" Peter echoed. That was the weirdest twist yet. "Aren't you Jamie?" Ghosts could change shapes. Had a spirit befriended the kid and tried to come for help, using his form so he would be accepted?

"No!" screeched the ghost. "No, no, NO."

"No, what, kiddo?" Peter asked in as calm and quiet a voice as he could. "No, you're not Jamie?"

"JR," cried the boy, gazing past Peter at Redman. "I'm JR and he doesn't love me. He only loves Jamie! Never talks to me, never gives me presents. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him." He lashed out, pounding Peter on the chest with ectoplasmic fists.

Peter caught the small wrists and held on tight. He was much more solid than he had been in the beginning. "Easy, easy," he soothed. "Let's not break Dr. Venkman." JR? Wasn't that Jamie's imaginary friend? Had his imaginary friend been a ghost all along, a ghost that only Jamie could see? Had the ghost come in Jamie's form to bring help for him?

"Jamie's imaginary playmate?" Charlotte blurted out. "But I thought he wasn't real."

"His playmate was a spirit?" Egon asked, his eyebrows shooting up in intrigue and astonishment. "This is most peculiar. Surely a spirit would have its own form. Why would it assume the child's shape?" He twiddled the meter's dials and took fresh readings.

"JR?" Peter squeezed the ghostly wrists. "Can you tell me who you are?"

The little boy sighed and leaned against Peter, causing cold to seep through Peter's clothes. "Joseph Randall Redman," he said the way a child would when asked to provide his name to a policeman or a teacher.

"What!" Redman bellowed, trembling violently, all color running out of his face. Peter didn't think he'd ever seen any man that pale, that appalled. "It's not possible. It's a trick."

JR began to cry. "Hates me, hates me," he moaned.

"You know the name?" Peter asked Redman, automatically stroking the ghostly curls.

"Oh, god, oh, god." Redman staggered over to the couch and collapsed on it, his legs too shaky to hold him up. "Jan had twins," he blurted out. "The birth went badly and the older twin died. He lived long enough for us to hear him cry and for Jan to hold him and then he just slipped away. We named him Joseph after my dad. But Jamie never knew about him. We thought it better not to tell him. He was fragile when he was a baby and it took him several years to be strong. We were afraid he'd know, somehow. The twin bond is strong. I'm a twin myself, and my brother Jared and I have always been exceptionally close."

A twin? Peter hadn't expected that. None of them had. Was the twin bond strong enough to hold the dead twin nearby, close enough for Jamie to befriend his spirit? Wouldn't it just be a baby? Would it grow along with Jamie? Could ghosts do that?

"A spirit can assume the shape in which it perceives itself," Egon said quickly. "If JR identified with Jamie, he might change as Jamie did. It is possible, although I've never heard of such a manifestation before. I'll have to research the possibilities."

Ray edged up to the ghostly child. "Are you Jamie's brother?" he asked.

JR edged out of Peter's grip to face him. The curly head bobbed up and down.

"Is Jamie alive?" Peter added.

"Jamie's alive. Scared. Wants to come home."

"Dear god, is this real?" Charlotte asked. Redman couldn't speak. His eyes had never left the ghost, though they flashed with colossal relief at the thought of Jamie's survival.

Ray turned at her question. She sat beside Redman and put her arms around him. "I never heard of this happening before, but it could," Stantz explained. "I've heard that there's a strong link between identical twins. Sometimes they're nearly telepathic together. How long has Jamie had JR?"

"Ever since I came here, and before," she admitted.

"All his life, I think," Redman admitted, raising his head and staring at the ghost again. "He used to babble in his crib and then stop as if he was waiting for an answer. When he was a toddler, he'd talk to someone no one else could see. Oh, dear Lord, I had no idea." He pushed himself up out of Charlotte's arms and went over to the ghost. "JR? That's what he calls you?"

A nod. "Hate me?" he ventured.

Redman shook his head vehemently. "Of course I don't hate you. I have always loved you. I just didn't know..." He put his arms around the ghost and wept into the tangle of curly hair. Two little arms came up around his neck.

Peter swallowed very hard and blinked furiously at the sting of tears in his eyes. He caught Egon doing the same, although the physicist muttered, "Fascinating." The word wobbled slightly.

Winston cleared his throat gruffly. Ray made no pretense at hiding his emotions. "Oh, gosh," he breathed and stared at the reunited father and son.

Redman didn't want to let go, but finally he did, drawing back just far enough to meet his ghost child's eyes. "JR, where is Jamie?" he asked. "You came here to help him. Tell me now."

"Next door," JR told him. "Basement. Doorman took him there."

"Doorman? You mean Max at the front door?" Redman cried. "The man in the uniform, with all the gold braid?"

JR nodded. "Jamie came home and the gold braid man said he had a bicycle for Jamie and he had a place where he could keep it. He took Jamie to show him, and then he locked him up." Now that his true identity was known, he could talk and answer questions. Peter realized his earlier answers made a lot more sense if he weren't really Jamie. On the other hand, JR had never been taught anything. He'd learned because ghosts could, but his whole experience had come from a child of eight. No wonder he couldn't communicate more than he had. It had probably taken him this long to figure out that he should come for help for his twin. No point in asking JR why Max had done it. He wouldn't know, and even if he'd been told, he wouldn't have understood.

Redman snatched up the phone and pushed urgent buttons, his face twisted with fury. "I'll have the police over here to arrest him. They'll make him tell where Jamie is. His shift ends at eight. He'll still be here."

"He won't expect anything from our visit," Egon consoled the man. "It shouldn't have put him on guard. Since he would know that Jamie was alive, he would not expect a ghost to give him away. However, we could go downstairs and wait with him under the guise of taking readings."

Someone must have answered the phone because Redman put up his hand for silence and demanded, "Dectective Bridgeman, please. It's urgent. This is James Redman and I have a lead on my missing son."

Either Bridgeman worked all hours or he had a pager number because he came on the line very quickly. Redman explained that he'd had a tip that the doorman of his building had taken his son and was hiding him in the cellar of a nearby building. As he talked, JR hovered near him, watching him with the desperate affection of a child who has never had any love from his own father. Peter knew his own unsatisfactory dad had loved him but there had been times over the years when he'd wondered, and he went over to the ghost child and gripped his shoulder comfortingly.

"Your dad will never forget what you did," he said softly, resting his hands on the ectoplasmic shoulders. "He didn't know before that he could tell you he cared. When he lost you, it hurt him so much that he couldn't let himself remember very much. I know that's hard to understand, but do you think you can try?" On the other side of the child, Ray gave Peter an encouraging grin, and Winston nodded approvingly. Egon didn't say anything, but Peter could read his encouragement and support in the blue eyes.

JR listened to him, then he slowly bobbed his head. He stared up at Peter with hopeful eyes. "Does he love me?" he asked.

"You bet he does. And you can believe that because the Ghostbusters never lie."

JR hesitated, then he threw himself at Peter and hugged him. Peter held the ghost, more touched than he could say. He lifted his eyes to his friends over the tousled curls as they shared the poignancy of the moment. There were no words to describe how they felt, but JR didn't need words. He needed one thing to free him, no, make that two. He needed his brother's freedom--and he needed his father's love.

They went downstairs when the police came, and found Max the doorman slumped in the chair in his cubicle, his head bent, while a tall, lean, hatchet-faced man read him his rights. When he finished, he turned to Redman. "He collapsed as soon as he saw us," he said. Looking past him to the Ghostbusters, he said, "Jack Bridgeman, NYPD. He told us where the boy is and we sent two men to free him. He should be here in moments." An eyebrow soared as he recognized the Ghostbusters, but he didn't ask questions.

Redman pushed past him and stopped in front of the doorman. "Why, you son of a bitch?" he demanded. "Why did you do it? Jamie never hurt you. He liked you. How could you do such a thing?"

"How could you, up there flaunting your mistress in front of him? He was better away from that," spat Max. "I couldn't let an innocent child live in that environment. He was better in my basement than that."

"Mistress?" James Redman demanded, his face twisting with shocked disbelief. "Are you insane? Charlotte's not my mistress. She's Jamie's nanny. For god's sake, man, what is wrong with you? I've never slept with Charlotte."

"It's true," the tall woman put in hastily. "I care for James, and maybe something will come of that, but it hasn't, yet. How dare you pass judgment on us, and terrify that sweet little boy because of your twisted values? If you've hurt him..."

"You confess to taking Jamie Redman and holding him a prisoner?" Bridgeman demanded.

"Yes, I took him, and I'd keep him if they hadn't tricked you and lied to you. Him up there with his whore and his son--it's disgusting. Disgusting. I protected him. Read him the bible every night. Prayed for him so he wouldn't grow up to be like you."

Redman lunged for him, but the detective imposed his body between the two and stood there, solid as a wall. "Now, sir, that's not the way. We have him in custody. He'll pay for what he's done. He's not entirely normal, I'd think."

"Yeah, a couple of clowns short of a circus," Peter put in quickly to ease the mood.

"Daddy?"

At the breathless cry, Redman stiffened, then he whirled and lunged at the child who broke free of the two uniformed cops and raced at his father, flinging himself into his arms. Redman pulled him in close and hugged him hard, weeping into his hair. "Oh, Jamie, thank god, thank god you're all right. Did he hurt you?"

"No, he just locked me in and I couldn't get out." Jamie was shivering. "I thought he was nice at first, but he took me away. He wasn't nice. I want to come home. Daddy, I want to come home."

"You are coming home, right this minute," Redman insisted. "The police will take this...this filth out of here and you'll never have to see him again."

"Take him out," Bridgeman instructed, and a handcuffed Max was led away.

"Can I take him up now?" Redman asked. "I'll sign statements tomorrow, but right now I want to get him up to his own place."

The cop's face filled with sympathy. "Go ahead. We've got enough to go on. Though one of these days I'd like to find out what the Ghostbusters have to do with it."

"Long story," Redman said. His face still held traces of tears he hadn't realized he shed. "A very long story. Come on, Jamie, let's go home." He started for the elevator, then he hesitated and turned to the Ghostbusters. "What about..."

"We'll come up with you," Egon replied. "Only for a few moments. I think the situation will resolve itself."

JR was waiting, standing in front of the fireplace, holding Pokey. When he saw Jamie, his face lit and he proffered the stuffed toy. Jamie took it with one hand and hugged his brother with the other. James Redman stood watching the twins, one dirty and weary but alive, the other one fuzzy around the edges, with a face that reflected his broken heart. He had one son back, but he could never have the other and seeing them together had to tear him up inside. Charlotte stood at his side, waiting. Peter had the idea she'd wait as long as it took, and then she would offer James her heart--and with luck, her love would be just what he needed. He wasn't ready yet, but she was smart enough to wait until he was.

When living boy and ghost pulled apart, Jamie stood there sadly. "You saved me," he said.

The ghost nodded. "Had to."

"You're going away, aren't you?"

Another nod. "I have to now. It's okay. I'm going to a happy place. It's...always been there. And I think somebody there loves me."

"Jan," breathed James Redman, new tears in his eyes. "Someone here loves you, too," he told the child.

"Daddy?" Jamie's eyes widened with wonder. "You can see JR? You never did before."

"I can now, son. So I can say goodbye, too. JR has been a good friend to you. But he has to go to his happy place now."

Jamie bit his bottom lip, but he nodded. He didn't really understand; Peter didn't think he had ever known he had a twin brother, and this was not really the time to tell him but someday, when he was older, he could learn the truth and know that his brother had cared enough to protect him when it mattered.

Ray scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "Gosh," he said, and needed no more. Winston dropped a hand on his shoulders.

Then JR faded into invisibility and disappeared. Charlotte gasped and Jamie lifted his hand as if to wave goodbye.

Peter corralled his friend and shepherded them to the door. This was a time for James and his son to be together.

"Gee, that was sad," Ray breathed as they piled out of Ecto at the firehall. They hadn't really talked about it as they drove home except that Egon had said the readings proved that JR had dispersed peacefully. He had theorized in a general way about ghostly twins, but not as much as usual. The incident had touched them all.

"At least Jamie's safe," Winston put in. "And I get the feeling that it won't be too much longer before he has a new mom, in spite of what Redman and Charlotte said. Can you believe that guy, passing judgment just because she was living in the apartment. Some people's minds are in the gutter. And don't say anything, Pete. Just because you and your girlfriends always--"

Peter held up a hand and faced them seriously. "Whoa, wait a minute, guys. No, I don't sleep with every woman I date," he admitted. "And you won't hear me admit it again, but it's true. And I sure wouldn't if there was a little kid in the next bedroom. Not fair to the kid."

"You were very good with JR, Peter," Egon praised him. "I was proud of you."

"Heck, the poor little kid never had a chance." Egon's praise always made Peter feel as if he'd just gained sainthood. "Besides, Ray was good with him, too. Course Ray is a kid, half the time."

Ray jostled him affectionately with his elbow. "You really like kids, don't you, Peter?"

"If that's to make me admit I really like you, Ray, then you're pushing it. Even if it's true," he added too softly for Ray to really hear, although the grin on Ray's face suggested that, if he hadn't heard it, he could guess what Peter had said. "Kids need a break," Peter continued hastily. "Come on, guys. I'd be first to say I didn't have the greatest childhood going, but when I see some of those kids at the free clinic I know I was lucky. Dad tried hard as he could with me. When he was there, he was the greatest dad in the world. Poor little JR. He had to see how much Redman adored Jamie. But none of that ever came his way."

"In other words, he needed to know his father cared before he could move on," Egon replied. "I suspect the fact that he and Jamie were twins held him at first. I wonder if there have been any other documented cases like this."

"Case studies later, Spengs," Peter cut in, although he knew Egon would require those case studies before he could put this behind him. "What do you think? Is JR going to be okay?"

"With any luck at all, he's with his mom," offered Winston. "Okay, so we don't really know where ghosts go when they disperse, but I never saw one go who wasn't ready and didn't accept it wholeheartedly. Remember Uncle Horace? Just needed to say he loved his niece one more time before he let go. Well, JR just needed to have his father admit he loved him. And to help Jamie, of course. Man, I feel good, knowing Jamie's home tonight and that JR got the love he needed. And we didn't have to bust a single ghost."

"Yeah, but what did we really do?" Peter asked. "I mean, we didn't bust the kid and it was having his dad accept him that freed him." He wasn't sure he'd done everything he could and it bugged him.

Egon whirled to stare at him in astonishment. "Peter, that child had likely been trying to come through ever since Jamie disappeared. We went in there and we were objective--or at least as objective as any caring human being could be in the circumstances. It would have taken far longer for Redman to get to the point than it took us--and every day he failed to make the breakthrough was one more day for Jamie to suffer incarceration. Our presence there, Ray's sympathy and your understanding, are what enabled Jamie to be home where he belongs tonight, and I, for one, am very glad of it."

"Hey, that's right," cried Ray, a smile lighting his face. "I sure feel good about that, don't you, Peter?"

Peter grinned and nodded. Okay, so he felt a twinge of sadness and regret for the lost little boy who would never grow up, but at least they'd saved his brother. Egon was right. They'd freed Jamie tonight, and without them he would probably still be locked up with Max and might have been for many days to come. JR wasn't bound any longer and he'd gone knowing his father loved him. They'd done the best it was possible to do, and all four of them knew it. The grin expanded as he stared at his buddies. Sometimes they had the greatest job in the world--and the toughest, and sometimes it was the same job. Peter said softly, "'He ain't heavy, he's my brother,'" and knew that was true not only for Jamie and JR but for himself and his friends.

"Exactly," Egon replied without a shred of doubt about Peter's meaning.

"Hey," cried Ray, who had wandered over to Janine's desk. "We've got some messages." He sat down at the desk and called them up. "Oh, gosh, we've got another call," he cried, scribbling industriously on a notepad. "Sounds like a Class 5 trashing a movie theater." He pushed the button and listened then he looked up, grinning ear to ear. "Hey, it's another one. Wow, we're back in business. This is great."

Winston arched an eyebrow. "Sounds like our week off is definitely over."

"Tonight?" Peter groaned. "I was looking forward to putting my feet up and having some popcorn. We have to go out again tonight?"

"We do, Peter," Egon said at his side. He smiled. "You know very well it's exactly what we need right now."

Peter had to agree with that. Running around chasing Class 5's, blasting holes in walls, and terrifying innocent bystanders was just what the doctor ordered to get them past any lingering melancholy from the last bust. Besides, there was money in it, and he'd said just this morning that they'd need some fresh cash pretty soon. Redman's check that he'd passed Peter unobtrusively as they left the apartment would help, and this was sure to be even better. Money, money, money.

"So what movie's playing at the theater?" he asked Ray as the occultist hung up from the second call and tore the first note off the pad. He felt his grin spread as wide as Ray's as he smiled at his buddies. "Maybe if we're lucky, we can hit all the good scenes while we chase the ghost."

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