Originally published in Remote Control 18

Peter

I don't know where I am.

Well, I do, but only where my body is. I can see it, lying there on the ground. Normally I'm kind of a pale guy, but I don't think I've ever seen my face as white as it looks right now. Like I'm...dead.

It all started the way trouble always starts for us Ghostbusters, as an ordinary bust. Okay as 'ordinary' as any Class Seven ever is, but this Class Seven that was terrorizing the Garment District didn't look nasty. No dripping fangs, no foot-long claws. Just that weird sense of power it gave off, like a Jaguar engine revving up. It had a face that was close enough to parody human, so close it made you uncomfortable, like looking at the apes at the zoo and wondering if everything shifted just a fraction, they'd be the ones looking at us in cages. Been there, done that. This demon had a knowing eye, like he'd seen a printed list of all our sins, and he arched a pointed, Spock-y eyebrow at me when he saw me and shook his head.

"He's got you pegged, Pete," Winston caroled as he drew a bead on Mister Vulcan. "Better watch out. Maybe he's here to harvest a soul or two." He threw me a grin. Why does everybody always think I'm the one who's marked down wrong in the Book of Good and Evil?

"Oh, thanks, Zed, but I'll pass. It's not my turn. I got tagged to be the sacrifice in that ball game against good and evil that time. Paid my dues already. One of you can be the victim of choice this time."

"Gee, Peter," Ray cried as he tightened the focus on his thrower, "you're not going to fling yourself into the breach to save us? I'm crushed." His mouth spread wide in a happy smile as he plunged after the demon. Time to rein him in again before he got into more trouble than he could handle.

"You will be crushed if he comes for you, Tex, so stay light on your feet--and don't get too far away from the rest of us." I glanced over at our fourth teammate, who stood in the middle of the street, his attention focused so narrowly a marching band could have tramped past playing Seventy-Six Trombones and he wouldn't have heard it. "Oh, Egon! Time to put the meter down and start blasting."

"But these readings are extremely peculiar, Peter." Egon didn't even look up for the P.K.E. meter's screen. "I don't think I've ever seen such unusual permutations in a Class Seven before." He shoved his glasses into place with an impatient forefinger before they could migrate right off his nose.

That didn't sound good. Egon has this irritating way of delighting in the prospect of doom and gloom. "You mean he's more powerful than the usual demon?" I shot a quick blast at Eyebrows to keep him from getting any ideas of sneaking up on Egon while his attention was caught. No, he was over there playing tag with Ray's stream instead. I caught Winston's eye and nodded at Ray, and he moved off to cover our eager occultist.

"Not more powerful, Peter, just...different." Egon struggled for the right word, and that was bad because Egon's the most articulate guy in the known universe. Always knows the right word, even if the word is one that hasn't been used since the Twelfth Century in an obscure monastery in Transylvania or one that is so specialized that nine physicists in ten don't get it.

"Different how, Egon?" yelled Ray. He fired again, but Spock-y was fast and zipped aside at the last possible second, the way a bullfighter will whip the cape aside when ten tons of angry bull are about to gore him. Insulting how easy Eyebrows made it look. I half-expected the crowd in Herald Square to yell, "Olé!"

"Aw," cried Ray in disappointment and took another shot. Eyebrows slid sideways fast. I decided right then and there that this bust wasn't going to be fun.

Egon didn't even notice our Class Seven's irritating agility. "There's a form of power here I have never seen before. The meters don't translate it properly."

That sounded bad. Egon can make the meters sing and dance. This time, they were dancing to a different drummer. If Egon can't figure it out, how could anybody?

"You mean we can't read it right?" Winston ducked sideways as the demon made for him almost as fast as an SST. He had to throw himself flat to avoid the long arm the ghost reached for him. A long arm with claws. I sent off a hasty blast. Eyebrows wasn't gonna get my buddies if I could help it. Thank goodness the energy from my stream and Ray's made the demon alter course at the last possible second and soar up a couple of floors. It hovered up there glaring down at us--biding its time.

For a second, Winston didn't move, just long enough to send our adrenaline up. "Winston!" Ray and I yelled, but he bounced up and waved his arm to show that he was okay.

Okay, that had been too close. It was war.

"Egon, you can study him after we trap him," I shouted. "Power up, big guy."

I wasn't sure if he'd even seen Winston's spectacular nosedive. "No, this is important, Peter. I can't explain it, but I feel like I must learn what these readings mean. There are unusual shadings...."

The demon swooped down a floor and hovered closer, like it was deciding which of us to sample for its mid-morning snack. It picked up on Egon's concentration, and the brow slid up his forehead like he'd used some WD-40 on it. It was like in the toons Ray watches on Saturday mornings, where a big light bulb pops on over the character's head when an idea hits, and it gave me a really bad feeling that Egon's ass was grass. Move it, Venkman.

When the demon charged Egon, I was already running, waving my thrower and trying to get a clear shot as I jumped in between Mister Meter Fixation and Eyebrows. Ray charged in yelling from the other side but he was too far away to do any good, and Winston was behind the demon so he could never get to Egon in time. I got off one shot, and it brushed the Class Seven across the arm. I might as well have hit it with a bagel for all the harm it did.

It changed direction in mid-zip as if Newton's Laws didn't have a thing to do with it, not away as if the particle stream had bugged it but right at me. Suddenly, it seemed bigger, huge. Did I say it wasn't nasty looking? Okay, I'll take it back.

There wasn't even time to duck. The main entrance to Macy's was behind me, full of cowering shoppers. I couldn't even yell a warning at them. Not that they were its targets, not when it could take out a Ghostbuster. The demon hit me hard with its whole body right across the face and shoulders. I rocked back on my heels and sat down on my ass so hard I had only a split second to think that my butt would be black and blue. Then a shocking sensation of incredible cold flowed through me, starting at the point of impact and spreading outward, down through my chest, along my arms, down my legs, and it was bitter, icy. Cold as fire. It was like I'd stepped outside at McMurdo in Antarctica wearing only my jockeys. Every bit of warmth leached away, leaving me quivering with chill. I think I dropped my thrower. I couldn't feel it in my hand any longer. I couldn't even feel my hand.

That wasn't the worst of it. Suddenly I experienced a horrible yanking sensation, and the next thing I knew I was looking down at myself as my eyes rolled back in my forehead and my body pitched over to the unforgiving concrete. With a panicked shout of, "Peter!" Ray dived for me and thrust his hand under my head, or I'd have probably started spilling my brains all over the pavement, but I didn't feel any of it--not the fall, not Ray's last-second save. I just saw it from up above, like a witness to an accident that was happening to somebody else. Oh God, what's happening to me?

"Peter!" Egon lunged for my body. I knew the sound of that yell. It's his dear-god-Peter-what's-wrong-with-you yell, or, worse, his don't-you-dare-be-dead-Peter yell. It scared the hell out of me because I couldn't help wondering if I was.

Dead.

He loomed at me, and then there was a horrible snap. It wasn't something I heard with my ears but something I felt inside, a crazy, disconnected feeling. Even if I've never felt it before, I knew what it was. I'm a parapsychologist and I did a lot of research into out-of-body experiences at Columbia. Or was this maybe a near-death experience? There wasn't any tunnel and there wasn't any brilliant light, so maybe not the near-death thing. I don't want to die. But when somebody leaves his body, there's a spirit cord that tethers him to it, a way to get back home. Psychics and people like that say they can drift on out of their bodies and wander around wherever they like and then follow the silver cord back home when they're ready.

The snap I'd just felt had to be the breaking of my cord. The severing of any ties with my body. The end of my chance to get back where I belonged. People whose cord was severed...died. They had no way of returning home. They just drifted around out in the ether and got thinner and thinner and less connected until, poof, they were gone. Maybe the guys could reconnect me if they did it fast, but they didn't even know what had happened. Would the readings tell them?

My vision went funny, like I was seeing double, and I couldn't control where I looked. All I could see was my own body lying there with a white-faced Ray cradling my head as he raised desperate eyes. He seemed to look right at me, but I knew he couldn't see me. There wasn't a trace of recognition in his face, only that horrible panic and desperate need for reassurance.

"Oh, god, Egon," he wailed, "I think he's dead."

Winston

A routine bust, that's all we thought it would be, just another routine bust like any other. I've been a Ghostbuster for about five years now, and I guess it's true you can get used to anything. When I signed on with these three mad scientists I thought it was just a quick ticket to a steady paycheck. I didn't even think the fad would last. Then I got a full ghost trap shoved in my hand, and I knew there was something in it I didn't even want to think about. My first bust convinced me ghosts were real--me, who'd always been a skeptic.

Five years of facing down things like Gozer and the Bogeyman and Samhaine sometimes make us a little blasé. We have a lot of near-misses on a job. We even get banged up periodically, but most of our jobs aren't that dangerous. Class Fives are annoying and messy, and I've grown used to washing ectoplasm out of my hair after a tough bust. There are worse ghosts than Class Fives--demons and elementals, and they're pretty bad, but we don't really meet that many of them. Four of us can usually take down a demon, especially when Egon's the smartest guy I ever met and Ray knows everything there is to know about the occult and supernatural. Then there's Pete, who fast-talks ghosts just like his con-man father fast-talks people. That leaves me to be the voice of reason. Sometimes it's an uphill battle.

Even when we got to Herald Square and figured it was another Class Seven, the job didn't seem like it would be too tough. The ghost wasn't hulking and mean like some demons. It was almost wispy. Should be a snap to bust, even if it was fast, and one stream didn't much faze it. We'd let it run a little, tune in to its moves and its style, then we'd snag it in the streams and suck it into a trap. No problemo, as Pete would say.

Egon got interested in his P.K.E. meter, but that's par for the course, too. Every so often we get one with weird readings and Egon climbs into the meter screen and goes incommunicado for what seems like hours but is usually no more than about ten minutes. He can figure out settings from those readings that will help us pin down the entity. He's great at coming up with last-chance solutions on the strength of those readings. When that happens, Pete and I will move in to cover him practically automatically.

Like Pete did this time....

The demon came for me and I had to do a racing dive into the pavement--lost some skin on my knees and the palm of my left hand but better than ending up as Zeddemore Demon Chow. But it put me in a bad place when the demon went for Egon, with only Pete to offer front-line resistance. Ray was off to the side, too far away to help, and he couldn't get a clear shot at it for fear of zapping Egon. He started running, but I knew he couldn't get into position in time, any more than I could.

We've all been hit by ghosts and demons before in the course of a bust, but usually it only gives us a nasty coat of slime. Sometimes, if the demon has claws, we can get a little cut up from a swipe by the demon's talons, but this one didn't even do that. It just gave Pete a full-body block, and Pete dropped like he'd been heaved off the roof of Macy's. Ray leaped for him, and Egon lost color in his face, yelled his name like he was sure Pete was dead and then raced for him. The demon swarmed past Egon and gave him a swat in passing, but Egon didn't collapse; he just jerked hard for a second and kept on coming. Maybe you had to get the entire contact, not just a sideways brush for the complete effect. Egon's face was ultra-white as he lunged, but he was on his feet and his eyes were alert--no, I had to say they were a little confused. Whatever weird readings Egon had picked up on the ghost made it pretty clear it hadn't done Peter any good. Or maybe Egon, either. He might just have a slighter reaction because he'd only been grazed, or it could simply take him longer. He didn't even kneel down beside Pete, just stood there giving a classic performance of a guy in shock. Finished with the day's performance, the demon made a scornful sound and went straight up. This time, it didn't hover or turn. It just kept going. I checked because I was the only one even thinking about a return engagement, and one of us had to. The meter in Egon's hand stopped reacting entirely. Gone. I vowed to keep my head up in case it came back.

Ray kept Pete's head from hitting the pavement and splitting open like a melon. By the time Egon and I got there, he had Pete propped against his shoulder, one arm encircling him, while his fingers sought out a pulse. "I think he's dead," he moaned, then he must have found what he was looking for because his breath went out in a whoosh that was half a sob and he added hastily, "No, he's alive. But...."

I understood why his voice trailed off. Pete still looked dead. I never saw such pallor on a healthy person before. Even if Peter was breathing--and I could see his chest rising and falling--the demon had done something bad to him, some weird paranormal thing that we had never run up against before, something that had to tie into Egon's strange readings. Pete's body looked empty of personality, like he didn't live there anymore.

Peter has left the building.

I ripped my eyes off him and surveyed the people who emerged cautiously from Macy's and crowded close like ghouls. Freaks, like the ghouls who rubbernecked at car accidents. I gestured at them to move back, but they ignored me. There was no trace of the demon. Either it had gotten tired of toying with us and messing with Peter or it had decided the throwers were no fun and had taken its toys and gone home. Shit. If we couldn't study it, how the hell could we figure out what had happened to Peter?

I raised my voice and put authority into it. "Somebody call 911, now!"

"Already handled," an older man in the crowd called back. He proudly displayed a cellular phone. Pete says they're the wave of the future. Damn it, focus, Zeddemore. I nodded at the guy to go on.

He didn't notice my momentary distraction as he bulled his way to the front of the crowd like a guy who's used to going where he wants to. Everybody moved aside for him. "They're coming. I figured we needed to watch out in case that thing came back, so I designated a couple of men to post watch." He gestured at two younger guys who were busy scanning the sky.

Drill sergeant. I recognized that tone all too well from my service days. This guy might be retired but he'd never lost the attitude. "Good man," I said. "We're counting on you."

He pulled himself to attention as if I'd been a general. PFC Zeddemore with a field promotion. I half-expected the guy to salute me.

"Any doctors here?" I asked hopefully. Figured there wouldn't be or somebody would have come forward. A few people called, "No," but that was it. So I turned back to the guys, my thrower at ready in case the demon came back.

Ray had settled Peter comfortably against his shoulder and watched him like a hawk. He brushed the hair back from Peter's forehead. "There's no slime," he said in surprise. "It didn't slime him."

"It sure did something," I responded. "We need to get some readings." Long as Pete was breathing and in no distress, I figured there wasn't much to do besides that except watch for signs of shock, keep him warm, maybe elevate his feet. He didn't have any apparent wounds, so maybe it would do him--and Ray--good for him to stay there. I watched his chest rise and fall and it was nice and regular, the way I wanted it to be. Ray's arm tightened around his shoulders.

"Peter, come on, Peter, wake up," he urged hopefully. "You can do it. It's gonna be just fine."

Peter might have been a log for all he answered. He just went on breathing in and out, but that was the full extent of his response. God--and that was a prayer, not a curse--he looked like he was dead. In spite of the breathing and the pulse Ray had found, he looked so damned dead....

Then I turned to Egon.

I know Pete always says Egon is the first real friend he ever had, but we don't always stop to realize the reverse is true, too. Egon had been too busy studying before Peter came along to think about how much a guy needs a buddy. I learned that lesson in 'Nam, but these guys learned it in college. Pete and Egon knew each other even before Ray showed up at the university. When you know a guy that long, you can get almost psychic together. Some of the guys in my platoon and I could do that when we were out on patrol together. Being a Ghostbuster is like that, too. The best part of it. Egon had that going with Pete even when we're not out busting.

But it wasn't even his shocked reaction that had me going. The ghost had sideswiped Egon, too, and that worried me. He stood there looking down at Peter, and his face was vague and disconnected. Whatever the ghost did, it couldn't be good for him. Maybe he wasn't down and out like Pete, but he wasn't at Egon-normal, either. Could have been just shock, but one of the first things we learned on a job was that no matter how desperately we were worried about a downed teammate, we had to face the fact that busting the ghost needed to come first. Not only an injured teammate but an innocent civilian might pay the price if we took the time to fuss over whoever was down. Unless he was pumping blood so fast that we had to stop it to save his life, we had to check out the ghost first. We all hated that, but it was a fact. Ray had saved Peter, but I'd seen his eyes tracking the sky above Macy's, and his thrower was in easy reach of his hand. But Egon had forgotten the safety rule, and Egon just didn't.

That meant not just that Egon's oldest friend was down--Pete had been down before--but that something was up with Egon, something the demon had done. First cop that showed up, I'd have him put out the word to warn people not to allow any physical contact with the demon. We'd have to rush and bust it, if any calls came through. Assuming Egon wasn't about to keel over like Peter had....

"Egon?" I prompted.

He didn't turn his head or answer. His attention was focused so completely on Pete I wasn't sure at first that he heard me. Then he lifted his head ever so slightly without turning and said, "Winston? The demon?" That had taken waaay too long. The paramedics needed to check him out, too, when they got here. And maybe I could snatch the meter and take some readings myself if he couldn't snap himself out of it.

I made a disgusted gesture skyward that he didn't see. "Took off. What about you? It got you, too."

He made a dismissive gesture. "Backlash only."

I caught his arm. Didn't turn him around, though, because I could tell he needed to focus on Peter. "Egon, level with me, man. You didn't get the full dose like Pete did, but you got some of it. Are you gonna keel over, too?"

He shook himself slightly. It alarmed me that he had to concentrate to answer my question. He was affected; I could see it just in the slightly delayed responses. Then he made a negative gesture with the P.K.E. meter. "No, I feel no urge to 'keel over'. I admit to a rather strange, vague feeling, but I am certain it will pass." He was silent a second, then he added viciously, "It will pass," and I knew he insisted because if his eerie sensation went away, it would mean Pete would be fine, too.

A vague feeling? Egon was never vague about anything to do with busting. He might be vague about remembering his turn to take out the trash when he was working in the lab, but when the chips were down, he was always focused. He's the one who usually throws us into the breach when we're up against a Class Eleven mega-specter. Right now, I had to pry answers out of him, and that wasn't normal. My stomach reacted unhappily. If this didn't wear off....

"Come on, Egon, what are your symptoms?" I persisted.

He gave an impatient tug to free his arm from my grip, but when I didn't let go he surrendered to it and didn't try again. "I am slightly dizzy. My vision is affected."

"Blurred? Double?"

"Something of both. It's easing a bit now. The touch was enervating, but in another sense it was as if the ghost were forcing its psi energy upon me. I can't explain more fully." Egon, guy who had twenty-seven theories about every ghost we encountered, and he couldn't explain. Bad sign. I saw Ray gaping at him and knew that he realized it, too. Egon was not himself.

"Like getting an electric shock?" I prompted. Would that account for the way Pete went down? I lifted an eyebrow at Ray, who shook his head doubtfully.

"I don't think it affected Peter like an electric shock," he put in. "Or even the backlash we get when a thrower brushes us by accident. Peter's not reacting like that at all." He hugged Peter tighter. Peter didn't respond.

Egon flinched, then he forced himself to concentrate. "No, but perhaps it would parallel that. A psi shock?" He frowned, but I didn't think it was because he'd become caught up in a new science problem. He was too focused on Peter. I moved around so I could get a better view of his face, and his eyes behind the red-framed glasses were all weird like he was seeing everything sideways. I wondered if Pete's eyes would look like that, too, if I went over and lifted one eyelid. How the heck could a quick brush from a demon affect a man's vision? Something to do with those weird readings Egon had taken with the meter? If he could figure out what they meant, could he reverse it?

"Hey, what about biorhythm readings? How's Peter reading?" Ray asked. Normally, Egon would have thought of that the minute Peter went down, but he'd been given a little of the same nasty medicine as Pete and some of his gears were misfiring. He wasn't coming up with his usual theories. That meant Ray and I had to prompt him whenever we could. I hadn't thought of biorhythm readings, either. I wasn't sure what we'd do if they were off, though. We don't use them much; meter's not designed for them, but Egon is always inventing something new to use them for. Surely, all they'd tell us would be if Peter were okay or not.

"Of course." If I hadn't still been holding his arm, Egon would have slapped his forehead in disgust. He raised the meter and I let go of him so he could work. I checked out the sky. Once the meter was adjusted, it wouldn't be picking up demon readings.

"Keep watch for the demon to come back," I warned the crowd. "Egon's resetting the meter and it won't be able to warn us for a few minutes."

The drill sergeant sketched a salute at me. "Yessir." Definitely a field promotion. I'd leave sentry duty in his capable hands.

While Egon made a careful adjustment--to Peter's specific readings, I saw, I said, "Ray? How's he doing?"

"He's the same, Winston. No change." Ray's eyes were huge, like an anime character's. "He's breathing. He's alive." The way his chin firmed up told me Pete would stay that way if Ray had any say in the matter. Ray's stubborn. He can dig in his heels and resist anything from Peter's wheedling to the threats of a major entity like Gozer.

"You hang onto him while Egon takes readings," I instructed. "Monitor him. Tell us if anything changes." We all knew CPR and were certified to give it. A thrower accident in the field could stop a guy's heartbeat--it had happened to Peter once, right in the firehouse, and Egon had given him CPR and saved his life. If we needed to give it to him this time, I didn't want one second's delay.

"Okay, Winston." Ray's answer was so automatic I could tell he was giving me only enough attention to get by on. He held onto Peter the way a child holds onto a toy he thinks is about to be stolen. Poor Ray. Pete was so much his big brother that there would be a huge hole in his life if Pete never came out of this.

Damn it, Zeddemore, I told myself savagely, don't be such a doomsayer. This might be a temporary effect. Pete might open his eyes in the next minute or two and be fine. Don't assume the worst.

But look at Egon whose hands trembled as he adjusted the meter. He was making awfully heavy work out of a routine task that should have been a snap. As I watched him, he succeeded in setting the meter. "There," he said. "What is wrong with me?"

Rhetorical question all the way. I didn't even try to answer it. Instead I put my hand on his shoulder and squinted down at the screen.

Pete's readings were weird. I mean, they were there, and they were strong--Egon was no more than two feet away from him--but there was something peculiar about them. I wasn't sure what it was, but they were definitely off. Meter reading's not my main job. Ghosts I can figure out, but this was different. I didn't have a clue.

"Oh dear," Egon murmured. Not what I wanted to hear him say.

"What's wrong, Egon?" Ray's eyes got even bigger. Shouldn't have been humanly possible, but they did. "Is he okay?"

"I have never done as much with the biorhythm readings as I should."

"Come on, Egon." I tightened my fingers on his shoulder. He didn't usually waste time with what wasn't important, and we didn't need excuses now. We needed answers. "Not like we have a lot of call for it, or tons of free time. What are you getting?"

"I don't understand it." He frowned fiercely. We count on Egon so much for the techie answers that I suspect he buys into it, too. I had to stop and remind myself that he had a lesser dose of whatever it was that had put Peter down for the count. I hadn't seen any sign that he was getting worse, or Pete, either, but neither had there been a trace of improvement. The EMT's would need to check out Egon, too, when they got here. I hoped they hurried. To make him focus on what he was reading, I gave his shoulder a little shake. At least it would keep him from dwelling too much on nasty thoughts like the ones that buzzed around in my brain, thoughts like, 'Will Pete ever wake up?'

"His readings are...disconnected," Egon replied. "Biorhythms are natural human readings, and the meter doesn't read them well, even after all the modifications and boosting we've done. While it is possible to design more, er, bells and whistles into a meter, the more it's refined in that direction, the less effective it would be on a normal bust." He realized he was babbling and made a disgusted sound. "Peter is alive. His physical condition appears to be stable, but it's at a depressed level. The readings indicate that his...consciousness--" he evidently found the word alarming-- "his awareness, no, his very essence--the part of his mind that makes him specifically Peter is...."

Gone? Destroyed? I hesitated to speak either word. My stomach threatened to go on rebellion. I swallowed hard.

Ray gazed up at Egon in horror. "You mean it...destroyed Peter's mind?" he gasped.

"No." I've never heard Egon sound so determined. "No. I don't mean that at all. But the conscious--and subconscious--mind is what makes an individual distinctive. The readings do not address that specifically. There's not a separate function within the meter to break down the differences between autonomic responses and the conscious mind. Yet...." His voice trailed off and he passed me the meter long enough so he could massage his temples. "Why can't I think?" he asked fretfully.

"Just say it simply, Egon," I urged him. "Nobody's keeping score here."

He tore his eyes away from Peter long enough to meet my gaze. After the most fleeting of contacts, his eyes fell. I thought he was almost ashamed to look at me when he knew he had bad news to impart. I felt my stomach scrunch up even tighter. Great, Zeddemore. You'll help the world here if you spew.

"It is as if Peter's conscious mind and his autonomic responses aren't...connected any longer," he admitted. He risked one quick glance at me to see if I understood what he meant, but turned back to Peter immediately.

Yeah, I understood what he was saying--well, sort of. If Peter's mind and body weren't working together anymore, no wonder he was out of it. Was this your standard coma or was it a coma with occult shading? Would he come out of it on his own--or at all? "Okay, simple question. How do we link them up again?" Maybe it didn't have a simple answer, but I had to throw it in there. In the distance, I heard the wail of an approaching siren. Even if it felt like a year since the call had gone out, the paramedics were making good time.

Egon blinked at me. "I don't know."

At our feet, Ray made a distressed sound that hurt me to the core--one that I echoed inside. If we didn't know how to fix what was wrong with Peter, how could a doctor do it? This couldn't be solved by some routine medical quick fix; it was a weird demonesque feature we'd never run up against before. That didn't mean we couldn't figure it out, but usually it's Egon who comes up with this kind of answers, Egon prompted by Peter, who is a zillion times smarter than he pretends to be, and who can come up with just the right questions to make Egon think harder, Egon backed by Ray, who has a much more intuitive mind for science things than Egon's more rational approach. With Egon operating below normal and Peter shut down for the duration, it was going to be up to Ray, with me, your basic non-scientist, to help.

Now Ray's your incredibly smart guy who doesn't show it as much as he could, either. He'd never quit trying to find an answer, and I bet as soon as he got to Tobin's Spirit Guide he'd locate the demon in there and then he could come up with a solution. God, I hoped so. Maybe my B.A. and my night school parapsychology classes would help. And maybe Egon would snap out of it with time. Maybe even Peter would.

The paramedics arrived then, and I pulled Egon back to give them room. He didn't want to go but he did. What surprised me was that he hadn't been down there on his knees at Peter's side, holding onto his hand and ordering him to respond, willing him back, coaching him, cajoling him, insisting he wake up. That he hadn't done that scared the crap out of me.

Were we going to lose both of them?

Peter

Everything was so confused, and I couldn't see right. My vision was edged with weird angles and strange delayed glimpses of things, seen and then re-seen as if my mind couldn't keep up with the fact that I didn't have a body anymore. How could I see at all without my eyes? Was I about to pop into that tunnel with the bright light? Was I dying?

Mama Venkman's little boy is scared.

I couldn't see Egon at all, and that freaked me. The demon had been going for him when it came for me. What if it had kept right on when it was done with me? What if Egon was down, and I was so fixated on my own body lying there like a lump in Ray's arms that I couldn't even make myself turn around and find him? Was Winston with him? Was that why I couldn't see Winston either?

Egon! Egon, where are you? Egon, talk to me.

P-peter?

Egon, is that you? Come on, Spengs, I'm right here. Maybe I'm invisible but whip up that handy-dandy meter of yours and check me out.

But the contact was too fleeting. There in a second, gone again. Come on, Egon, don't go away. You've gotta get me back.

Whoa, where did those paramedics come from? Look at 'em, swarming over my body like lice. If I could have shivered at the image my mind produced I would have, but you need a body to shiver, and I didn't have a body--well, I suppose I had an astral body but it didn't seem capable of shivering, even if I felt both cold and hot at the same time. I've got an astral fever.

I got a glimpse of Winston for a second there, double-edged with pink light, enough to make me really dizzy. He swarmed into my vision and then out again so fast I barely had time to register the alarm in his eyes. He'd been looking right at me, but I didn't see anything in his expression but worry. He couldn't see me. I knew that. There was no, 'hey, Pete,' in his face, only that grim concern. I knew that look. It was his somebody-has-to-be-strong-so-I-guess-I'm-nominated look. When things are chaotic, you can always count on Winston to be there for us all, to yank common sense into the equation. If I ever get back into my body, I'm gonna make a point of telling Winston how much we appreciate him when the chips are down.

Then, whoops, I'm right down beside my body. How did that happen? I'm staring down into my face like I've never seen it before. Geez, is that a grey hair? No, gotta be the light.

Not a bad body. Why can't I just reach out and pop back into it? I want to go home.

I'm staring at myself, and even though I'm right up close, I'm going all fuzzy around the edges. God, can an astral body cry? Because I can almost feel tears. All I want is to be back where I belong, to get back into my body, but I can't even make myself go the last foot. There are hands touching my body. Paramedics. They're doing things. I can see a blood pressure cuff. Can't feel it, though. I can't feel the examination. I can only watch it out here in the peanut gallery.

Whoops, now I'm further back, like I was yanked away. There's gotta be a way to control this, but I can't. I move around but it's not my choice. Drifting with the tide, in and out, in and out. Lost. Peter Venkman is lost. Come on, Venkman, concentrate. You can do it. You can get back where you belong. You've gotta.

Ray's there, but he's not holding onto my body anymore. The paramedics made him pull back. Maybe if he was still there, still holding on, I could find my way home.

Ray? Come back, Ray. I can't see you.

I watched the paramedics moving my body, and even though I don't have the tether to it, I can't help moving with it, following it, up into the ambulance. Wish it was Ecto instead. Ecto was an ambulance for part of its career.

And part of the time, it was a hearse....

No way, Venkman, don't even think that.

I'm not dying. I won't die. The guys need me.

I need the guys.

There's my body, laid out on the stretcher, and there are the paramedics. I can hear Ray and Winston in the background. Not Egon. I know something's wrong with him. Egon! Egon!

Suddenly there's a paramedic right in my face. It's almost like he knows I'm here. He's looking at me. He's looking right at me! Yeah, guy, I'm here. Come on, you see me, don't you?

But there's nothing in his face to indicate that he sees me at all.

Hey, que pasa. My vision is worse. Not just seeing in stereo, but further away. Suddenly the guy's gone all blurry around the edges, and I can't see him right. There's a round circle for the face, hollows for eyes, but he's not that clear. I'm starting to lose it. I'm going to drift away--discorporate. If I can't get back to my body....

The light in my eyes is so blinding that I can't help flinching. I can't look away from it. I've got no control, separated from my body like this. I have to let it blind me because I can't stop it. Besides, I know what it has to be, the bright light people claim to see when they have near-death experiences. This must be the tunnel where people go when they're waiting to cross over. Any second now I'm going to drift away, and I'll never get back.

I'm dying.

Guys? Don't let me go, guys. I don't want to go yet.

I love you guys....

Ray

Peter just looked awful when they took him away. Egon didn't look much better. I was glad they took him, too. Whatever the ghost did to them, it didn't do it as badly to Egon as it did to Peter, at least I hope it didn't. But it was bad enough. Egon wasn't acting like himself at all. I hate to see Egon diminished like that. Gee, I'm scared we're gonna lose both of them.

The demon was gone. Wherever it had vanished to, it wasn't lurking, waiting for a chance to attack. I set the meter to detect its specific readings and headed for Ecto while Winston dispersed the crowd with a warning to avoid the demon like the plague if it came back. A lot of people suddenly decided that Herald Square was the last place they wanted to be. The guy Winston said was a retired drill sergeant jumped in and helped the police clear the crowd away.

Winston and I followed the ambulance to the hospital, our siren wailing a counterpoint to the official one. By the time we parked and rushed in, Peter and Egon had already been whisked away for examination. There were just a few people in the waiting room, but they were prepared to rubberneck like crazy when Winston and I hurried in.

A harried black woman with a computer pounced on us and recruited us for information. She took down every detail of the guys' medical history and their insurance numbers. I know the hospital needed it to help Peter and Egon, but it felt so awful sitting there telling them about the time Peter had his appendix out and the way Egon's allergic to artichokes when all I wanted was to be with them. I don't know how Winston can be so patient. I was sure glad he was here.

I noticed he'd scraped his hand raw when he took that dive and reminded him of it. He shrugged, unconcerned with his own injuries. "Nothing serious, Ray. Let it go."

"No, we'll get you cleaned up while we wait. Come on." I dragged him over to the counter, and displayed his bloodied palm to the woman there. We must have looked shell-shocked because a nurse came in about five minutes for Winston. I sat there while he was gone, my arms wrapped around my ribcage, and tried to think.

What I should be doing is checking out Tobin's Spirit Guide. If I can find the demon in there, I can figure out what it did to the guys. I wasn't sure if Egon was oriented enough to take them and understand what he was seeing, so I repeated the tests he'd taken with the biorhythms before I did my scan for the demon, and I did get readings of Peter. They were almost normal, but not quite. I had watched Egon kneel beside Peter and snatch up his hand and try to talk to him before the paramedics made him move away, and he sounded so lost and confused that my heart just broke for him--for all of us. What if we couldn't get Peter back? What if Egon stayed like that, all lost and vulnerable?

No, that was silly. Peter and Egon were strong, and I knew all kinds of things about the occult. I'd track down the demon and find out what it was that he did, and then I'd figure out how to undo it.

Don't worry, guys, I'll fix it. I promise.

I used the time Winston was gone to phone Janine. I had to break it to her that Peter was out of it and Egon wasn't himself, either. Janine handled it like a trouper, but I could tell she was scared. "I'll be right over there."

"Janine, wait. I need you to bring me Tobin's Spirit Guide. Can you do that? I have to research that demon and see what a demon like that can do, so I'll know how to fix it."

"You bet I will, Ray. I'll bring it right over. Don't you forget for a second how strong Egon and Doctor V are. They'll be okay, even if they need your help to get okay again."

She was right, I thought as I hung up. They were strong. Maybe they needed my help this time, and I'd do anything I could to fix this. There had to be answers. Maybe the doctor even knew of a way. As soon as we got the word from the doctor, I'd have a better idea of what to do.

Winston came back in about fifteen minutes. He had a couple of band-aids on his hand. I watched him walk across to me and saw there were bloodstains on the knees of his jumpsuit, too. I pointed at it.

"Don't worry. Just skinned 'em," he reassured me. He hadn't been limping, so I hoped it was nothing worse than that. At least he'd had it cleaned up.

"You sure?" I asked.

He forced a grin as he settled beside me. "I'm okay. You hanging in there?"

"I called Janine. She's bringing Tobin over."

He caught my eye. "I'd have helped you call her."

"I know. I figured maybe I shouldn't wait. It's okay, Winston. I just need to have her bring the book, and I didn't want her to hear it on the news."

He clapped me on the shoulder. "They should get back to us soon."

But it was forty-five minutes later before the doctor appeared in the doorway. Janine was probably due any minute, maybe held up in traffic. At the sight of the bald man in the white coat, Winston and I popped to our feet like those inflatable figures you can knock over but they bounce back up again. He saw us and came over to join us, and the perplexed line between his bushy white eyebrows sent a skitter of nervousness through me. Winston must have seen it, too, because he grabbed hold of my arm. The doctor saw the gesture, and one eyebrow lifted toward his nonexistent hairline. It reminded me of the way the demon had arched those weird eyebrows like Mister Spock, and I winced.

"They're both alive," the doctor said hastily. I liked his urge to reassure us. He wasn't impatient; the wrinkle was probably frustration. He was an M.D. not a parapsychologist, so maybe this was new ground to him. I hoped it was that, not that the demon had found a way to impose physical harm on the guys. "I'm Doctor Herbert Solomon and I've been examining your friends here in the ER. I must say I'm perplexed. No apparent wounds, no trace of head trauma, in fact nothing physical at all to account for their condition. Heartbeat normal, pulse and blood pressure, all the basic tests, aren't explaining their reactions. I don't like it."

"What is their condition, Doctor?" Winston made an urging gesture that proved he was as impatient as I was.

"Doctor Venkman is unconscious. His involuntary responses are intact, however his body is unreceptive to stimuli and there is no voluntary movement. He does have pupillary response, which is a good sign."

"How so, Doc?" Winston asked. We exchanged a doubtful glance. If Peter wasn't responsive, how did that help?

"In general, in a patient who presents as Doctor Venkman, flaccid with no voluntary responses, my initial assumption would be a stroke."

My heart thudded in my chest. Oh, god, a stroke! Oh, Peter.... "How could he have a stroke?" I demanded. "That's just crazy. He's healthy. He just had his physical last week. He said that Greg--our doctor--says he's in great shape. Besides, we've been slimed lots of times on busts and never had anything like this happen before." I felt my bottom lip thrust out. Counter that, willya? I knew he had to go on the medical evidence, but this was something the demon had done, not a stroke. It was paranormal, not medical. Demons couldn't cause strokes. They couldn't. Could they?

Solomon rubbed his bald pate. The backs of his hands were hairy. "I understand a ghost attacked him. I don't know how that could cause a stroke, any more than you do. Perhaps in a layman, unacquainted with ghosts, the fear factor could trigger a physical response, but I hardly think one of you Ghostbusters would experience a strong enough terror reaction to upset the body so badly, not after as long as you've been busting ghosts. Perhaps its energy affected brain activity. Quite frankly, I'm not sure at this point. I've scheduled him for a CAT scan and MRI. Is there someone who can sign for the tests?"

"We both can," Winston agreed. "We all have durable power of attorney for medical care for each other. Our families aren't always right on hand. We already signed release forms when we were giving the information to the receptionist. Anything you need to do for Pete and Egon, you do it. Are you sure it's a stroke?"

Solomon pursed his mouth as he pondered. "No, I'm not sure, not with the ghost thrown into the equation. It's what I'd assume on any other patient brought in, but it's too early to make a positive diagnosis. We'll run those tests and see what results we get. If they're inconclusive, we'll run an EEG." He frowned. "Frankly, I'd not expect blood pressure within normal range if the entity had induced a stroke, and it's not a final diagnosis." He saw how much he'd shocked us. I was too numb to say anything, just staring at him in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. Winston's mouth was tight and his whole body thrummed with tension. He slung his arm around my shoulders. I was glad of the comfort. It felt nice, but it didn't begin to make up for what we might be facing.

"We'll begin an aggressive course of treatment for Doctor Venkman once the tests are completed," the doctor continued. "Frequent position changes and range-of-motion exercises to maintain his muscle tone. I'd like both of you to assist with that. We've evidence to suggest people react well to family members and loved ones."

I smiled faintly. Peter was family. We'd do everything we could for him. "We want to help."

Doctor Solomon studied us and nodded. He must have seen how determined we were--and how scared. Winston and I leaned against each other. The doctor continued. "I've seen comas, and this resembles a coma, but there's something different, something I can't quite put my finger on. I've been a doctor for nearly thirty years and this just feels...strange to me. Every patient is different, but this seems...outside the normal range I'd expect. I know you're the Ghostbusters, so my first instinct is to ask if the ghost you were dealing with at the time this happened could have caused it. You said it touched him. You tell me. Could that affect him like this?"

He was open-minded. I liked that. We've run up against a few doctors who just wouldn't believe our claims that the paranormal could cause weird reactions. They always go for the medical cause first; I know they have to. But this doctor would listen while he ran his tests. Peter needed that. I didn't want to have to fight the medical profession if I came up with a paranormal solution.

"It was a demon, not a regular ghost," Winston explained, and described the failed bust in a lot more detail than I'd picked up. Once Peter was down, I noticed that more than anything. I hadn't actually seen the demon sideswipe Egon, although I'd known it had happened from what went on--and from the weird way Egon was acting. "Pete got the full impact of whatever the demon did," Winston concluded. "Egon just got a glancing blow. But it made him vague and confused. He wasn't tracking normally once it happened, and he was a lot more off than he'd be if it was just worry about Peter."

"Egon's really brilliant," I explained. "Even when things are terrible--like Peter being out of it the way he was--Egon can focus and come up with answers, or at least reasons. But not today. We had to remind him to check Peter's biorhythm readings with the meter, and that's not right. Whatever happened to Peter happened to Egon, too, simply not as bad. How's Egon now?"

"As you imply, he's vague. I wasn't the doctor who initially examined him, but I'll tell you what I know. He's restless; if his vocal responses and reaction time are sluggish, he's almost reacting with heightened energy. He reports distorted vision. From the way he was responding, both Doctor Barrett and I would have suspected that he'd had a seizure. He reports he did not have a seizure, and the EMT's would have so informed us if he'd had one in transit, just as I'm sure you would have mentioned it if he'd had one before they arrived."

"A seizure?" I felt my mouth fall open. I hadn't expected that any more than I'd expected him to tell us Peter might have had a stroke. "Gosh, no, Egon didn't have a seizure." I didn't even want to think of such a thing, but I couldn't help trying to figure it out. "Oh... maybe we wouldn't have noticed a petit mal seizure, but Egon's never had a seizure before, and I've known him since I was a freshman at Columbia. And it's not like he got hit on the head or anything to cause it. The demon only brushed his arm."

"A petit mal seizure wouldn't be enough in itself to account for his reactions. But as you say, the demon touched him, too, and could have affected him in ways that medical science can't understand. We can only understand the presenting symptoms." He cleared his throat. "That is not an official diagnosis either. Since they were affected at the same time by the same source, we'll want to run the same tests on him as we do on Doctor Venkman. We'll compare the results."

Winston frowned. "But if you say he has a heightened restlessness and responses, isn't that just the opposite of Peter? I don't like this. I still think the demon caused it. I don't think it's medical, not like you think it is."

Solomon grimaced, then he heaved a huge sigh. "I'm not locked into a medical diagnosis, gentlemen. However, I have to assume it is medical, and treat it accordingly until such time as it's proven different. The demon could have induced medical problems on both men and I can't deny treatment on the off chance that I'm dealing with a supernatural crisis."

I shivered. That was so true. Peter with a stroke? Egon with a possible seizure? Egon with brain damage? What if neither of them recovered? "Oh, gosh, Winston," I blurted.

He tightened his arm around my shoulders. "Hang in there, Ray, we'll beat this."

I wished I could believe him. My optimism struggled hard but it wasn't winning. I was grateful for the comfort but it was physical comfort alone. If they didn't recover, nothing would ever be the same.

"Is Egon conscious?" I asked. It was hard to form the words.

Solomon nodded. "Yes, he's relatively alert and asking questions. He says his reasoning is affected, but he seems very intelligent to me, simply perhaps not at peak alertness. He wanted to stay with Peter, so we placed them in adjoining cubicles and left the dividing curtain open. Egon lies there and stares at him, then he sits up and stares at him. He tries to reason out what happened, but becomes frustrated and exasperated with himself for failing to deduce a solution. He will respond to direct questions and he will volunteer information without being solicited, but it's as if he's sustained an unspecified trauma. He's not in shock, at least not in the clinical definition of the word, but he's in a form of mental shock, I'd say. A part of that, naturally, is concern for his friend. That part is blindingly obvious; it's the same expression I see on both your faces right now. The rest must be part and parcel of the same thing that's wrong with Doctor Venkman. If he'd experienced a seizure, I'd expect him to be returning to normal by now, yet there's no sign of him coming out of the reaction." He ran a hand over his protruding belly. "What happened to the demon? Did you catch it?"

"It got away." Winston grimaced. "We had Pete down and Egon wasn't firing anymore, and Ray had broken Peter's fall, so there was only me with a thrower. I couldn't have zapped it on my own. It takes at least three throwers to contain a Class Seven and sometimes all four. It could have taken us out but it just went away. We asked the police to put out a warning for people to avoid it if it shows up."

"I see. Now you called it a demon. I understand you have knowledge of specific demons or a reference source? I saw it mentioned on a television program you did once."

I bobbed my head eagerly. "Yeah. Tobin's Spirit Guide. It's a great book. There are a lot of reference books, but that's the most comprehensive. We called our secretary, Janine, to let her know what happened, and she's coming over and bringing the book with her. She should be here soon." She'd be breaking every speed law known to man to get to Egon--and she'd be worried about Peter, too. "I'll go through it and see if I can figure out which demon it is, or if it's a certain class, what that class can do. I don't remember any demon who could put somebody in a coma like that, or cause a stroke or seizures, either. It's not like a sleep demon or sandman. We'd have gotten different readings on that, and Peter would act like he was asleep. We ran into a sandman once, and it was totally different. Except...." I shrugged. "He's not sleeping. It's just like he isn't...there anymore."

The doctor winced. "That was the feeling I got myself. As if--god, this sounds unprofessional--as if nobody was home. And while we can get a sensation like that from comatose stroke victims, this feels subtly different."

"What about an out-of-body experience?" Winston ventured doubtfully.

I stared at him. I'd thought of that already and halfway discarded the thought. "Well, yeah, but that wouldn't work. I mean Egon's still there. Unless part of him is gone, and I think that would look a whole lot different. You mean like the demon stole Peter's consciousness?" Then I thought of the fallacy of that argument. "No, that doesn't work. Egon got biorhythm readings from him after it happened. The meter reacted right away. Wouldn't they have shown if Peter was gone?"

Then I remembered what Egon had actually said and I felt the color leave my face. My knees lost their starch and I groped for the chair and sat down hard. Winston steadied me, and I saw a flash of alarm on his face, like he wondered if whatever had happened to the guys was catching.

Egon had said the readings made him think Peter's conscious mind and autonomic responses were no longer connected. Gee, that could mean Peter had been forced into an O.O.B.E. His readings might have been as normal as they were because he was hovering right above his body. People who could project themselves out of their bodies maintained a tether to the body, a silver cord that linked them to themselves, that they could follow to go home. Voluntary or involuntary astral journeying worked the same way. You drifted out wherever you were going--another plane, through walls, whatever--and the cord guided you home. I'd never done it, but I've talked to a couple of people who claimed they did it at will, and I'd always thought it sounded kinda neat--until now. If Peter was out of his body and if he was close enough, we'd get those readings. Maybe that was it. We couldn't provoke normal responses from him because he wasn't in there any longer, because his physical form and his consciousness were disconnected.

Winston sat beside me. "Ray?" He slung his arm around my shoulders again. "What's wrong? Come on, guy, don't look like that. We'll figure it out."

"What are you thinking, Doctor Stantz?" Solomon asked. He snatched up my wrist. I felt his fingers against my pulse point, and he glanced at his watch as he checked it. "Hmm. Normal. But you did lose color, Doctor Stantz."

I gazed up at him. "I think the demon forced Peter into astral projection."

Winston groaned. Even though he'd been the one to suggest it, I didn't think he'd really believed it. He might have been just tossing out a suggestion to get me thinking. He does that sometimes. So did--does--Peter. "Come on, Ray, that doesn't happen, does it?"

"Well, not very often," I replied. "Some people believe we're traveling astrally when we're dreaming, and Egon's alpha wave generator that lets us program our dreams is a kind of artificial astral projection device."

"That gizmo that we hook up to with those helmets?" He grimaced. "Weird thing. Controlling our dreams...."

I liked the experience myself; it could really help us to unwind after a stressful day, although we never used it, all four of us at once, not after entities had invaded it while we were sleeping and trapped us in there. Could it help now? We always used at least one of us as a control if we tried it. "We used to do a lot of study on fields like this when we were at the university. There's no actual concrete evidence for claims of out-of-body experiences, any more than there is the tunnel with the bright light that people see when they have an NDE."

"Near-death experience," translated Solomon automatically. "I've talked to four people over the years who claimed that happened to them. Whether it did or not, or whether it was simply an endorphin reaction triggered by chemical changes in the body as it approaches death I couldn't say. As for out-of-body experiences, some of the ones I've heard tell of have no doubt been caused by unwise use of illegal pharmaceuticals. Again, we could have a brain chemical response. Your average parapsychological incident is difficult to prove."

I nodded. "Yeah, we found that out at Columbia. There was usually a more basic, practical reason for a lot of the weird things people claimed. It was the stuff we couldn't explain that was really interesting." I pushed that away. It was neat, but this wasn't the time for it. "Anyway, I don't remember reading about any demons that could force an out-of-body experience."

Solomon wrinkled up his face like it was made of india rubber. Stretching to accommodate a new idea, a whole raft of them? I liked the guy. "Then could the demon have stolen Doctor Venkman's conscious mind?"

I frowned reproachfully at the doctor. Okay, maybe I didn't like what he had to say. I hadn't wanted to admit he could be right, even though the possibility was in my head yelling and screaming for my attention. If that had happened, and if it had taken some of Egon's awareness, too, how could we ever hope to get any of it back, with the demon gone? Even if we could find it, was there a way to draw out what had been lost?

Winston jumped to his feet and held up his hands to intercede. "Hold it, guys. Before you hitch a ride on that train, remember that Egon did get strong readings for Peter. The demon was long gone by then. Egon said Peter's responses might be separate, but he also said the meter wasn't designed to detect that. But he was getting readings that were close to normal, and if the demon had made off with Peter's mind, they wouldn't have been. Come on, Ray, you know that."

Relief pulsed through me. Good thing I was sitting down or I'd have fallen over. The demon hadn't stolen Peter's mind or Egon's. I did know it. There were other possibilities, too, besides the out-of-body experience. Peter's consciousness could have been driven deep inside, shunted away where he couldn't get at it. He might be in there yelling and screaming for attention and unable to break through to us. It might even be a weird form of possession, although we should have still detected demon readings if that were the case. Peter had told us after Watt possessed him that he'd been aware the whole time, just unable to fight it until we'd drawn the demon off him. But the demon was gone, and it hadn't gone into Peter. Winston had seen it take off, and the readings matched that. When Watt had possessed Peter, the readings had been definite. We could prove it was in there. This time, it wasn't. So it hadn't taken Peter's consciousness away, and it hadn't possessed him. And that left...what?

His body had felt so empty when I was sitting there in Herald Square holding onto him. I know that was a subjective evaluation, and Egon's always getting on my case for being too subjective, but it was how I had felt, that Peter wasn't there any longer. Just like I'd felt that something I couldn't define was wrong with Egon.

"I think if I took readings now, I could set the meter to test for an out-of-body experience," I said. "There should be a slight energy field that would represent the connection to the body. If Peter can't get back on his own, we might be able to help." I grinned faintly. "Once we found somebody who'd had an out-of-body experience. Remember, Winston, a year or so ago? That guy in the East Sixties? We thought he was a ghost, even if the readings didn't match a typical Class Three. He was able to communicate to us where his body was, and we helped him get home. I got really great readings of the silver cord, but I had to focus really fine to pick it up. But that means I know just what to look for now. If that's what happened to Peter, maybe we can get him home like we did that guy."

"How did you get him home?" Solomon gazed at me in utter fascination.

"Well, when we found out who he was, we used a thrower at really low power to guide him in the right direction," I explained. "We couldn't trap his essence or we'd have snapped the connection. But we just kind of steered him in the right direction. It was cool. If Peter's out there and doesn't know what happened to him, we can steer him back along the cord and pop him right in there, where he belongs." Excitement ran through me. "Wow, this'll be great."

It wasn't the answer for Egon, but maybe we could handle only one problem at a time. Egon wasn't out of his body.

If he saw my doubts, Winston didn't encourage them. "Way to go, homeboy." He rumpled my hair. "Let's do it. Let's get Peter back where he belongs."

"Very well," Solomon agreed. "But we'll soon be taking both of them down for their CAT scans. You have until then to check your theories, and I'll insist on being present to supervise you. If you find readings that match the other incident, I'll allow it, with careful modification, subject to halting it if it jeopardizes Doctor Venkman."

That was the best deal we could get. Besides, I wanted the doctor there to make sure we weren't doing any harm. I hadn't seen the guy's body when we were taking his consciousness home. Once he got close enough, he'd just popped in, and was himself before we even reached his door. We'd be there to monitor Peter, and Doctor Solomon could intercede if there were problems. I couldn't make them throw over the CAT scan and MRI just because I had a theory. If the demon had caused physical responses in my friends, they had to run their tests. But we'd run as many of ours as we could before then and with luck, maybe we could fix Peter's problem before it came to that. Then we'd see what to do about Egon. I snatched up Egon's meter that he'd given to me for safekeeping before the ambulance had whisked him and Peter away.

The only bad thing about the theory was the one that would probably shoot it down.

Could just part of a person's consciousness go on an astral journey? And if not, then what on earth was wrong with Egon?

Egon

Was Peter dead?

I knew he was breathing. I could see him breathing. As I lay here on the bed in my ER cubicle waiting for them to come and take Peter and myself for tests, I watched him. I had been watching him since the doctor finished with him and moved out of my way. It was as if I couldn't stop looking at him, as if I would blink and he would be gone. His body would still be there, but it would be empty, a mere shell.

Wasn't that what wat is right now? Doctor Solomon, who examined him, told me he may have had a stroke. Surely he was incorrect. I didn't want to accept that possibility. I wanted the problem to have a paranormal source that we could research and remove. I didn't want to think that everything that made Peter who he was ha been destroyed, that he would never recover. I am not a praying man. I prefer rational solutions. But my emotions appeared to be working independently of my rationality, and I found myself saying, "Please, God, let him recover."

Once or twice, I imagined hearing Peter's voice talking to me, very faint and distant. Was that wishful thinking? Did the demon's attack enable me to respond to Peter, wherever his mind had gone? Was he trapped inside himself, unable to emerge? Was he forced out of his body?

Why had it taken me so long to formulate even a rough theory? Why couldn't I concentrate properly?

I knww it was because the demon's touch affected me, too. Peter was hit harder and he was hit first. Perhaps that touch diluted the effect of what happened to me, or perhaps the fact that Peter had full impact and I had a graze meant that I was affected to a lesser degree.

The demon had wanted me. It was coming for me. Peter jumped in its way to save me.

If he never came back from this comatose state, I would know that Peter died for me.

The pain that ran through me at that thought was like hot ice lancing my veins. No! I would not surrender Peter. There had to be a way to revive him, even if the doctor who examined him was perplexed. The other doctor told me he could not explain my reactions, either. He said they vaguely mimicked those who had experienced a grand mal seizure, but I had no seizure. I was positive that I never once lost consciousness. There was no time distortion, and I did not collapse. There were none of the physical manifestations he would have expected had such an incident occurred--and if it had, Ray and Winston would have mentioned it to the paramedics. Ergo, no seizure.

Peter's body had not moved since he collapsed, except to breathe. His heart was beating normally. I could see the electrodes they attached to monitor him and observed the readouts on the screen over his head. Heart, respiration, temperature, blood pressure. All normal, although his blood pressure might have been slightly lower than normal. He should be awake. He should be conscious. But he was not.

And I know with an inner certainty that I am unable to explain that he is not there any longer.

I am able to arouse him in the mornings when he is determined to sleep in. It was time to use that voice. "Peter? You must wake up. Wake up now!"

Nothing. Not even a flutter of the monitors.

With a shuddery sigh, I sat up. I wasn't weak, although the odd dizziness and peculiar vision persisted. When I turned my head, I saw a series of overlapping images that confused me and distorted my reactions. If I lay unmoving, gradually it would steady, but I couldn't lie unmoving, not when Peter needed me. I had to do something--if only I could think of something to do. My blood pressure was normal, too, and the endless initial tests had discovered nothing that would suggest a brain tumor--suddenly induced through a demon touch to my arm? Highly unlikely. That was what the CAT scan and MRI would help to uncover. I had no fever. No seizures that would account for the odd reaction. Yet I did not feel...right. I should have been able to clarify that observation, but I could not. That was as far as I could take it. I did not feel right.

There had been no decline, though. At least whatever the demon did to me does not appear to be progressive. Small cause for rejoicing there, as I had not improved, either. I could not function like this. My mental abilities have always been vital to my sense of self. Without the normal ability to reason clearly, what is left of me?

What would be left of me without Peter?

I made my way unsteadily across the five endless feet that separated us, and I gripped his hand. His fingers lay unmoving in mine with utterly no sense of familiarity, as if I had grasped the hand of a total stranger, someone I didn't even know, someone who had stopped being Peter. The urge to drop the unresponsive fingers was very strong. It felt as if I'd picked up the hand of a newly dead corpse. Still warm, but ready to cool.

Oh, Peter....

Still warm. I had to remember that. Stop being fanciful, Egon, and think. I squeezed the lax fingers hard. "Peter, you will wake up," I said fiercely, the same commanding tone I had used to force him out of bed when he tried to sleep in on the morning of a scheduled bust. If I put precisely the correct note into my voice, he erupts from his covers like Krakatoa.

No eruptions today. His body lay there, empty. Breathing. Heart beating. No one at home.

If only I could see clearly.

When I turned my head, there were delayed afterimages of everything I saw. There were even pre-images, if such things existed. I felt as if my eyeballs were stretching into new shapes.

I knww there were more tests scheduled for me, as there were for Peter. A CAT scan. An MRI. Those for both of us--I suspected they wanted to compare our readings since we were affected by the same source--affected to such differing reactions. For me, there would likely be tests to examine my vision. If I had been slimed in the face, perhaps that would explain the way my vision shifted and flickered, the way I got a delayed, eery reaction when I turned my head as if the connection between my optic nerve and my brain had a short circuit. A frightening thought. My glasses did not help at all, but when they took them for examination in the ambulance, the sense of utter panic that flooded me made my blood pressure shoot up, and when I insisted that I needed them, although I could not explain my urgency, they gave them back. Blurred and distorted at the same time was too much for my confusion to handle. Doctor Solomon and Doctor Barrett had allowed me to keep them here, too.

The demon hadn't even left a residue of slime on my arm. I thought of that while I was being examined and asked to inspect my jumpsuit. I should have considered it right away. The hospital personnel have been very gentle with me. They have tolerated my odd whimseys and offered simple explanations whenever I asked for them. I know they are confused by my reactions, but they do not know me when I am myself. I suspect they put my reaction down to fear for Peter--and that is most of it, of course. You will not die, Peter.

Trying not to, Spengs.

I jerked as if I'd been poked with a cattle prod and stared down at Peter. He lay there, as inert as before. Had I actually heard that, or was it simply wishful thinking? I should have been able to tell the difference, but I could not. I had to believe Peter can communicate with me at a basic, elemental level. If Peter is trapped within himself, maybe our years of friendship could reach him.

I would do whatever it took.

Peter was not slimed either. The demon impacted against him but left no ectoplasm behind. Was that significant?

If so, I could think of no reason for it. None at all.

Only good thing, I'm not drowning in goop.

Peter? Dear god, that had sounded like Peter. Just like the voice I had believed I heard before. Once might be imagination. Twice had to be real--or insanity? Real, then. I will insist upon it.

I tightened my grip on his hand and held on with all my strength. Peter, please, you have to respond. I will not let you die. I raised the hand I clasped and pressed it against my chest. We will get you back. I just wish I knew how.

Thought...you knew...everything, Spengs.

"Peter!" Had I fantasized it? Was that voice real? What had I done differently? Simply held his hand. Physical contact? Was that it? Time to test it. "Peter, speak to me. I know you can hear me."

Nothing. No response at all. My stomach twisted. I closed my eyes against the distorted vision and struggled to ignore the headache that throbbed behind my closed eyes. It hadn't eased since I was brought in, any more than my vision had. The doctor was reluctant to order me a pain-killer, not even Tylenol, until they completed their tests. But as I clutched Peter's hand and pleaded with him to respond, the pain increased until it became nearly unbearable. My knees felt weak, and vertigo threatened. I forced open my eyes and the headache eased slightly, although it didn't go away.

"Egon!"

At Ray's alarmed shout, I turned to stare at him. He was wearing a proton pack, although Winston wasn't. I wondered if he expected the demon to show up, but then why wouldn't Winston have his pack, too? The sudden turn was a mistake. My vision didn't track as well as I'd hoped it would and I nearly pitched over on the floor. I had to let go of Peter to keep from falling, for fear of pulling him down with me.

Ray and Winston caught me before I could collapse and would have put me back to bed, but I fought them. "No. I need to stay here. I think I communicated with Peter, guys."

"Really?" Ray's face lit up with the ready hope that he manages the best of all of us. "How? Is he waking up?" He let Winston hold me up and pressed up against the side of the bed. When he picked up Peter's hand in the hand that didn't hold the P.K.E. meter, I saw automatic revulsion flit across his face, as he felt the same emptiness I had experienced. But he gnawed on his bottom lip for a second and swallowed hard--and didn't let go. "Peter? Peter, it's Ray. Can you hear me?"

Only then did I realize how my words would be construed. Had I given Ray and Winston false hope? The hand I had been holding had never once stirred in mine. Peter had not responded to me aloud. The monitors had reported no surge, no change at all. Perhaps I had simply imagined his responses out of my extreme need for him to regain consciousness, for him to be all right.

Very carefully, I took his hand from Ray. I saw Ray and Winston--and the bald doctor, Solomon, behind him--respond to the gesture. Then Ray shook his head. "Egon, I need to take readings of Peter. I've got an idea that I want to try. It would be better if you moved back so I could get clear readings." He sounded like he hated to even ask me to let go, and worse, he sounded like he had taken the entire responsibility of restoring Peter on his shoulders. I knew he would try as hard as he possibly could, and I knew he would never give up.

But what if Peter never woke up?

I hated to let go, but before I released him I closed my fingers over Peter's tightly. I'm not going away, Peter. I will be right here. I give you my word of that.

You'd better.

An answer? More wishful thinking? It was evident from the worry and sympathy on Ray's and Winston's faces that they had heard--or sensed--nothing. Perhaps what I imagined or intuited came entirely out of my distorted mind--or from the fact that the demon had attacked us both. Perhaps there was enough demon energy left--residuals?--for me to feel Peter, although I could not be sure the thought was real.

I let go. It was like tearing off my own skin, and I had to fight with all the strength I possessed not to snatch back Peter's hand. If I let go, perhaps he would die.

He didn't die, though. The instruments over his head didn't change at all. If he'd been aware of me inside, surely something should have altered when I broke the grip. When I realized his readings were constant, I allowed Winston to guide me back to my own bed and help me sit down. There were answers here. Ray said he had an idea. That might make a difference. He might have figured it out. There were theories to explore, but my mind didn't want to go that route. All I wanted to do was go back and snatch up Peter's hand again.

"Easy, Egon," Winston soothed me. He sat beside me on the bed, a comforting arm around my shoulders, and I looked down and saw my bare feet dangling down lower than his boots. I wondered vaguely where my boots were.

Ray activated the meter. "I already set it to Peter's biorhythms," he said. "There's something I need to check out. If it works...." He let his voice trail off. Ray was usually so optimistic, but now he sounded scared, as if his idea was a stab in the dark. I half expected him to cross his fingers before he tested his theory. He didn't aim the meter at Peter at all, but held it out in front of him. It beeped reassuringly.

Reassuringly? How could it reassure us when Peter was...was whatever he was? I frowned at the meter's betrayal.

Are you there, Peter?

E-egon?

That one word was so faint and foggy I couldn't be sure it was real. Could Ray or Winston hear it? Ray just kept on moving around, holding the meter in front of him, and it kept right on beeping.

Winston drew breath to speak, but before he could do so, Ray waved his hand wildly for attention.

"I think he's here," he said to the doctor.

Surely that was wrong. "Raymond, of course he is here," I pointed out with exaggerated impatience. "He is lying right before you."

Ray gazed at me sadly and I realized that my confusion had forced me to misinterpret his words. "Egon, we think the demon might have forced an out-of-body experience. That's what I'm testing for right now." The very gentleness of his explanation hurt; it was proof that he knew I was not myself, that I was damaged, perhaps brain-damaged, that I might never be normal again.

If I were not normal, then what hope did Peter have, who had been affected so much worse?

Winston's arm tightened around my shoulders. "Egon?" He sounded doubtful. "I could have sworn I heard Peter a minute ago."

Ray's eyes grew bigger. "Really? You heard him? I wish I'd heard him. What did he say?"

"I think he said Egon's name, but it was so faint I can't tell if it was real or if I imagined it, you know, because I wanted to so badly."

A surge of elation pumped through me so intense that I nearly blacked out. The room swayed before my eyes as my vision did its peculiar dance. "That's what I heard," I said. "Just now, before Ray took the reading." Let it be true. If Winston had heard that forlorn whimper, then I was not insane--and Peter was not dead.

Or...was he?

Yes, his body lived. But the crash cart waiting for it to fail proved the doctors had no confidence that it would continue to do so. I had to fight down the nasty twist of fear in my stomach. An out-of-body experience? Peter would hover near his body. "Ray, can you adjust the meter to detect...." I had to stop and think. "The man we helped return to his body. Do you remember those readings?"

Alarm flashed in his eyes as he realized that I did not. I could not think. Peter might have been forced into an involuntary out-of-body experience, but what of myself? I was still here? Could a man's conscious awareness be split? Was a part of me gone, as well? Was that the part that could hear Peter?

No, for Winston had not been affected by the demon. He was not delusional, he was not brain damaged. He was simply his usual tower of strength, and his admission could not have been influenced by me, because I had not spoken my experience aloud. I was proud of that reasoning, simple as it was. But I could take it no further. I simply could not make sense of it. I could only hold onto the fact that Winston had heard him, too. And that meant that Peter still existed, that more than his body existed. I had to believe that. It was essential.

Ray bent over the meter, concentrating so hard that the tip of his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth. "That's what I thought of, Egon," he explained. "I remembered that guy from the Upper East Side, the one we helped back to his body. I thought if I checked, if the readings were like that, we could focus on the tether Peter has to his body and guide him home where he belongs." He grew more and more excited as he talked. I could recall that the settings he needed were exceptionally narrow and required careful tuning. No wonder I had been unable to detect such a thing in Herald Square. I had adjusted the meter for simple biorhythm readings.

"So you can guide Peter along the cord with a thrower at low power." That was why he was wearing his proton pack. He had a plan to return Peter to his body. "Well done, Raymond." I didn't want to think that Peter had endured endless...endless what? Solitude? Separation? Surely fear and confusion, simply because I had been unable to think.

"Come on, Egon." That was Winston, right there for me while Ray worked. "Not your fault. Ray and I are here, too. There's a lot of information to process. We're working on it."

He was right, but it didn't make me feel any better about it. Of all of us, Peter hates to be alone. He is always happier with people around him. How very isolated he must be now. We'll get you back, Peter, I promised him.

No response. Disappointed, I turned to Ray. He finished his settings and leveled the meter at Peter. I could feel him willing it to respond. Winston and I focused on the tips of the antennae. They wouldn't stir much for such a faint energy field as the silver cord produced. But they would stir.

They didn't respond at all.

Ray threw himself at the dials. "Gotta work, gotta work," he muttered under his breath. I shuddered, and Winston tightened his arm around me.

Ray tried four separate adjustments to the meter while Doctor Solomon hovered over Peter, his eyes darting back and forth between the monitors over Peter's head and Peter himself. I suspected he was ready to intervene with a medical solution if he thought it necessary. He didn't intervene, though. He simply monitored.

Ray muttered a profanity under his breath, then he heaved a vast, shaken sigh and lowered the meter. When he looked up, his face was white. "Egon, Winston, I can't find it."

"Find what, Ray?" asked Winston. I was glad he'd spoken because I could not form words.

"The tether. The cord. It was the only way I could think of to get Peter back into his body. We could use the thrower to steer him in the right direction. I remember exactly what settings we used to pick it up for that guy. But I'm not detecting it." His shoulders slumped. "I'm just not reading it at all."

"And that means?" prompted Doctor Solomon as an orderly came in wheeling a gurney, a second orderly trailing behind. They headed straight for Peter.

Ray watched them move Peter carefully onto the gurney, and his eyes were huge with distress. "If we're right and Peter's had an out-of-body experience, then the cord that tethers him to his body has been broken," he said. "And that means he'll never be able to get home." He looked as if it would take very little for him to burst into tears.

I flinched as they wheeled Peter away for his CAT scan. Vertigo caught me abruptly and I sagged against Winston, who turned alarmed eyes in my direction, then jumped up and helped me to lie down. The desolation that flooded me was tinged with an unexplained fear, a sense of loss, as if something very important to me was gone forever.

Would I ever see Peter alive again?

Peter

Egon, Egon, where are you? I can't find myself. I'm trapped.

I threw the soundless words out into the nothingness around me. I had vague physical sensations, but they weren't anywhere near normal sensations. They were too distant, too disconnected, and I couldn't control any of them. I was on a giant roller coaster, swooping along, or I was in a runaway car that didn't have a steering wheel. Enough to make a guy dizzy as hell. I couldn't see right, either, but I could see Ray in front of me. He came and went. I hadn't seen him for a long time, but it was so good to see him that I focused on him with everything I had.

I couldn't hear Egon now. And then Ray was gone and I couldn't see anything but a wall, or a ceiling. I couldn't tell which it was. But I was alone there, and I couldn't be alone.

Egon! Help me.

I'm here, Peter.

He was there. I couldn't see him, I couldn't hear him--hard to hear when your ears aren't attached any longer, when you can't find your body, when there's no way home. But as long as I could hear Egon, it was all right. Because I knew Egon would find a way to bring me home.

I don't know where I am. I didn't mean to sound like a crybaby but I couldn't help it. I didn't want to be alone. What if my body was dead? I could never go back. I'd just drift around out here and disperse like a ghost who resolves all his issues. They're always glad to go, but I wasn't. I didn't want to die. I wasn't ready. I needed the guys and they needed me. I didn't want to die like this, alone and scared, without even a chance to say goodbye. I shivered. I know it wasn't a real shiver, but it felt like one.

Egon's mental voice strengthened. How did he do that? He had to be as freaked as I was, but it was like the interference that made this weird telegraph system sputter in and out was gone and instead I could hear him clearly. I don't know where you are, Peter, but you exist. You are here, and we can communicate. I will not let go.

If I'd had eyes, I'd probably have bawled. Egon wouldn't let me go. He might not understand what was happening any more than I did, but I believed him. I trusted him. Thanks, Spengs, I told him gratefully. So, you want to put the great brain to work on this?

He gave a mental sputter of laughter. Not so great a brain now, Peter. I'm affected, as you are.

He was drifting around out in the ether, too? Weird. I wondered where we were. Okay, the not-so-great brain then.

Really, Peter! He collected himself. I could feel it, with a weird sense I didn't recognize except to know it wasn't one of the usual five. Sense Number Twenty-seven? Or was this telepathy? We all had developed a little heightened psi from all our exposure to ghosts. Egon could usually tell what I was thinking anyway. How much different was this? I couldn't reason it out, and didn't care, as long as there was an answer, as long as Egon was here to reassure me, wherever here was.

Hey, I try. I flashed a mental grin in his direction but I couldn't tell if it took. Heck, I couldn't even tell if it was the right direction. Not much help when all I could see was a boring white ceiling with weird angled edges to it, as if its corners overlapped. Do you know where I am? I asked.

The pause was just long enough for me to start getting worried. Then he came back, and he leveled with me. Knew I could count on him for that. Peter, we theorize you may have been forced into an out-of-body experience.

You called that one on the money. Right out in the ether, hanging out without a bod. Gonna be hard to get dates like this.

This time, the pause was filled with emotion. He was agonizing over me and trying not to show it, 'cause he knew it would get me down. When he 'spoke', it was in a deliberately light tone. Only you would think of dating at a time like this. He paused to collect himself. I could feel his unhappiness, and I didn't like it. Peter, I am not trapped out of my body. However, I was attacked by the demon in passing, although not as severely as you were. My...my mind is affected.

He tried hard not to sound afraid, but it was all through him. I felt a savage urge to track down the demon and turn him inside out--and stomp him into jelly. Gonna be okay, Egon. Even if you're upside down for a little while, you can still run circles around the demon--and just about everybody else in the known universe.

At least I don't sleep till noon every day.

I blew him a mental raspberry, and I could feel the ether around me quiver as he laughed. What scared me was my instant recognition that it was the kind of laughter that's next door to tears.

"Egon, what's wrong?"

That was Ray's voice, and it sounded really loud and echo-y. Where had Ray come from? Where was he?

There he was. He was staring at me--but I was pretty sure he didn't see me. Weird. There wasn't any recognition in his eyes, just concern, and that was there by the bucketful.

"Egon, why are you laughing?" I could tell from the way Ray's eyes were so round and shadowy that he thought laughing was way out of line right now--and that he thought if Egon was laughing it was because he was demented. That had to mean Egon was the only one who could hear me, and that was probably because old Eyebrows had given him a zap, too. Linked us up in a crazy psychic hot-line.

I waited for Egon to answer him, and when he did, his voice didn't sound right. I almost didn't recognize it. More nasal or something, like he was struggling against tears. "Ray?"

He shouldn't have to cry for me. I'm sorry, Egon.

You have nothing to be sorry for, Peter.

At least he hadn't gone away. I felt a surge of something I didn't recognize, and then the distorted voice continued. "Raymond, I am in mental communication with Peter."

Ray's mouth fell open. What was interesting was that there wasn't a shred of doubt in his expression at all. "Really? Gosh. Peter, are you there? Can you hear me?"

Loud and clear, Tex.

The telepathy number didn't work with Ray. He waited hopefully, straining to hear, and he got nothing. His face fell.

"He said, 'loud and clear, Tex,'" Egon translated for me.

"Say what?" There was Winston, too, crowding in to stare at me without a trace of recognition. He couldn't see me, either. His face was torn. He wanted to believe Egon was talking to me but I could tell from the shadows in his eyes that he was afraid it might be whatever Eyebrows had done to Egon that made him think it. He was afraid Egon was loony, loopy, ga-ga, and he was trying really hard not to show it. I didn't want Egon to pick up on that thought, but he did.

Sorry, Spengs.

It's all right, Egon. I would have doubts, too, if I had not experienced this communication.

"Where is Peter?" Ray asked. "I'm still getting biorhythms--well, no, it's not really biorhythms, but it's like biorhythms, sorta, and it's got Peter's signature on it. I never saw anything like this before. It's a little like when that guy was out of his body, but different, too. I hope it's not the same as that, because I can't find the cord...."

"Record it, Ray." Egon's distorted voice sounded shaken and weary. "Peter doesn't know where he is, and I don't, either. I am very much afraid that...." He let his voice trail off. Peter. I must give Ray information. Please don't be alarmed.

Kinda hard not to, Spengs. Go ahead. Let it all hang out. I can take it.

Egon collected himself. I could sense it with the weird link we had. "I am afraid that Peter has become...a disembodied spirit."

I'd known he was gonna say that, but it hit me so hard, hearing it voiced, that the world darkened around me. I couldn't see Ray or Winston any longer. I could see nothing, just darkness. God, was I about to disperse?

Egon!

Vision came back, still overlapping and glittering around the edges, and there were Ray and Winston, their eyes full of horror. Egon had just told them I was a ghost. I'd never get back to my body. It would lie there in a hospital bed connected to life support for years and years and I'd drift around out here and fade away until there was nothing left of me...alone.

"No!" Ray pulled himself together and shook off his horror. "That's not right, Egon. You're not thinking clearly. I'd have Class Three readings if Peter were...a ghost. You know I would. I don't. I just have these weird ones. The demon did something, but he didn't kill Peter. I know he didn't." He lifted his head and stared vaguely into the air. "Peter, if you can hear me, you listen to me. You're not a ghost. We don't have all the answers. Janine'll be here soon and she's bringing Tobin's Spirit Guide. Then we'll figure it out and we'll get you back in your body. I promise, Peter. We'll get you back."

I wanted to believe him so bad I could almost taste it--or I would have tasted it if I'd had any taste buds. Ray meant it; his sincerity was so intense that Doubting Thomas would have believed him. I think Egon did, too. But it was hard to see, all of a sudden. My vision went even more blurry than before, like a water-color picture that's been left out in the rain, and Ray and Winston slid sideways into a confused jumble.

Egon?

I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't mean to doubt. Of course we will bring you back.

Vision went away again. In the background, I could hear Ray and Winston making distressed noises, and I realized that poor old Egon was crying. He's always so strong it was hard to remember he'd been affected, too. He'd been carrying that burden, afraid his mind was going, afraid I was lost forever, afraid the world was changing. Egon never cried, at least not in public, but there were times when it was just too much to bear alone. I knew it as clearly as if Egon had explained it to me in little words. I could feel his pain, as clearly as my own. It was my own.

It's okay, Egon. Let it go. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. God, I hope I can keep that promise.

You will keep that promise, Peter.

I hadn't even thought it to him. He'd just known. That was my Egon, even if he was a little discombobulated by whatever it was the demon had done to us. His strength and his heart weren't affected.

Or your courage and stubbornness, Peter.

And something happened then that filled up the emptiness so much that he wasn't the only one crying. He was there, in my mind, and I was in his, and I wasn't alone.

And it was...great.

I heard Ray and Winston calling Egon's name in the distance, and they came back into view after a second, hovering. I wished they could see me, but I knew they couldn't.

Ray can see you with the meter, Peter.

'Meter, Peter'. Hey, Spengs, you're no Shakespeare.

And we laughed, together.

Togetherness. I wasn't alone.

But I wasn't where I belonged, either. Come on, guys, help me go home.

Winston

Janine showed up right after they took Egon for his CAT scan. I looked up and saw her in the door to the waiting room, her face crowded with anxiety, the huge book tucked under one arm, pulling her slightly off balance. Her face was white with anxiety as she studied us, trying to tell from our expressions how Egon and Pete were. Ray looked up, too. and saw her, then he jumped to his feet and raced to take it from her. "Gosh, thanks, Janine. I really need this."

I followed him and gathered Janine in. She wrapped her arms around my waist and clung to me, shivering, until she recaptured her control, then she backed away. Janine was like that, one of the strongest women I'd ever met. She's like my mama that way. "So, how are they?" she asked. I liked the way she stood tall and brave while she waited for our answer.

"Well, the demon did something to them," I admitted. "Go ahead, Ray, see what you can find in the book. I'll fill Janine in."

He went over to the couch where we'd been waiting and opened the book on his knees. The two women on the far side of the waiting room feasted their eyes on us. I imagined them composing their stories for the National Enquirer.

I described what was going on as gently as I could. It wasn't pretty news, but I knew she'd stand up to it, no matter how much it hurt. When I told Janine that the doctor said Peter might have had a stroke, her face turned even paler than before and she pressed her hands to her mouth. In spite of the way she and Peter get on each other's case and ride each other, I knew she really loved Peter like a brother, but I'd never seen her caring displayed more vividly before.

Then she shook her head fiercely. "Not a chance. It's a ghost thing, not a stroke. You'll see, I'm right. There's no way Doctor V could have had a stroke. He's too tough to...." She let her voice run down before she could finish the sentence. Both of us imagined Peter, paralyzed, his speech affected, his mind affected, never normal again--assuming he improved even that much.

I put my hands on her shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "Well, girlfriend, we don't know what the demon could have done. That's why Ray wanted Tobin, so he can figure it out." Assuming the demon is even in there. Not all demons were, and we knew it. "We thought maybe it's an out-of-body experience, but if it is, we haven't figured out yet how to put him back where he belongs."

"You will. You guys do impossible stuff every day of the week. You'll figure it out."

She sounded so determined I had to go along with her. "I know we will," I said. I almost did know it. It was just that little edge of doubt that bugged me. Gotta keep that quiet. I don't want her or Ray worrying over me, not when Pete and Egon need us to concentrate on them.

"What about Egon?" she demanded. "If the demon did the same thing to him as it did to Peter, how come they don't think he had a stroke? That proves it's not a stroke. The doctor just needs to start thinking."

"We think Pete might have been forced into an out-of-body experience," I repeated.

"Well, that's not so bad. Is it? Just figure out how to get him back in his body. I know there's a way. That makes more sense than a stroke, and you know it. You guys helped that man who got lost on the astral plane before. Just do that to Doctor V."

"We're trying. It's not easy. We do get biorhythms, but we can't quite find the link to guide him back. If he's close enough for biorhythms, then we should be able to trace the 'cord' that ties him to his body, but Ray couldn't get readings like that guy we helped had. We're afraid the link's broken."

Her eyes widened. "But doesn't that mean...his consciousness will just...disperse." Horror wrote itself across her face. She grabbed for my wrists and held on tight. I could practically feel the bruises forming where her fingers pressed.

"Well, the biorhythm readings are just as strong now as they were at the site," I said. "If that's gonna happen, there's no trace of it yet. He's still here, somewhere. The readings aren't normal, though."

"But aren't biorhythms just proof that his--his body's alive?"

I hadn't wanted to think that or to remember what Egon had said in Herald Square, that Peter's consciousness was separate from his body. Biorhythm readings weren't that specific, anyway, at least not the way we took them with the meters. No matter what I said to reassure Janine, I couldn't give her the answers all of us wanted, because I simply didn't know. The simplest explanation is usually the right one, and the simplest explanation might be that the demon's contact had done something to Peter's brain that had induced a stroke. I hoped those involuntary eye reflexes kept right on going and that they didn't find any bleeding in the brain. I just wasn't ready to accept a stroke as the cause of Peter's coma.

"What about Egon?" she asked. "Ray said on the phone that he was conscious, but that he was in shock or something?" I could see her steeling herself to face still more bad news.

I hated to tell her Egon insisted he could talk to Peter in his mind. Those two are closer than most brothers, even though you'd never think it if you took them at face value, but last I heard they weren't telepathic. Sure, sometimes they could finish each other's sentences, but we could all do that a little. Comes from knowing each other so well, not from demons making us psychic.

Janine wasn't the type of woman you could keep secrets from, though. She let go of my wrists and poked me in the chest. "Go on, what's the rest? What's wrong with Egon? Ray said on the phone that he was a little out of it."

Yeah, that was probably a kind way to put it. Somebody who didn't know Egon might not even pick it up, but he wasn't operating at his usual level of brilliance. He was thinking and reasoning, but more down on the level with us ordinary mortals. "He says he can't think clearly," I admitted. "But the demon did something to them when it touched them. Maybe it just short-circuited their brains for a little while. Maybe it will wear off or maybe the tests will figure out what it was and fix it. And if that doesn't happen, if it's paranormal like we think it is, Ray will figure it out."

We both stared at Ray who flipped a page as we watched. He traced a line of text with one finger, and his lips moved soundlessly as he read the words. Then he shook his head impatiently and flipped another page. Janine and I exchanged an uneasy glance.

"There's more," she said. "You guys couldn't keep a secret from me if your lives depended on it. Come on, give."

I grimaced. "Egon says he's in touch with Peter mentally."

She stared at me. I wasn't sure whether she was really upset and holding it in or what. Then she made a face and gave a little snort of exasperation. "Is that what you found so hard to say? I think I'll faint." Her lips twitched. "Why not in mental contact? If the demon did something to them, maybe he just cross-wired their brains. Don't you get stuck buying into the medical-only explanation, Winston. We're talking about a demon here, one that affected both of them. Why couldn't it make them able to talk telepathically? What does Peter tell him about where he is? Geez, men! You'd think you'd have been asking Peter all kinds of questions so you could figure this out."

"We were just starting to question him when they came and took Egon away for his CAT scan. Peter's had his already. I haven't heard the results of it yet. I don't think you get them back in the next five minutes." I grimaced. You'd think they could rush them through, but then everybody whose loved ones were down probably wanted results right now. We got the same treatment as everybody else. It was only fair--but it was frustrating. "They're doing that for both of them and MRI's, and if they can't find anything with Pete, they'll do an EEG." I remembered the stark misery on Egon's face when he said he thought Peter had become a ghost. I wasn't about to tell Janine he'd been crying. If I did, she'd break every hospital rule ever written to go to him, and, much as we all love Janine, I thought a dose of her loving-kindness might overwhelm him, the way he was right now. Once the tests were over, we'd all talk. Maybe, by then, he and Peter would have figured out answers. Even if Egon was screwed up a little, Pete could help him. They'd solve it. Somebody would solve it. If not them, Ray would find something in Tobin. Leave it like this? No chance.

She hesitated, then she put into words a question I'd rather had not been brought up. "Winston, are you sure he's talking to Peter in his mind? He's not just imagining it?"

I won't deny I'd thought of that, but I shook my head. "No way, Janine. Besides, I thought I heard him once myself."

"I wish I had," Ray said without looking up. The pages kept ruffling. I wanted to tell him to concentrate on the book, but I didn't say a word. He had enough on his plate without me faulting him.

"What did Peter say when you heard him?" Janine demanded.

"Just Egon's name." I didn't want to tell her how lost and scared he'd sounded. It wasn't fair to Pete, and if what I'd heard was real, I sure didn't mean to let Janine know how vulnerable he was, even if I knew the rules were different now, and she wouldn't use it against him later.

She scrunched up her face in concentration, then her expression cleared. "So, let me get this straight. You heard Peter say Egon's name. And were you maybe, like, touching Egon when this happened?"

Ray's head came up so fast I thought he'd get whiplash. "Winston! You were! You had your arm around Egon's shoulders. Gosh, I should have thought of that."

"What, that Egon's turned into a touch telepath and all I had to do was touch him to pick up on it?" I liked the idea, but surely it was too simple. We'd all touched Egon since this had happened, and that was the only time it had come through. "Why did it take so long for it to happen?" I asked.

Janine frowned and tapped her toe. "Maybe because they were both pretty disoriented from the demon's attack, and it took a long time for them to connect? Maybe the demon dumped Peter's consciousness in Egon's body or