3CHAPTER THREE
In City Hall of New York City, the mayor of the most important metropolis in the world, Dr. Peter Venkman, sat in his office, with his feet up on his desk and a phone pressed to his ear. As usual, he was trying to talk somebody into something—a skill that came in very handy in his job as mayor.
"No, I don't care what you think," Peter said with a laugh. "I really don't, I'm sorry." He turned toward the window behind him, raising his voice. "Do you know who you are talking to, pal? Dr. Peter Venkman, Mayor of New York? The should-be capital of the United States? Perhaps you've heard of me? So, when it comes to this, what I say goes. I only want what is best for my people, and that is a day off tomorrow—a national holiday—for the entire United States of America to receive much-needed time to spend with their families."
Peter listened to the other person on the phone, then continued.
"Yes, tomorrow is also me and my wife's wedding anniversary. No, I didn't forget. And that has nothing to do with—"
Peter listened again. The other person on the line talked much longer this time. Peter's face dropped.
"Yes, I'm sorry," Peter said. "I know. I apologize again, Mr. President. Okay. I will. I know I shouldn't—I'm sorry. Tell Michelle I said hi. And Sasha, too. And Malia. Hello? Barry? Hello...?"
Like most of Peter's conversations as mayor, this one ended with a dial tone on the other end.
"Another important government phone call?"
Peter looked up. His wife, Dana, was standing in the doorway. She was 58 years old and somehow even more elegant and beautiful now that she was the first lady of New York City (and also one of the most charitable women in the country.)
Peter stood and walked to her, and they shared a kiss.
"Or are you finally making plans for our big day tomorrow?" she asked with a smile.
Peter waved her off. "Oh, don't you worry about that, honey. Being married to the most powerful man on the east coast has its privileges, you know. Really, I could just think of something at the last minute and we'd still have a wonderful day."
"You forgot, didn't you?"
"No! Forget? How could I ever forget our twentieth wedding anniversary?"
"Nineteenth."
"Nineteenth, nineteenth. You know, it just feels like we've been married forever."
"Tell me about it."
Peter walked to a mirror, adjusting his tie. "Did Oscar call you at the house by any chance this morning, by the way? He called here at seven o'clock, saying he just wanted to talk. I don't think he had been to sleep yet."
"I know," Dana said, crossing her arms. "He called me, too, right after that. I'm so worried about him, Peter. He's always been a little nervous, but he seems to be getting worse now since he moved out. I don't know what to do."
"You just have to let him get used to it. When I first moved out of my parents' house, I was the same way. Every sound I heard made me wanna jump out the window."
Suddenly, Peter's assistant, a young man named Jack Hardemeyer Jr., popped his head into the doorway.
"Mr. Mayor?"
"Aaaaaah!" Peter screamed, jumping back.
"Oh, sorry, Mr. Mayor. But your two o'clock meeting is here?"
"Thanks, Jack." Peter led Dana out of the office, rubbing his hands together. "Oh, c'mon, honey, this is gonna be so cool! Two authors are here who called me this morning—they wanna write a book about the Ghostbusters. Isn't that great? Finally, I'll get the credit that I deserve." Peter cleared his throat and corrected himself. "I mean, finally, we—all the Ghostbusters—will get the credit that we deserve."
At the end of the hallway, Peter and Dana reached City Hall's main conference room. Before she opened the door, Dana turned around.
"Maybe I'll just spend the night there tonight, they have an extra room. I'll just stay a couple nights until he feels safe."
Peter smiled and cocked his eyebrow. "His mother, sleeping over his house when he's twenty-one years old? I hope you're kidding."
Dana smiled back sadly. "Maybe. But not really."
Dana opened the door and they entered the conference room.
"Mr. Mayor," Jack said, waving his arm toward their guests, "this is Steve Townsend and Rebecca Smith."
Steve and Rebecca shook hands with Peter. They were both in their mid-thirties, with dark hair and glasses, and both dressed very plainly, in collared shirts and black pants. It was clear they were smart, bookish writers without much fashion sense.
"So these are the two visionaries who want to write about the Ghostbusters, huh?" Peter asked. "I like you guys already."
Peter turned to Dana.
"This is my wife Dana. She was possessed once, you know, and I saved her life. You don't have to put that in the book, but...probably should."
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Venkman," Rebecca said, shaking her hand.
"We look forward to hearing about your possession," Steve added.
Dana shrugged and smiled. "Not my proudest moment, but I'll do my best to tell you what I remember."
The group sat at the conference room's table.
"So, what are your questions?" Peter said, plopping his hands down in front of him. "Ask away. I'm ready for anything."
Steve got to work, placing a recorder on the table and opening a notebook.
"Well, Mr. Mayor, what I'm most interested in is…" He thought it over. "During the 80's and most of the 90's, you and the other Ghostbusters caught ghosts. You actually went into people's houses and caught ghosts that were haunting them. That is pretty incredible."
"Paranormal investigations and eliminations," Peter replied, spelling out each word in the air, as if he was pointing to a sign. "Said it on our business cards and everything. I can get you one, if you want. I still have some."
Peter handed Steve a card from his wallet.
"Oh, wow, this is great," Steve replied. "I am a huge fan. Thank you."
"And your headquarters was right here in the city, right?" Rebecca asked. "An old firehouse?"
Peter nodded and smiled. He grew very nostalgic. "A magnificent building. Hallowed ground. An important New York City landmark, really."
In the Tribeca area of New York City, the Ghostbusters firehouse still sat, although it wasn't exactly being treated like an important city landmark: its giant, red, double doors were faded, chipped, and in desperate need of a new coat of paint, while the Ghostbusters sign featuring their "no-ghost" logo was missing. The only marker identifying it as the Ghostbusters headquarters was a small sheet of paper nailed underneath the door's windows: OUT OF BUSINESS. FOR INVESTIGATIONS, CALL DR. RAY STANTZ AT 555-4589.
Other than that, there was only the sight of the ever-present graffiti sprayed on the front cement wall: LIAR! FRAUD! MAYOR VENKMAN BURN IN HELL!
Inside the firehouse, on the second floor science lab where Ray, Egon, and Winston still conducted their many experiments, Christine and Josh sat nervously at a long table. The brother and sister were still shaken from their paranormal experience in the barn, and now things had gotten even weirder: they each now had suction cups and wires stuck to their temples, forehead, and wrists. Turning to her left, and careful not to dislodge the equipment stuck to her head, Christine saw something that shocked her: on a large monitor, there was an X-ray of her brain, showing all sorts of different colors and bizarre wavy lines.
"And then what happened?" Egon asked, inspecting one of the machines hooked up to Josh.
"That's when…" Josh replied. "That's when the smoke came from the magazine, and the...the...the..."
"Ghosts?" Winston asked.
"Yeah." Josh turned to Egon. "Am I gonna die? I kinda feel like I'm gonna die."
"No," Egon replied. "Not yet, anyway."
"Good, can I use your bathroom, then? 'Cuz either I'm gonna die or poop in my pants, I'm not sure."
Christine shook her head, embarrassed.
"Yeah, sure," Winston laughed. "It's right in there."
Pulling the suction cups from his head, Josh dashed toward the bathroom. Reaching underneath the table, Ray grabbed a box and handed Egon a stack of old, worn magazines from the barn.
"Here's the magazine, Egon. And all of these other ones were in there, too—all of them from the beginning of the 20th century."
Egon read through the magazines' covers. "Tobin's Spectre Analysis. An Interview with Jonathan Tobin. Investigator of 1911: Jonathan Tobin."
"Seeing a pattern here?" Ray asked.
"Uh, yeah," Winston said.
Christine turned to Ray. "Who's Jonathan Tobin?"
Ray opened one of the magazines and showed Christine a black and white photograph of a dark-haired, thin man with glasses.
"Back in the 1910's and 20's," Ray explained, "he was the guy who wrote all the first real guides on ghosts and spirits. He was the first person who took all this kind of stuff seriously. Ghosts, demons, monsters."
Ray walked to a bookshelf and searched for a book.
"He did paranormal research before most people even knew what paranormal research was. One of his books is where we get most of our information from."
Ray handed a book to Christine. Its title read: TOBIN'S SPIRIT GUIDE.
"He was my hero all through college," Egon said. "Ray's, too. He's practically the reason we became Ghostbusters."
"So, who owns this old barn, anyway?" Winston asked. "Do we know that?"
Christine nodded. "The same guy who owns the restaurant. Walt."
Ray picked up his phone from the table and showed Winston a photograph of Walt.
"Walt Rundersmith," Ray explained, his eyebrow cocked. "Turns out the guy is Jonathan Tobin's great-grandson. This Walter guy uses Tobin's old barn for storage space, but what he doesn't know is that his great grandpappy filled it with all of his research! Occult artifacts, spirit books, totems, really dangerous stuff!"
"Looks like we better get to that barn," Winston said. "And quick."
"Yes," Egon replied, "but there is something else I need to talk to you two about first. Something...technical." He turned to Christine. "Can you excuse us a minute?"
"Sure."
Egon, Winston, and Ray stepped toward a large metal filing cabinet in the corner.
"Did you two notice anything odd about Christine's brain patterns?" Egon asked.
"A couple things here and there," Winston replied, "but nothing that shook me up all that much."
"Did you give her a PKE scan today?"
"No, not yet," Ray replied.
Egon turned to Christine and waved a black PKE meter up and down in the air. The antennas on the side of the meter sprang up, sticking out straight, and the machine let out a loud BEEP!
"What's that?" Christine asked.
"Nothing to be worried about," Egon said. He turned back to Ray and Winston. "I am incredibly worried."
"Why would she be giving off a PKE reading?" Ray whispered. "She's not possessed."
"No, not yet," Egon replied. "And not in the traditional sense. But it looks like there is a dormant spirit presence inside of her, living like a parasite, feeding on her until it's ready to show itself."
"Eww," Winston said, curling his upper lip. "That's freaky."
"Yes," Egon replied. "And fascinating."
Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Josh was standing over the sink, grabbing it with both hands and very sick. His face was completely white, and there were suddenly large grey circles underneath his eyes. His forehead was beaded with huge drops of sweat.
"Oh, man, what is wrong with me?" Josh said, his voice weak. "I feel like I'm gonna—"
Josh opened his mouth and began to dry-heave. He thought he was going to vomit, but, instead, yellow-and-white, sticky, fowl-smelling slime poured from his open mouth and into the sink, quickly piling up like sewage. When Josh looked up, he saw in the mirror that the sticky slime was also running out from his eyes and sliding down his face.
Downstairs, near the firehouse's exit, Egon, Ray, and Winston were putting on their jackets.
"Are we gonna take Ecto-1 to the restaurant, Egon?" Ray asked.
"No, I don't want too much attention on us. We'll take Winston's van, and when we get there, we'll—"
Suddenly, Josh screamed from the science lab's bathroom.
"Aaaaaaahhhhaaaaaaaaaahh!"
His horrified yell was soon followed by a loud thud.
Egon, Ray, Winston, and Christine looked at each other, startled, and then ran upstairs.
After flinging open the bathroom door, Egon looked down. The others stood behind him.
"What is it, Egon?" Winston asked. "What happened?"
"Is my brother okay?"
Lying on the floor in front of Egon was Josh. Except, he no longer looked like Josh—he had been transformed. His skin was now green and covered from head-to-toe in large, scaly bumps and purple blotches, and there were two long, twisted horns growing from the front of his head. He also had a forked tail like a demon, which was twitching on the ground next to him, and his arms were covered in thick, green fur.
"Ray," Egon said sternly. "Keep Christine behind you. And start the van. We need to get to that barn. Now."
