"No, no, I tell you it will never work." The speaker looked around the abandoned warehouse at the ghosts who had come at his summons. It was quite an impressive turnout. He raised himself to his full height of eight feet, puffed out his massive blue chest and smiled to reveal his six-inch fangs. "The problem should be clear to any of you with the meanest intelligence. No organization. Each of us has gone about his own private haunting. Where has it gotten us? Our numbers are daily thinned by those evil humans, the Ghostbusters."

The ghostly throng booed and hissed in a raucous chorus. Some of them had escaped close encounters with the four supernatural eliminators since they had begun endangering the honest ghosts of the Big Apple. Gondor's snarl intensified. Even a year ago, this place would have been too small for tonight's meeting. What would it be like a year from now?

"What can we do, Gondor?" a diminutive yellow spirit called from the front row. "We can't fight those fleshheads. Their equipment is too powerful."

"You may be right," acknowledged the leader. "Their equipment, when used in unison, is too powerful for any of us. Even should several of us join forces, many would be trapped. What I propose will not be so dangerous." He moderated the snarl into a smile. "I have come upon the perfect solution. It's so obvious, I am surprised no one thought of it before."

"What is it, Gondor?" another ghost demanded. "All we've heard is a lot of talk. Talk's cheap."

"Yeah. What're we gonna do?" The cry ran around the gloomy ruin.

"Simple. We take them out--one at a time. Once they are gone, we will open their containment unit and free our trapped brothers."

"Too easy, maybe, Gondor," an old Class 5 full torso apparition muttered from the back of the room. "Some of us have tried, and more powerful entities than you. Have you seen the Ghostmaster lately? What about Samhaine? You can't make us think you're stronger than they?"

"Maybe not, but I'm smarter. I will begin tonight and I will only need five or six of you who can briefly assume human appearance."

"And we'll do what?" The ghost that approached appeared human already, only the faintest shimmer of blue around his edges distinguishing him from any street punk.

"Something right up your alley, Zan," replied Gondor, his smile splitting his face. "Tonight the first of them will fall. Then another, and soon they will all be gone. Then we will destroy their headquarters. The city will blame them. It will be too late for them to seek us. They can't stop us if they aren't here."

Peter Venkman yawned as he climbed up to the street level at the nearest subway stop to Ghostbuster Central. He was beat, he was irritated at the lack of a cab when he needed it and he wanted nothing so much as his own bed. He'd quarreled with his current girlfriend, Janice, nothing so serious that could not be made up with a little sweet talk, but a quarrel all the same. It had been a long day and the last ghost they'd captured had showered him and his colleagues with food fragments. In his college days, Peter had liked a good food fight as much as the next man, but those days were long gone.

Egon Spengler had suggested Venkman stay home and go to bed. "You're exhausted, Peter. I suggest you cancel your date, or at least postpone it. You'll be no help to the rest of us if you become ill."

"Hey. I'm fine. I'm just getting my second wind," he'd assured the blond physicist, giving himself a weary grin in the mirror as he rearranged his brown hair to his satisfaction. Egon only fussed for his own good, and Peter was grateful but he wasn't in the mood to listen at the moment. "Besides the sight of Janice will wake me up." He had grinned at the thought. He'd waved goodbye to his other two colleagues, Ray Stantz and Winston Zeddemore, and ducked away from Slimer, the little green ghost, who wanted to leave his imprint in ectoplasm on Peter's new outfit.

"Have fun, Peter," Ray had urged him with a smile. "But you probably shouldn't stay out too late. You really do look tired."

Peter grinned. "Maybe you're right. I'll see you guys later."

Egon and Ray had been right. Peter had been too tired to enjoy himself, and Janice had taken his surreptitious yawns wrong. "So I'm boring you?"

"No. I'm just beat." He donned his hurt little boy expression, but she was proof against it. Irritated, he snapped at her and she snapped back. When he left her apartment, it was not much later than 10:30, but there wasn't a free taxi to be seen. Muttering to himself in annoyance, he headed for the subway, where he shared a car with four rabbis, two Guardian Angels, assorted hookers, winos and punks.

Oh well, only two blocks to go. He yawned again and set off on lagging feet.

He didn't immediately notice the punk who dogged his footsteps, but when he realized he was being followed, he knew he'd been subliminally aware of it all along. Turning cautiously, he saw two shadows ooze out of an alley to join the first hoodlum. Great! He'd be lucky if this was only a mugging.

He quickened his pace without actually running. If they followed him awhile first, he might come close enough to home to yell for the guys. But they didn't give him the chance. Two additional punks appeared ahead of him, cutting him off.

Peter braced himself for trouble. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Your money," the first punk said. He didn't have to make any effort to convince Peter he was tough. He looked it without trying. "And your life." He smirked. "Get him!"

They piled on top of him, slugging and kicking. Peter had grown up tough and had never quite lost his edge, but sheer numbers told. Pain slashed through his head as something solid crashed down. A boot to the ribs made several of them twinge sharply. Groggy and confused, he struggled weakly to protect himself.

"Enough. His wallet?"

The voice was commanding, and when they heard it, the gang gave way. Peter felt his wallet pulled free, and with blurred eyes he watched the first punk hand it to--to a huge blue ghost!

It was a setup.

Why would a ghost want his wallet? Peter blinked up at the fanged creature. "Why?" he muttered through bruised and swollen lips.

"Why? You are only the first, Venkman. I have decided to take you down--one at a time. You were first. I think perhaps next will be the smart one. Egon Spengler. Together, the four of you could stop me. But this way, you'll be gone before you realize the threat."

"So you're just gonna kill me?" Peter demanded. The thought impelled him to attempt a protest, and he half sat up, knowing he couldn't escape. He had to do something. He couldn't let them go after Egon.

The ghost shook his considerable head. "Oh no, Dr. Venkman. I'm not going to kill you. This way is much more fun." He stretched out a long, scaly finger and touched Peter on the temple.

Peter stared up at the ghost, his expression blank. Fear ran through him, accenting the pain. He shivered. "Who are you?" he cried, struggling against the punks' restraint. Then a pressing question occurred to him, one that made the fear and pain recede. "Who am I?"

"That, my friend, you will remember one day. A strong enough emotion might break the bond, but without your memory, nothing will prompt it. Even if you do remember, it will be too late, I fear, to help your friends." He touched Peter's temple again and he slumped to the ground, all memory of his life and his friends vanishing along with the knowledge of the ghost who had taken it from him.

He lay unmoving while Gondor passed Zan a second wallet and the ghost punk shoved it in his pocket. "The false identification will confuse the search for him," Gondor gloated. "I have arranged him to resemble the identification picture on the driver's license. No one will doubt it. He will not come home."

Peter didn't rouse when the police car pulled up beside his sprawled figure and two officers examined him. One of them called for an ambulance, but when it came, he still had not awakened. The paramedics clucked in sympathy at his battered appearance as they gave emergency treatment.

"He's lucky, though," the first one said. "I don't think anything's broken, though he may have a couple of cracked ribs."

"His vitals are pretty good, too," agreed the second. "But he's been out awhile. Head injuries are tricky things."

They loaded Peter into the ambulance and rushed him off to the nearest hospital, siren blazing.

The alarm clock roused Ray Stantz from a dream full of nasty cartoon characters chasing him through a stylized landscape, throwing custard pies at him. He sat bolt upright and glanced around the bedroom at Ghostbuster Central and breathed a sigh of relief. Yesterday, they had busted a ghost at a restaurant and it had chucked large quantities of food at them. They had returned to headquarters plastered with it, to the delight of Slimer. The experience had relived itself endlessly in Ray's dreams. He didn't feel remotely rested.

In the next bed, Winston groaned unhappily and pulled the pillow over his head. "I do not want to get up this morning," he muttered, sounding as if he were as weary as Ray.

"Think how much worse it'll be for Peter," Ray consoled him. Peter had cleaned himself up and gone on a date last night, though he was so tired Ray suspected he would fall asleep on the woman's couch. "I didn't hear him come in."

"Neither did I," Egon replied, putting on his glasses and turning to stare at the bed next to his.

The fourth Ghostbuster was gone. His bed was neatly made but Peter was nowhere in sight.

"He couldn't be up already," Winston said, shaking his head. "He must have had a better night than I did."

"I doubt it, Winston," Egon contradicted him as he climbed out of bed. "He was too tired. I suspect he fell asleep and Janice let him sleep on her couch."

"That's what I thought," agreed Ray. "Though if anything could wake Peter, it'd be a pretty woman."

Slimer drifted in. "Where Peter? Gone already?"

"He had a date," explained Winston.

"Oh." Slimer assumed a very worldly wise expression. Ray wondered if it was because he'd seen a similar expression on the faces of the other Ghostbusters when Peter had stayed overnight before or if he really understood Peter's amorous adventures.

"He ought to be home by now anyway," Winston remarked, pulling off his pajama top and heading for the bathroom and a shower. "Even though it's Sunday, there's that appointment this morning. We all slept in as it is. It's already eight o'clock."

By the time they'd finished their breakfast, Peter still hadn't returned. Ray led the way downstairs to the ground floor of the fire house where their secretary, Janine Melnitz, was hard at work printing out invoices. She'd taken a day off earlier in the week and had come in this morning to make up for it.

She glanced up, her eyes going automatically to Egon, of whom she was more than fond. "I see the sleeping beauties have awakened. Well, most of them anyway. Where's Dr. Venkman? Still having his beauty rest?"

"For all the good it would do him?" Winston returned with a grin. "No. He didn't come back last night."

"He should have been home by now," Egon insisted, and Ray realized the physicist was worried. "Janine, do you have the number of Peter's date? Janice--uh, Janice--"

"Redford," returned the secretary. "Yes, I have it. Shall I call her?"

"How'd you get her number?" asked Winston.

"He always leaves a number if he thinks he might be away overnight," she explained. "If you want to know what I think, I think he's afraid you'll fall apart without him." She opened a small notebook and began to check for the number.

"He's worried about us," Egon contradicted with a smile, and Ray knew he was right. Peter might act as if the others considered him indispensable, but the real motivation was the fear that they could get into trouble while he wasn't here to help. Knowing Peter, he'd never admit it.

"Should I call her, Egon?" Janine asked when she found the number.

"Perhaps that might be best," the blond replied. "We have an appointment at ten. It's after nine already. Yes, Janine. Call her," he instructed gravely. Ray wondered if Egon had a bad feeling about Peter's absence. He had known Peter longest, and sometimes it almost seemed as if he could read Peter's mind, even when Peter was being his most withdrawn.

She dialed a number. Waited. Shook her head and dialed again. "Answering machine," she explained as she dialed. "She's at work."

"Then Peter should be here," cried Ray. He was beginning to realize Peter might really be in trouble, though the psychologist could still walk in and prove him mistaken.

It took Janine a few minutes to reach Janice Redford. Her end of the conversation was not illuminating. After identifying herself, she listened a few minutes. "You did? He did? He didn't! You will?" She thanked the woman and hung up, raising alarmed eyes to Egon's face.

"Oh, Egon, something's wrong."

"What is it, Janine?" Ray demanded as they all converged on the secretary's desk.

Janine stared at them. "She said Peter left early last night. It wasn't much later than ten thirty. She hasn't heard anything from him since."

The three men stared at each other in dismay. Ray's sudden uneasiness was mirrored by the concern in Egon's blue eyes and the tension in Winston's shoulders. This could be bad. If Peter had started home at ten-thirty, he should have arrived home before they had gone to bed. Something must have happened to him. With a crisis as simple as an accident, the other Ghostbusters should have been notified. That they hadn't been suggested a more serious concern. Egon had been right, but he looked far from happy about it.

"I'll call the police," Egon decided after a few moments' furious concentration.

"Do you think it's that serious?" Winston sounded like he was trying to deny the possibility. Then he shook his head and gestured for Egon to pick up the telephone. "Yeah, it could be bad. Go for it."

"Janice said she and Peter had a fight," intervened Janine, her hand still on the receiver. "Do you think he might have looked up another woman instead of just coming home?"

"Even if he did, he would still have been home by now," Ray disagreed. "Besides, ten thirty is late to show up at a woman's apartment unexpectedly, even for Peter." He perched his hip on the edge of Janine's desk and nodded at Egon. "Go ahead, Egon. Call."

Egon took the receiver from Janine and dialed the number of the nearest precinct. He was passed around and explained the situation to several people before he reached someone who was disposed to listen. He explained the problem simply in tense, concise statements, his face expressionless to all who didn't know how to read it. Ray did know, and he realized that Egon was controlled because he had to be to do what needed doing. The answers he received must not have been the ones the physicist wanted. His body tensed and he said sharply, "We know it's too soon to file a missing persons report. But clearly something's happened to Peter. He wouldn't be this late. He knew the time of our first appointment."

Another pause. Ray watched him, trying to guess what was being said by the expression on Egon's face. The police officer must have been explaining a possible solution for he was silent a long time. At one point Egon winced and started to interject a question before he closed his lips over the words he would have spoken. Then the blond said anxiously, "That could have happened to Peter, especially since it was so close. Where exactly did it happen?"

"Where did what happen?" prodded Winston.

Egon said, "Hmm. I see. Thank you, sergeant," before returning the phone to its cradle and staring at his friends, his eyes full of a more specific concern than before.

"A man was mugged a block from here last night between eleven and eleven thirty," he explained, adding reassuringly, "It wasn't Peter. The police must have arrived on the scene in time to prevent a robbery because the man still had his ID. He was badly beaten, however. I find that alarming. If there were muggers in the neighborhood, it's possible Peter encountered them, too, especially in light of his absence."

"You mean he might be lying hurt out there somewhere?" Ray asked unhappily. He couldn't bring himself to face the graver likelihood. He bit his lip and watched Egon earnestly, waiting for reassurance.

Egon had none to give him. "I'll call the hospitals just to be certain he isn't there, then we'll hunt for him. We'll take our belt communicators and split up to cover more ground. Janine, as soon as I finish, I want you to reschedule our ten o'clock appointment. Finding Peter is far more urgent."

The calls to the hospitals produced several unidentified and unconscious men but when Egon gave a description of Peter, the results were negative. Each time, their spirits sank a little lower. The Ghostbusters were a dispirited lot as they set out on their search.

"Contact us instantly if he returns," Egon instructed Janine.

"I will. I hope he's just late," she replied, resting a comforting hand on his arm.

"If he's just late..." Egon began through gritted teeth. He wanted that option, although he would be furious if it had happened. Like Ray, he obviously didn't believe it, either.

"We'll break his neck," concluded Winston with a halfhearted grin. It was obvious to Ray that he didn't mean it. They were far more likely to fall on his neck than break it.

They donned their jumpsuits and proton packs, since there was always the possibility of supernatural intervention. Peter might have run up against a ghost that had prevented him from coming home. If it weren't for the injured man found a block away--between Ghostbuster Central and the subway stop, Egon had pointed out--they would have expected ghost trouble when one of their number went missing. New York was not the safest of cities, and Peter's disappearance was probably more mundane, but it wouldn't pay to take chances.

Ray took Ecto-1 while Egon and Winston set off on foot. The occultist drove straight to the site of the mugging, in front of a row of rather rundown apartments. A narrow alley ran between two of the buildings. Ray pulled Ecto-1 into it and climbed out of the converted hearse to take readings and to see if Peter had been left here, in the most obvious place. Though no ghosts were present now, his P.K.E. meter showed a faint trace reading, so slight it need only mean that Slimer had passed by. Since it was the first indication that anything other than simple misadventure might have befallen Peter Ray contacted the others on his walkie talkie.

"Egon. Winston! Come in."

"What've you got, home boy?" asked Winston.

"I'm at the site of the mugging," explained Ray. "There's nothing here, but I'm picking up a residual reading on the P.K.E. meter. Either a very weak entity was here a short time ago or something powerful was here as long ago as last night."

"Are you implying that the man was mugged by a ghost, Raymond?" came Egon's filtered voice. "I find that unlikely."

"I don't," disagreed Ray. "The poor man could have seen Peter in trouble. He might have tried to help him."

"In New York?" asked Winston in blatant disbelief.

"Something was here, guys." He made a minute adjustment on the meter. "Maybe I could run by later if I don't find anything else, and question the victim." Within him burned a fierce urge to do something, even if it had no guarantee of success.

"That's an excellent idea, Ray," agreed Egon. "I'm south of Headquarters. I'll circle around until I reach the subway stop. Winston, you go the other way."

"You got it, man. Winston out."

"Be careful, Ray," Egon cautioned as Ray prepared to sign off, too. "If a supernatural creature took Peter, the rest of us could be in danger, too. I'm not certain splitting up was the best idea."

"We should be safe enough in broad daylight," Ray assured him. "But watch your back." He shut off the walkie talkie and returned it to his belt, then he took another P.K.E. reading.

"Blast it, Peter, where are you?" he muttered dispiritedly to the unresponsive alley before he climbed into Ecto-1 and started the engine.

"Our next chance approaches," muttered Gondor, smiling to himself. He stood in the center of a block that had been cleared for construction. Though girders had been planted and concrete laid, most of the place wore a muddy, unfinished aspect. It was as good a place as any for the second battle, especially deserted as it was on a Sunday morning.

Today, Gondor was accompanied only by the devoted Zan, who had firmed himself up to appear completely human. The punk ghost could do that for several hours without draining himself. Gondor had begun to consider using the tough young spirit as his assistant when he broke into the Ghostbusters' containment grid and freed the spirits incarcerated there.

"What do we do, Gondor?" Devoted though he might be, Zan was not a great thinker. That was an even better advantage in an assistant, the ghostly mastermind decided.

"First, I will unlock this door." Gondor touched a padlock on the door of a storage shed and it sprang apart. Leaving the lock hanging in the latch, Gondor pushed open the door with the power of his mind.

"You will wait in the shed," he instructed his assistant. "When the Ghostbuster is inside, I will render him unconscious."

"Why's he gonna go in there?" asked Zan doubtfully, scratching his head. "I wouldn't. Just a lotta junk in there, nothing worth stealing."

"He will go in there searching for his comrade," Gondor explained. "You lack faith, Zan. It will happen like this...."

Winston's meanderings took him eventually to a construction site that appeared deserted. He wondered why until he remembered that it was Sunday. When they had no jobs lined up, Winston liked to go to church on Sundays, but this morning's job had prevented it. The possible danger to Peter had distracted him from it, but now, reminded of the day, he muttered a prayer for Peter's safety as he investigated the site.

There was no reason for Peter to have come here, but there was no reason for him to stay out overnight after the fight with Janice either.

"PETER!" bellowed Winston, turning slowly to survey the lot for possible places of concealment.

No answer. He made his way across the site. He'd done construction work summers for his father when he was younger, and he knew his way around places like this. If Peter was here, he would be out of sight. There was a shed over that way. He headed for it. "Yo, Pete! You here?"

This time he heard a sound that stopped him in his tracks. It was a faint and weak moaning, the sound an injured man might make.

"Shit," muttered Winston and raced for the shed, his stomach twisting uneasily.

The door was meant to be padlocked but it had been left unlocked and it stood slightly ajar. "Pete?" called Winston anxiously.

The moan was repeated, louder this time.

Flinging open the door, Winston burst into the shed, stopping dead when he saw the sprawled figure lying face down on the earth floor. The place was too dark to identify the man, but he was Peter's general size. "Oh man, Peter," Winston breathed and knelt to examine him.

He didn't sense the blow until it was too late to turn. His senses exploding in a burst of stars he pitched forward on top of the body he had found, his last awareness astonishment as it melted away beneath him.

He never heard the click of the padlock being secured behind him or the sound of Gondor's triumphant laughter.

"Ray? Winston?" Egon had stopped to rest at the entrance to the subway. He'd combed every street between here and headquarters and discovered nothing. There hadn't been so much as a blip on his P.K.E. meter. It was as if Peter had vanished from the face of the earth.

"I still haven't found anything, Egon," Ray admitted glumly over the communicator. "I drove over to Janice's place and worked my way back. Nothing." He sounded as if his failure to find Peter was his fault.

"Then we're not looking in the right places, Ray," Egon told him as reassuringly as he could, concerned at the misery in the younger man's voice. It wasn't Ray's fault Peter was missing. They were doing all the could. The voice of reason did nothing to reassure Egon. He wasn't surprised that it failed to comfort Ray. "Why not swing by and pick me up," he concluded. Winston?"

The pause was too long. New tension tightened Egon's already tensed muscles. "Winston!" He raised his voice.

"I can't reach him either," Ray cried, alarmed. "I'll pick you up and we'll search for him together."

Ray arrived five minutes later, squealing through the traffic and cutting in front of a midtown bus with inches to spare. Egon winced, but he climbed into Ecto-1 with relief. First Peter and now Winston. This was very bad.

"Do you think somebody's after us, Egon?" Ray demanded anxiously. He would have found the possibility fascinating, a real challenge, if Peter and Winston had been in the rear seat, ready to face the crisis with him.

"I have been considering that possibility. For Peter to be absent is alarming, though he might still arrive unharmed with what he considers a reasonable explanation. We have no actual proof he's in danger, although I have no doubt of the fact."

"He wouldn't stay away this late, not when he knew we had a call at ten," Ray disagreed. "Peter likes to party, but he's always there when we need him. I don't know what it is but something happened to him." He shook his head as he cut off a taxi to the accompaniment of blaring horns and a shouted curse.

"Winston would never deliberately vanish, not while we're searching for Peter," Ray insisted earnestly. "I think we're in trouble."

They combed the streets that Winston had been delegated to search. Egon never allowed Ray out of his sight. He wouldn't misplace a third friend. Ray must have felt the same because he stayed close as they checked out each street, no further apart than on opposite sidewalks.

"What about in there?" asked Ray, pointing to the construction site.

"It's a good possibility," agreed Egon. He raised his voice. "Winston! Peter!"

Nothing.

Egon stalked over to the shed, the most likely hiding place on the site. "Winston! Peter!"

The door was padlocked. He shook the lock but it remained firmly in place. Ray scanned the equipment, returning unhappily to Egon's side. "I don't think they're here."

"There may be a plot to take us out one at a time, Ray. In case it might also include Janine, I suggest we return to the firehall and try to determine what we're up against. He didn't like the possibilities and he didn't like to wait, but running off in all directions would not help Peter or Winston.

Ray nodded, his shoulders drooping. "I still think we should talk to that man in the hospital," he suggested as they started back to Ecto-1. "He might have seen what happened to Peter.'

"Until we know what else to try, it might be our best option," Egon replied, although he was sure they would have heard something already if the other man had witnessed what happened to Peter. Unless he hadn't known who Peter was....

When they returned, Janine was just hanging up the telephone. As they climbed out of Ecto, she hurried to meet them. "That was a man who says he's found Peter's wallet." She frowned as her eyes did an automatic tally and came up one short. "Where's Winston??

"We seem to have lost him," Egon confessed tightly. "This crisis is rapidly becoming personal, Janine."

"Lost him!" She stared at Egon as if trying to determine if he were serious, then sh breathed, "Oh, no," and came up to him, taking hold of his hand in both of her own.

"Where did they find Peter's wallet?" Ray asked anxiously.

Janine's face darkened. "At the Grammercy Park Hotel."

"That seems an unlikely place for Peter to go," said Egon, his brown wrinkling. While he had never been in that hotel himself, his impression was that it was a rather sleazy place, patronized by prostitutes and other less respectable types. He found it impossible to believe that Peter would go there after a fight with Janice, especially when he had been so tired. To the best of his knowledge, Peter had never used a hooker. On the other hand, there was no reason to assume the mugger or muggers had not gone there after stealing Peter's wallet.

"Who found it?" he asked.

"Someone turned it in to the desk clerk," explained Janine. "He said the money was gone but his credit cards were still three. The man said we could pick it up. I asked if Peter had been registered there, and he said no."

"It doesn't sound like Pete's kind of place," insisted Ray. He stared to remove his proton pack then halted abruptly. "No. We'd better stay armed in case we run into whoever's doing this. One of us better pick up Peter's wallet and try to find out what happened. The other can check that man at the hospital."

"I'm not certain it would be wise to separate, Ray," Egon disagreed, frowning. "Winston's disappearance might be coincidental, but I don't really believe that."

"What do you think is wrong, Egon? Janine asked anxiously, gazing up at him in alarm.

"I don't' know. The trace reading Ray picked up was too faint to analyze." He activated his P.K.E. meter and started taking readings, moving around the ground floor to test for any unexpected P.K. activity.

"You think it might be here?" asked ray, following hard on his heels as if afraid to get too far away from his one remaining colleague.

"I want to make certain it isn't." The readings were normal, only Slimer registering on the meter. "First Peter vanishes and now Winston. There are several motives for disappearances. First, revenge. Someone having it in for the Ghostbusters. Second, simple removal. Someone wants us out of the way."

"Why would they want that?" asked Janine, joining them. "Just to give ghosts the edge?'

"Hey, maybe they want to break into the containment unit," theorized Ray. "If we weren't here to stop them, they'd have all the time they needed to try to get past the protection grid."

"If we leave here, Janine will be at risk," Egon realized. "He had deliberately avoided analyzing his mixed feelings for the secretary, but the thought of exposing her to certain danger did not sit well with him.

"I'd like to see them bet past me," she returned haughtily. "Give me a proton pack and Slimer can help me."

"The spud's too small to use a thrower," Ray reminded her. "Besides, he's likely to run for cover if he's scared."

"He won't if it's his job to protect Janine," Egon stated firmly, raising his voice to call, "Slimer! "

The little green ghost passed through the ceiling, swooping down to join them. "Peter still gone?" he asked unhappily, peering around as if he'd overlooked the psychologist. His squeaky voice wounded worried. "Want Peeeeter back."

"And Winston, too," Ray informed him, gently patting the ghost when Slimer leaned up against him. "Slimer, can you sense them at all?'

That hadn't occurred to Egon. Slimer appeared sensitive to the four of them at times. Was it possible he could find Peter and Winston now? He hadn't been successful at such things in the past, but it was worth trying.

The ghost shook his head and concentrated furiously, a perplexed frown on his face. "Not sense Winston. Not sense Peter."

"Be very certain, Slimer," urged Egon. "This is important."

Slimer thought about it for a long time, then he shook his head so vigorously that slime flew through the air. "Can't sense them. Sorry, Egon."

"That sounds very bad, Raymond." Egon took a steadying breath. "You can't sense them, Slimer? Could you sense them if they were...dead?"

"Yeah, yeah. Could sense ghosts. Can't sense people asleep. Can't sense them far away," Slimer explained with effort. Expressing concepts was much harder for the little green ghost than expressing facts.

"They could be unconscious," Ray realized. His face fell and he avoided Egon's eyes.

"Perhaps,' the physicist concluded levelly. It was not the time to panic. A reasoned approach worked much better every time. Egon sighed inaudibly and struggled to maintain his calm façade. "I think we must question the hotel desk clerk and the main in the hospital quickly. Time may be short."

"Maybe we should split up," Ray urged. "We know there's a danger now se we can take precautions. If we wear our packs..."

"That might work, although I'm not sure it's wise. Very well. You go to the hospital and I'll take the hotel." He turned to the secretary and favored her with an ingratiating smile. "Janine, we'll need to borrow your car."

She eyed him suspiciously. "I don't like it. Whenever you guys take my car, it needs major body work."

"I promise it'll be returned unscathed," Egon vowed. "Janine, this is important. Peter and Winston may be in dire trouble. We need to act fast." He caught her hand and squeezed it. She melted and went for the keys.

"I wouldn't make promises like that," Ray told him with a reluctant smile and picked up the phone to call the hospital.

"Good morning, Mr. Davis. You look better this morning."

The bright smile on the face of the nurse was almost too blinding for his aching eyes. Peter winced. He'd awakened earlier, puzzled by his surroundings. It was a hospital, that much was obvious. Though he'd been dizzy and weak, he'd struggled out of bed and gone to use the bathroom. Washing his hands gave him a view of the mirror and he stood transfixed, meeting the gaze of a battered stranger. The brown-haired man who gazed at him from the glass had a black eye, a swollen lower lip, a bandage at the hairline just above his left temple, and a darkening bruise on his right cheekbone. From the way each breath hurt in the twinges in his chest when he moved, he suspected he had broken or cracked his ribs, as well.

None of that hurt as much as the blank hole in his memory. He didn't recognize his own face. He didn't know who he was. Greatly sobered, he crept back to bed and struggled helplessly against his panic.

Now the nurse's words registered. "Mr. Davis? I'm not Mr. Davis." He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he was as certain of it as he was that he--

"Your ID says you're Miles Davis, from Dubuque, Iowa."

"Iowa? I've got relatives in Iowa," he said automatically, then stared at her stupidly. "But I can't tell you who they are. I can't tell you who I am."

"I'll fetch the doctor," the middle-aged woman said, her bright good humor vanished without a trace.

A few minutes later, a curly-haired, white-coated man who appeared young enough to still be in med school bounced in. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Silverman. Mrs. Reed tells me you're confused this morning. You took a blow to the head so confusion is to be expected, but there's no evidence of severe concussion or skull fracture. Can you tell me your name?"

Peter sat up carefully, bracing his ribs with an arm across his chest. "It's--" Nothing. A vast emptiness where everything that had given him uniqueness had been. He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to remember and the image of a man's face , a tall man, blond, with glasses came to him, flooding him with a sense of reassurance. It was gone before he could put a name to it but it left a sense of familiarity behind. This was better. Maybe he could remember after all. He tried again. This time he experienced a brief memory of a shorter man, with auburn hair. "I can picture something, but it isn't making much sense. Faces without names." He banged on his tray table with both fists. "Why can't I remember?"

"We'll run a few tests and find out." Silverman tilted his head to one side, staring at Peter's face. "You know, under all those bruises, you're familiar, as if I'd seen you before. I wouldn't know someone from out of town."

"I'm not from out of town," Peter insisted automatically.

"What town is this?" inquired Silverman.

"New York," He was positive of that.

"That's right. Know what day it is?"

"It must be Sunday. It was Saturday night that I went--" Wherever he had gone slid away before he could catch it. Every time he tried for personal information, it was yanked beyond his reach. That was weird. He didn't think amnesia worked like that.

"You're right, it is Sunday. We didn't try to call Dubuque last night because you were in no danger and obviously not expected home. A call from you directly would have come easier to family there. I wonder if we tried to call what would happen."

"Yeah, go ahead," Peter muttered. He was still trying to pin down those elusive, yet reassuring, images. A third face flickered into life in his clouded memory, a black man in his thirties. Mentally, Peter lined up the three faces and stared at them. The longer he stared, the clearer their images became, but they were strangers to him. He didn't know who they were, and that hurt. They were strangers, but they shouldn't be strangers.

"You said I looked familiar," he prodded the doctor. "If I am, then that means I've got a fake ID, doesn't it? What does that make me? A crook?"

"I don't think so," Silverman said comfortingly. "You're so battered the picture on your ID isn't the best thing to go by, but you match it fairly well. We didn't pay that much attention to it because we didn't have any reason to suspect you weren't Davis." He shook his head. "I think if you were a crook, you'd be a lot more cagey instinctively, even with amnesia. Besides, this doesn't feel like any form of amnesia I ever saw. In fact, I wonder if you might not have been hypnotized."

"Beat up and hypnotized?" Peter asked skeptically.

"You remember being beat up?"

"No--but I saw myself in the bathroom mirror. I don't think this is the way I normally look. Usually, I'm much more handsome than this."

Silverman smiled. "I don't think there's very much wrong with you. I'd like to bring in a specialist to talk with you, though."

"What kind of specialist?" Peter asked suspiciously. "A shrink? You think I'm blocking it out on purpose, don't you? Repressing it? Come on, I know all the lingo. I have a doctorate in psychology and I--"

"A doctorate in psychology?" Echoed Silverman when Peter stopped abruptly. He'd heard himself speak the words, but he knew he couldn't have produced them consciously.

"Maybe you should hypnotize me," he suggested. "Everything's there, but something's holding it in. It doesn't feel like a mental problem--but maybe I'd say that anyway. I'm trying to access a Commodore program with PC.. The data is there--I just can't bring it up on the screen."

"That sounds like a good analogy--"

"Excuse me, Dr. Silverman?" It was Mrs. Reed. "There's a man here asking to visit the patient. Is he up to having visitors?"

"How did anyone know that he was here?" demanded Silverman.

"He says that Mr. Davis was mugged near his home--and his friend vanished about the same time. He was hoping Mr. Davis might know about it. Maybe he witnessed it."

"If he witnessed it, we won't be much further ahead, but send him in. Maybe his questions will jog our patient's memory." When the nurse left, Silverman turned to Peter. "I'll stay during the visit. I don't want him upsetting you until we've had a chance to tie this down."

"Great," said Peter sourly. "This whole thing sucks. Can I go home now?"

A man appeared in the doorway. He was stocky and auburn-haired, clad in a jumpsuit that was familiar, though Peter couldn't remember why, and, while it took a moment to make the connection, he was one of the men from Peter's blurred memory. I should know this guy, he thought. What he did know was that the man who stood staring at him in total astonishment was no threat. Instead, at the sight of him, Peter felt a surge of overwhelming relief. Even though his memory was messed up, it was all right now that Ray was here.

Ray? The name didn't ring any bells but he decided to try it. He sat up straighter and said it blankly. "Ray?"

"Peter?" Ray's expression was horrified, probably at the sight of his bruises. The name he spoke felt right, the way 'Davis' hadn't. That's it, he thought with relief as Ray flung eager arms around him and hugged him hard enough to make his ribs shriek in protest. I'm Peter.

In spite of the pain in his chest, his arms encircled the other man, automatically making allowances for the pack he wore on his back, and he heard himself speaking soothing reassurances. Even if he couldn't remember, it wouldn't be much longer now. He was sure of it.

Dr. Silverman intervened. "I don't want to break up the happy reunion, but you have injured ribs, Peter."

Ray freed him instantly, a contrite expression on his face as he studied him for injuries. "I'm sorry, Peter. Did I hurt you? You look terrible! What happened to you? Why didn't you let us know you were safe?" His anxiety poured out in a fierce stream. Peter realized humbly that Ray loved him like a brother and had been frantic with worry for him--and he couldn't really remember him at all. "We've been searching for you everywhere, and--"

Peter held up his hand to stop the flow of words. Somehow he had to reassure him. "Hey. I'm all right, Ray. I...." he began, then his voice trailed off. His muddled memory stopped him. It should have been easy--it had been easy when he'd done it instinctively--but now the right words just wouldn't come.

Dr. Silverman intervened a second time. "Lie down, Peter." He helped make him as comfortable as was possible, then he turned to Ray.

"You're Ray Stantz, aren't you? I was sure I recognized Peter, but it was difficult in his present state. He's Peter Venkman."

Peter Venkman? He tried that out, whispering the name. It felt right. His knotted muscles relaxed a little further. If he knew who he was, he could do anything. He was Peter Venkman, presumably a psychologist. Except...except he was more than that. Ray's jumpsuit and proton pack--proton pack?--told him that much.

"I don't know how you found him, Dr. Stantz," Silverman went on. "But he couldn't tell us to notify you. He woke up shortly before you arrived."

"He was unconscious all that time?" cried Ray, his worry plainly written on his face.

"No. During the night he passed into normal sleep. His injuries look worse than they really are. There's no concussion, no skull fracture."

"And his wallet was missing so you couldn't call us," Ray continued, to Peter's surprise. How had Ray known that?

"He had a wallet," Silverman informed the auburn haired man. "It just wasn't the right one. When Peter woke up, we started calling him Mr. Davis. He knew that was wrong, but..."

"Someone found Peter's wallet," Ray cut in. "Egon's just gone to collect it and try to find out what happened. I should let him know Peter's safe."

"Egon?" Peter echoed blankly. A moment of concentration informed him that Egon was the blond man with glasses, but he could remember nothing else about him, except that the fragments of his memory were vastly reassured by the thought of him.

Ray was beginning to notice Peter's reactions. "What's wrong, Peter?" He turned to the doctor expectantly. "If there isn't a serious head injury..." He braced himself for bad news, his hand on Peter's arm as if to reassure both of them.

"Dr. Venkman has amnesia," the physician explained carefully.

"Amnesia?" Ray stared at Peter in perplexity. "But he knew me!"

"I knew your face," Peter explained. "Things come to me if I don't think about them. If I try to remember, nothing comes. When I saw you, I knew your name, but that was all. I'm sorry, Ray."

"It's because you've been hit on the head," said Ray reassuringly. "It's all right, Peter. You'll remember soon. Everything will come back."

Peter shook his head. "The doctor says it's not a normal head injury. He thinks I might have been hypnotized."

"Hypnotized not to remember us!" Ray stared at Peter in renewed alarm. "Gosh, that might really be true. Egon thinks a supernatural agency is trying to get us. You can't remember a ghost, can you?"

"A ghost?" echoed Peter blankly. "Why should I remember a ghost?" This was getting weird.

"Because that's who we are, Peter. The Ghostbusters. We're paranormal eliminators. We bust ghosts and other assorted nasties."

That produced an image of a small green spud splatting against Peter and smearing messy kisses on his cheek. "Oh yuck, Slimer," he muttered.

"You do remember!" Ray cried in elation.

"His memory is there, intact," Silverman agreed. "He simply can't consciously access it yet. Something blocks it. I'll show you. Peter, what is Slimer?"

"I--" He faltered, struggling. "A green ghost, I think."

Ray's face fell. He turned to the doctor, and Peter knew that he was resisting an urge to grab Silverman by the lapels and shake a solution from him. "You can help him remember, can't you?"

"I think possibly hypnosis...."

"But if it was something a ghost did...." Ray frowned. "Peter, Winston's missing. He disappeared when we were searching for you. Somebody's trying to take us out. He just vanished. We don't know if he's all right, but he's probably in danger. You've got to remember..."

Peter's stomach lurched and dizziness made him close his eyes for an instant as if the world had tilted. "I've gotta get out of here," he insisted, opening them again and struggling to sit up, though both Ray and the doctor tried to restrain him. "When did you last see him?"

"When we were hunting for you he vanished, too. An entity must have made you forget and took your wallet so we wouldn't be able to find you. Now Winston's missing, too. Egon thinks it wants us out of the way so it can try to break into the containment unit."

"Then we have to stop them. If Winston's missing, Egon's at headquarters alone. Janine can't..." His voice trailed off and he stared at Ray in blank surprise, powerful emotions welling up inside him. "Ray," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What's wrong, Peter?" White faced, Ray grabbed him by the shoulders. "Are you in pain? What can I do?"

He hurt all over, but that didn't matter. "Ray," he breathed, gulping down the emotion that threatened to make his voice wobble. "Ray, I remember," he breathed. "Everything just came back there all at once. Oh, God, Ray..."

Stantz threw his arms around him jubilantly and hugged him, remembering to mind his ribs, his face against Peter's shoulder. "I knew you could. That's great, Peter!"

Venkman held onto his friend, relief welling through him like a flood. He could feel the tension in Ray's shoulders seeping away in his own relief.

"Ribs, Peter," Silverman reminded him a few moments later. "This is good news, but you must take care of yourself."

"The hell I do," cried Peter as he detached himself gently from Ray. "Winston's missing. I've got to get out there and help find him."

"Oh no you don't," objected Silverman. "You're staying here until tomorrow."

"Oh, come on, doc," Peter wheedled. "I've had broken ribs before. There's nothing you can do but let them heal, right? I'm gonna hurt wherever I am. Now that I know who I am, you can sign me out. My buddy's missing. I can't just sit here nursing my ribs when my friends need me." He ruffled Ray's hair affectionately, all the more concerned about them because the ghost had been able to wipe them from his conscious mind.

"I think that may be what triggered your memory," Silverman theorized. "It was when Dr. Stantz told you about your colleague being missing that the blockage broke down. I suspect strong emotion was the trigger."

"Strong emotion!" echoed Peter, recalling last night's attack and the blue specter's words. "That's what the ghost said, that it would take emotion for my memory to come back. But that's crazy. I didn't have strong emotion when I realized I had amnesia?"

"Possibly not strong enough. I think the danger to your friend worried you more than danger to yourself." The doctor's eyebrows had shot up at the mention of the ghost.

Ray smiled. "He's right, Peter. It was when I told you about Winston that you remembered." He grinned at the doctor. "Peter does worry about us." He pounced on the telephone. "I'm going to call Egon. He might still be at that hotel where your wallet was found. We can tell him about the ghost and figure out how to stop him and rescue Winston." Peter's survival had made him optimistic. Venkman could see it in his face. If Peter had survived, Winston would, too. Peter hoped he was right.

Ray pulled the phone number out of his breast pocket and dialed it on Peter's bedside phone. Peter watched him fondly, shifting to ease the strain on his ribs.

"This is Dr. Ray Stantz," Ray identified himself. "Is Egon Spengler still there? He was supposed to come in to pick up our colleague's lost wallet. Peter Venkman."

He was silent a long time. Peter saw his face go from perplexed to confused to alarmed. "When?" he demanded, his eyes wide with new worry.

Another monologue at the other end. Ray listened with growing urgency.

"What, Ray?" Peter demanded. The look on Ray's face was making him really uneasy.

Finally Ray hung up. "The desk clerk says a gang of weirdos broke into the hotel, tied up all the staff and left them locked up in one of the rooms. A customer found them ten minutes ago. The police are there--but your wallet isn't there, and the desk clerk says he never called us. It must have been your ghost trying to capture one of us."

"Egon?" Peter grabbed Ray's arm. He knew what the ghost was capable of, and he didn't want to know what had put the fresh alarm into Ray's face, but he had to know. "What about Egon, Ray?"

"He isn't there," confessed Ray miserably. "Nobody saw him. The ghost must have caught him, too. I'd better call Janine."

"Let me." Peter scooped up the receiver, dialed the familiar number. His relief at remembering his identity was outweighed by his concern for Egon and Winston. "I remember the ghost, Ray. He was big and blue and nasty. He has it in for us, but I don't know why."

The phone rang and rang and went on ringing.

Peter stared at Ray, his own alarm mirrored in the occultist's brown eyes then he confronted the physician. "I'm signing myself out of here. I'll take full responsibility. But there's trouble. Ray can't handle it alone."

"You're not fit, Peter," objected Silverman.

"Maybe I'm not," Peter snarled. "But that doesn't matter. Get out of my way. Egon and Winston and Janine need me. I'll go through anybody who tries to stop me."

Ray caught his arm in an attempt to calm him. "Easy, Peter. We'll go straight to headquarters." He smiled apologetically at Silverman. "I'll bring him in afterwards," he promised.

"See that you do. Those ribs are only cracked, but too much strenuous activity could cause a punctured lung, Peter, and you could die."

Peter put on his dusty and bloodstained clothes and signed the release the nurse brought in. Then he and Ray headed for headquarters. Ray made him lie down in the back of Ecto-1, and Peter realized it was a sensible suggestion. He had to be in top form if there was an assault on headquarters. He'd rest all the way there. Though he fought it, he was asleep in minutes.

"Now, we begin." Gondor chortled to himself, surveying the Ghostbusters' headquarters. Janine Melnitz glared at him and struggled against the bonds that held her. The ghost had brought her down to the containment unit in the sub-basement and instructed her to open it. When she had refused, he had persisted.

"Listen, creep, I can't shut it down. It requires one of the guys to do that." She was sorry as soon as she said it, because she knew it would put them in danger. Gondor had only laughed while his cohort bound her. "Then we'll simply shut off the power."

Janine bit her lip. The back-up generator would kick in immediately, but they'd find that, too. If they shut it down, the whole thing would go up in an explosion of the same magnitude as the time when Walter Peck had shut them down. Headquarters would be destroyed all over again and all the ghosts would be free. Janine shuddered at the idea.

"But we're still holding that Ghostbuster, Gondor," the ghost who resembled a street tough reminded the blue ghost. "We bring him in and make him open it up. If he doesn't, we hurt the babe here." He gestured at Janine as if the solution should be obvious.

Gondor stared at him. "Why, Zan, that's an excellent suggestion. More and more you convince me you'd make an excellent second in command. Get him."

Janine wondered whether their prisoner would be Peter or Winston. It reassured her to know that at least one of them was alive. If only Egon and Ray would return...

To her horror, Zan returned with Egon. He looked terrible. His hair was mussed up and hanging down in his eyes, and his glasses were missing. Blood from a cut lip smeared his mouth, and his face held the dazed expression of a man who's been hit too often. He moved sluggishly as if walking were an effort, but his eyes were alert with effort.

They forced him, resisting, down the steps, where he noticed her. He stopped dead, squinting at her myopically. "Janine!"

"Oh, Egon, you're hurt," she wailed. "How did they catch you?"

"They'd taken over the entire hotel. It was a setup. They had Peter's wallet, but as soon as I took it, they jumped me." He pointed to Zan. "This one can drive. They threw me in the back seat of your car and brought me here. Are you hurt?" He turned to Gondor. "If you've hurt her, I guarantee you won't care for the results." Janine thought she'd never heard him sound quite so fierce and protective before.

"I'm all right," Janine reassured him, furious at the ghosts who had harmed Egon. "They want you to shut down the protection grid."

"If you don't," drawled Gondor, rubbing his ectoplasmic hands together in anticipation, "We will take great pleasure in hurting Miss Melnitz. As you have experienced, we are capable of inflicting great pain."

"Don't listen to him, Egon," Janine cried. "You can't shut it down."

"I realize that," Egon replied.

"Then you leave me no choice but to torture your secretary," Gondor informed Egon as if it were the only rational alternative. "Perhaps her well-being doesn't concern you, though I doubt that." He nodded to Zan who grabbed Janine by the shoulder and squeezed. She bit her lip as the ghost's fingers dug in. He was one of the most solid ghosts she'd ever seen and it hurt. She couldn't let it show, though. She wouldn't let them manipulate Egon that way.

Egon said quickly in an unusually meek voice, "All right. Whatever you say. Just don't hurt her."

Such behavior was so unlike Egon that Janine gaped at him in disbelief. Was this part of a plan? If so, she'd better play along. "I won't tell them anything. Don't worry about me."

"I must, Janine." He went over to the containment unit and started fiddling with it. Gondor made a pleased sigh. "You should consider yourself fortunate, Miss Melnitz," he informed her with spurious comfort. "It is not everyone who is as loved as you are."

"Yeah, right. And it's not everyone who's so weak he has to manipulate other people to get what he wants." She glared at the ghost.

"Don't alienate him, Janine," Egon said quietly. "If you treat him well, he may allow you to go free. In fact, I insist upon it."

"Very well. I'll free Miss Melnitz--as soon as the containment unit is open." He winked at Zan, who giggled to himself.

"Then I'll open it now," Egon announced, and did so. The result wasn't what Gondor had expected, though. Egon had programmed the unit to receive a ghost, but without a trap a suction was created which caught Zan. He cried out in protest as he became insubstantial. His hold on Janine's shoulder loosened and before Gondor could do more than voice an inchoate protest, the punk ghost was pulled into the containment unit, wailing all the way.

Gondor struggled against the pull, but he was stronger than Zan. He broke free, fighting it as if swimming against a powerful current, and paused, still resisting the pull, just outside its maximum effective range.

Without altering the feed, Egon dove for Janine, grabbed her out of the chair and retreated with her to his place beside the controls. Gondor didn't dare come closer while the field was active.

"Are we safe?" Janine asked him as he loosened her bonds.

"No." He lowered his voice. "The power drain is enormous. He can't approach us while the system is set this way, but unless I seal it up again, it will burn out in approximately three point five minutes." He glanced around. "Where's Slimer? Did they capture him, too?"

"No. He took off when Gondor came. He's probably hiding." She massaged her wrists when the rope came loose then wrapped her arms around Egon's neck. "Did they say anything about Ray? Is he still free?"

"He didn't mention him." He studied the coordinates, then shifted his eyes to the second hand of his wristwatch. Without his glasses he had to hold it right before his eyes.

"Then he'll be back, and he's got Ecto-1, so he's got a proton pack."

"It'll take more than one proton pack to stop Gondor," Egon pointed out. "He's at least a Class 7. Besides, Gondor has allies upstairs, five other ghosts much like Zan, Class 3's. Ray will be returning to a trap."

Ray parked Ecto-1 around the corner from the fire house and donned his proton pack again. He watched in alarm as Peter, far too pale under those nasty bruises, struggled to his feet, bracing himself against the side of Ecto.

"I don't think you should try wearing a proton pack with those ribs," Ray told him, grasping his arm to steady him.

Peter's face tightened. "Give me one good option, Ray. I'll be as careful as I can. I don't want a punctured lung. But I don't want Egon and Winston and Janine killed either. I remember what they did to me. That creep just took my memory with a touch. If he can do that, what else can he do? I hate it. He's too powerful for you to take on your own. You know I'm right." He stared expectantly at his friend.

Ray sighed and conceded. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." He helped Peter into the spare pack from the rear of Ecto, watching him carefully. "How does it feel?"

"Like it weights three hundred pounds." Peter grimaced and shifted his shoulders cautiously, trying to take the pressure off his ribs. He didn't fasten the strap across his chest. "What's the P.K.E. meter say?"

Ray took a reading. "Something's there. I can detect it from here. Class 7, I think. There are others, too, not as powerful but maybe half a dozen of them." He frowned. "Peter! The powerful one is on the lower level. He must be going for the containment right now! We have to stop him!"

"Then let's bust him, Ray." Peter straightened, winced, and took a couple of cautiously controlled breaths. "Come on, kiddy," he urged, starting for the back entrance.

"Peter!" Slimer pounced before he could take three steps. "Peter alive!" The little spud splatted against his chest, causing him to wheeze in pain.

"Easy, Slimer," Ray warned sharply. "Peter's hurt."

"Aw, poor Peter." Slimer hovered in front of him, looking him up and down. "Peter looks terrible."

"Yeah, Spud, and I hope to capitalize on it when this is all over," replied Venkman. "For now, where's Janine? Who's in there?"

"Baaed ghosts," Slimer replied instantly. "Brought Egon here. Egon all beat up. Janine tied up. Bad ghosts trying to open containment." He shivered an elaborate display of fear.

"Just like we figured," Peter told Ray, tensing at the danger to them. "Come on. Sorry, Spud, but the reunion'll have to wait."

He led the way to the door, with Ray one step behind. The occultist could tell that Peter was really angry as well as worried. He was taking this one personally, and well he should. The news that Egon was alive had briefly reassured Ray, but Egon was hurt and he was in enemy hands. He and Janine could be used against them if the ghost was vindictive enough.

They encountered the first ghosts in the garage area, two full torso apparitions hovering near Janine's desk. Ray and Peter were so accustomed to working together that their streams shot out in unison, pinning the ghosts immediately. Slimer, who had followed uneasily, threw out a trap at a gesture from Ray. He pushed the trigger to open it and a brilliant wedge of light shot up to envelop the specters, sucking them into the portable containment device.

"Well, that wasn't so hard," Peter murmured.

"Heads up, Peter," cautioned Ray, pointing. "I think they had friends."

Three additional ghosts dove at them, these aroused and out for blood. They were only Class 3's but they were nasty ones, diving down on the hapless Ghostbusters and flinging blobs of ectoplasm at them. Peter caught one in the middle of the forehead and had to lower his thrower to wipe it away before it ran into his eyes.

"Now I'm mad," he growled, powering up again.

"Yeah," echoed Slimer, bravely behind them. "Mad, too." He dove at one of the ghosts, wrapped his skinny arms around it and held it immobile. "You hurt Peter," he accused. "Bad ghost!"

"Well, that's something you don't see every day," Peter muttered to Ray, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

"Slimer's a Class 5," Ray reminded him. "He's more powerful than these goopers. Come on, Peter, let's do it. This is great!" He fired enthusiastically and trapped one of the other ghosts. Peter, his face grimly determined, pinned the second one in the particle stream.

Ray threw out a trap one handed and both ghosts were sucked in.

"Okay, Slimer, you can let him go now. We'll get him." Ray grinned as Slimer obeyed, shrinking away in astonishment as if his uncharacteristic bravery had surprised even him.

The fifth ghost zipped into another trap and the doors slammed shut over him.

"Okay, now for the serious stuff," Peter ground out, shifting his proton pack uncomfortably, his face stark white against the dramatic contrast of his bruises. Ray's heart lurched in alarm.

"You all right, Peter?" he cried anxiously.

"I may live. But first I want the pleasure of taking it out on the son of a bitch who did this to me. He's holding Egon and Janine. He's gonna be ghost goulash before I'm through with him." Peter's jaw was tight with determination.

"It won't be easy, Pete," cautioned Ray, usually the optimist. "Two of us might not be able to handle a Class 7, especially since you're hurt."

"Then how about three of us?"

At the unexpected voice, Peter spun around so fast he had to bite his lip to restrain a cry of pain. But the sight that greeted him and Ray must have banished the impulse entirely. Ray let out a whoop of triumph.

Winston Zeddemore stood in the doorway.

He seemed a bit worse for wear, his clothes dirty and ripped in places, his expression grim. Ray and Peter converged on him in relief, hugging him and pounding him on the shoulders. He caught Peter by the arms and studied him. "You look bad, home boy. Did somebody forget to put you in the hospital?"

"I signed myself out for the duration." Peter shrugged that away. "We got trouble here, Winston. What happened to you?"

"Somebody set me up," he growled. "Made me think you were lying hurt in a shed, but it was a ghost. They bopped me on the head and locked me in, and once I came to I had to break part of the wall out to get free. Where are Egon and Janine?"

"There's a Class 7 downstairs trying to break into the containment unit," Ray explained hastily. "He tried to take us all out to give himself free rein, but he wasn't quite thorough enough. You broke free on your own, and I found Peter."

Winston grabbed his proton pack and slid his arms into the straps. "Then let's take him down," he cried.

"You got it," agreed Peter. "This sucker's history."

"I'm sorry, Janine." Egon raised his eyes from his watch. "I'll have to shut it down now." He suited the action to the words and the power faded with a whining sound, winding down to nothing.

Gondor laughed. "I knew I could wait you out. Zan and the others, they don't matter to me. What does is getting this open."

"Why?" asked Egon, determined to stall as long as he could. Squinting, he noticed a proton pack leaning against the wall beneath the steps and wondered how best to reach it. The longer he could keep Gondor talking, the better chance he had of reaching it. "Why are you so determined to break into our containment? Got a friend in there?"

"Many friends," Gondor replied. "But mainly, I'm tired of the threat. I wanted it ended. If your grid broke down again, the city might have ruled it too dangerous to reinstate. Before you came along, fleshheads put up with ghosts. Then along came the Ghostbusters and ruined a perfectly good system. I want to bring you down. Killing you would only have convinced human authorities of the danger and others would have taken your place. But blow this up and you'll have more than just the E.P.A. on your case." He chuckled. "I'm smarter than most of the ghosts you trap. They never think ahead, but I do."

Egon started walking toward him, spreading his hands as if to deny he was a threat. If he could work himself close enough, he could dive for the proton pack. He suspected it lacked a full charge, but it might be enough.

"It's true," he admitted. "Most of the entities we trap and contain don't plan beyond the moment. You are certainly unique." Flattery might help.

Gondor preened himself. "Yes, I fancy I am unique. Do I impress you, Human? Do I frighten you?"

"You don't frighten me," spat Janine, drawing his attention away from Egon. "I think you're just a big blowhard. We meet smarter ghosts than you all the time. You think if the word spread that a ghost could do this much damage that New York would stand for it? They'd start worrying about what you'd damage next. All you'd do would be make even more powerful enemies. I think you're nothing much, myself. Let those ghosts out and you'll see what I mean. They'll take you down in the resultant power struggle."

"No! You're a fool. I alone am clever enough to lead them."

"You're not even clever enough to stop us from trapping your sidekick," Janine went on. "Look how easy he was sucked in. You're next, Mr. Stupid."

"No." He threw a fireball at her.

As Egon dove for the pack, he heard Janine screech an outraged protest but her voice held no pain. She was safe. He grabbed the proton pack and powered it up, rolling over and squinting at the ghost that clung to the railing over his head. He was very myopic, but he could see well enough to track Gondor as he rose into the air in a furious attempt to evade the proton stream.

"Janine," Egon called as he fired the thrower at the ghost, trying to drive him closer to the containment. "When I give you the word, open it up again."

"Open it up again?" she demanded. "Won't it overload?"

"No. I shut it down in time to give us leeway." His stream struck Gondor, who screeched and wailed in helpless fury before he found the strength to break free. Egon couldn't hold him with only one stream, but the effort to break free might weaken the specter for the next time.

Gondor dove straight at Janine, trying to drive her away from the controls. He threw another fireball, forcing her to duck aside just out of reach of the panel.

"Egon," cried Janine as Gondor eluded the particle stream again. "I can't reach it."

"You must, Janine. It's our one chance. I can't hold him with only one thrower."

"Then how about four?" caroled a familiar and triumphant voice from the platform overhead. "Yo, Lizard Breath. Though I'd forgotten all about you, didn't you?" Peter Venkman stood there, proton pack on his back, his thrower in his hand and determination on his battered face. His eyes focused on Egon with relief. Behind him, Egon saw Ray and Winston flanking him, equally armed. The physicist squinted up at them with relief so intense he almost dropped the thrower. A smile spread across his face as he said, "You took your time getting here."

"What can I say? I couldn't find a cab." Peter shrugged and appeared to regret it. "Never mind, Spengs baby. We've come to take out the Jolly Blue Giant here."

"You will never take me," Gondor roared.

"Oh yeah? Well, eat protons, bunky." Peter fired in unison with Ray and Winston, and the three beams struck the huge ghost dead center. Egon smiled in triumph and copied them.

"Got him, guys!" cried Slimer, peeking around the corner of the door. He made boxing motions with his clenched fists as the four streams lowered the struggling Gondor to the trap Janine had tossed out beneath him.

The giant ghost went down fighting, kicking and screaming all the way. He cursed and spat and tried to grab the sides of the trap as he was pulled in. When the doors closed over him, sealing him in, Egon heaved a colossal sigh of relief and sat down unexpectedly on the floor.

"Oh, Egon." Janine ran to his side and flung her arms around his neck. "Egon's hurt, guys," she called urgently.

He held up a protesting hand. "I'm fine, Janine, simply sore. First we must put Gondor in the containment unit."

As the others raced up and he had his first clear view of Peter, he struggled to his feet, frowning in alarm. "Peter! You look worse than I do!" He grasped Venkman's arm and they steadied each other, then Peter dropped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. Egon leaned into the hug gratefully. He had begun to think he'd never see Peter or the others again.

"He signed himself out of the hospital against medical advice, Egon," Ray informed him hastily. "He has some cracked ribs and he had amnesia. That ghost made him forget us," he added, horrified. "I'm sure glad we caught that ghost. He was nasty."

Egon stared at the brown-haired man with fresh concern. "Amnesia? Peter, can you remember us now?"

"Oh yeah. Every sordid detail." Peter grinned wryly, the way his mouth twisting signaling the unpleasantness of the experience. "It wasn't permanent. He never meant it to be permanent, just long enough to get us out of the way so he could play his little game." Still holding on to Egon, he gave the trap a vicious kick. "Let me put him away, Egon. He owes me."

Ray nodded solemnly. "He does."

"He owes us all," Egon returned, but he passed the trap to Peter. "I recommend we take you back to the hospital as soon as we've finished," he concluded.

"And that goes for you, too," Janine told him. "Egon, you should see yourself."

"For that, I'll need my spare glasses," he reminded her as Peter went over and cycled the equipment to send Gondor where he belonged. All of them breathed a sigh of relief when the green light came on.

Dr. Silverman examined Peter again and decided that he had done no further damage to his ribs. Peter pleaded to go home and the doctor agreed reluctantly as long as Peter promised to spend the remainder of the day and the next taking it easy. "No heavy work for about a week, Dr. Venkman. And if there's the slightest trace of memory lapse, contact me immediately."

"We'll make sure he does," Ray assured the doctor. "And we'll see that he rests. What about Egon?"

"Well, he's a mess, but it's all superficial. I suggest you rest, too, Dr. Spengler. If you feel all right tomorrow, you may do light work, and resume your normal schedule the day after."

Winston was x-rayed and examined, too, but he appeared in good shape, without so much as a lingering headache. Silverman gave them a printed list of head-injury symptoms for him and Peter since both of them had been unconscious.

"Come in immediately if any of them develop," he instructed. He eyed Egon and Ray. "I'm sure I can count on the two of you to make sure they behave sensibly and take proper care of themselves." Ray and Egon nodded solemnly.

By mid-afternoon, they were home, lying around in front of the television set comparing stories of their experience while a Yankees game played unnoticed in the background.

"Gondor had the right idea," Egon commented, taking a cookie from the plate in front of them and nibbling contentedly.

"He did?" Winston eyed him suspiciously from his corner of the sofa. Peter had sprawled out over most of it, but Winston had squeezed into a corner and rested his feet on the table.

Ray was in the chair nearest Peter's head, and every now and then he eyed him in concern as if obeying Dr. Silverman's instructions. His eyes shone with happiness to have everyone home safe and--relatively--well. It had been a near thing.

"Does that sound as bad as I think it does?" the black man continued.

"Not necessarily," Egon returned. "Gondor was actually quite intelligent. Discrediting us and freeing the ghosts we had trapped might have worked, though I doubt it. But he was also showy. He wanted to do it his way, even when his way was not the most sensible method. He wanted everyone to know how clever he was. If he'd planned it more carefully, he might well have succeeded, but he acted without thinking. He was too cocky."

Peter was sprawled on the couch, sipping a soda through a straw, with Slimer curled up beside him. When Ray had remarked with a grin that he was acting unusually fond of Slimer, the psychologist had explained with dignity that he lacked the energy to push him away. Now he opened one eye. "Egon, why do I have the feeling you're trying to turn this into a lesson aimed at me?" he asked now.

"If the shoe fits, Peter," chuckled Winston, grabbing the toe of Peter's shoe and wiggling it slightly.

"You do like things your way, Peter," Ray pointed out reasonably, though with a sympathetic smile, "even when you know you're wrong. Going out last night when you were so tired you could barely keep your eyes open wasn't very smart."

Peter opened his other eye and fixed them both on Ray. "Last night?" he said blankly. "I went out last night? Are you sure, Ray? I don't remember."

"Hey, it's that amnesia again," Winston exclaimed in mock alarm as he recognized the teasing note in Peter's voice.

"Precisely," agreed Egon, his eyes twinkling. "It's the hospital for him," he concluded sternly.

"No," said Ray comfortably. "He's figured it out. He'll only forget what he wants to forget, like his turn to take out the garbage. Am I right, Peter?"

"Garbage?" Peter asked with a considerable display of confusion. "What's garbage?"

"Could be there's a big lump of it lying on the couch," Winston murmured, moving prudently out of range.

"Garbage!" bellowed Peter, erupting off the couch with mayhem in mind, only to catch himself and brace his ribs with his forearm. "I'll get you for that, Zeddemore," he threatened, easing himself down again with Slimer's 'help'.

"If you remember it," Winston retorted.

"Funny," murmured Peter, winking at Egon. "I think my memory is going to be just fine."

"Well, there's one thing I have to say," Janine offered, appearing in the doorway and smiling at them.

"What's that, Janine?" Winston asked her, passing her the tray of cookies.

She took two of them. "You guys set a record. I think this is the first time any of you used my car and brought it back in one piece. I hope this is the beginning of a new trend."

"That wasn't us," corrected Ray, grinning. "It was that ghost, Zan. He drove your car home, didn't he, Egon?"

The physicist nodded. "Precisely. Without my glasses I would have been most unsafe behind the wheel. Zan took over."

"And he didn't leave a dent on it." She glanced at each of them in turn. "I guess that tells me something. Maybe it's time to give Slimer driving lessons."

"Slimer," objected Peter in horror. "You can't be serious. Let the spud drive your car?"

"Well," said Janine with a smile, taking her two cookies and retreating to the doorway, "he couldn't do any worse than the rest of you."

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